“beyond wandpoint” 028 by gingerbred
“11 09i Sunday - Vows”
Severus and Hermione, Albus, Poppy
In which some of the promised flowers put in an appearance...
* Caveat Emptor - buyer beware
Originally Published: 2017-12-01 on AO3
Chapter: 028
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
The necessary topics amply covered, and Severus keeps mentally reviewing their conversation to make sure that's true, Miss Granger leaves to inform Albus that they've come to an agreement. He can't help noticing as she exits that her hair isn't remotely as wild as he had expected. He's certain, even, that it's tamer now than when she entered the room, and the fact confuses him. No matter, he's agitated enough for the both of them.
Hermione finds Professor Dumbledore in the Matron's office when she pops in to let her know Professor Snape is available for her. The Mediwitch quickly gathers a few things and goes off to see her patient, leaving the younger witch and Headmaster the use of the room.
"It's all settled then, my dear?" He asks her. She nods, chewing her lip in a slight show of nerves. "Were there any other terms?"
"No, Sir. Nothing new." She pinks a little, having no intention of discussing the Potions Master's demand for chastity. She realises, of course, that the Headmaster must be all too aware of it, Professor Snape had said as much, but there are limits to what she is willing to subject herself to. That discussion is one.
She also believes without doubt that he is aware of the relocation requirement and insisted upon it himself. Not for one moment does she think it was the Potions Professor's idea. On the contrary, she's more than certain he very much doesn't wish for her to move in. That had helped convince her that he does indeed need this to happen, and that the Headmaster is even less trustworthy than she had previously felt. There was no reason, to her mind, why he couldn't have been upfront with her about that detail. And she felt sorry for Professor Snape for being forced to explain it to her. That was truly uncalled for.
"And you are comfortable with withdrawing from his class?"
'More so than with the aforethought chastity...' is the answer ungiven. Instead she replies, "Not entirely, but he seemed insistent. If we mean to do this, he was quite firm about that being a requirement." Which is true enough for both aspects.
"You aren't required to accept those terms," he tells her almost gently, and for the first time she wonders if he isn't pushing this course of action after all? If that had just been her imagination? Or if this is just a different tactic... She also wonders if he really means quitting Potions, or if he has perhaps performed Legilimency on her again and means... that other thing.
"I believe it's 'take it or leave it'," she replies. "You've convinced me of the advisability, and I can live with the... terms." She doesn't point out that 'you' was plural and actually meant Professor Snape more so than the Headmaster.
"'Caveat Emptor*' is every bit as applicable, and you do have the option of leaving it. Remember that." She can't help thinking phrasing it as 'remembering' is mostly about being able to blame herself after the fact. That feeling only strengthens when he smiles broadly and says, "Well, if that's all settled, what say we get on with it?"
"Now?!" She's completely thrown. That seems... rushed. Certainly unexpected.
"Is there any point in waiting, Miss Granger?" He queries innocently.
She just stares at him. A bunch of things run through her mind. Twice. And then a third time. She's not sure how to answer that, because it seems so obvious. If someone fails to see it as obvious, there's probably not much she can say.
'Professor Snape is currently being treated in the back room for what remains of his life threatening injuries from not even two days ago...' That seems a fine place to start. At the least, it might make sense to wait until he's recovered. At the very least until the Matron had finished this round of treatments. She can't understand why that doesn't seem to register with the man standing across from her.
And so she stands there blinking a little foolishly.
It occurs to her that Professor Snape had told her that she couldn't properly gauge his needs in this. That maybe that was the reason for the rush. He had asked her to allow him to make his own decisions, and she, reluctantly, decides he's capable of objecting to the Headmaster himself if he wishes to. That her objections should be solely her own.
It goes against her better judgment. She's been managing the decisions for those around her for so long...
She turns her attention to her own needs in this and realises that waiting only complicates things for her. Currently, she's hiding out in the Infirmary, hoping not to encounter anyone who will ask her anything she can't answer. She suspects if she tries to postpone this until the Oath expires, that Professor Dumbledore will simply extract another Oath from her. She's correct. And she still has no idea what she'd say to Harry or Ron, or anyone else for that matter. She fails to consider that it won't be much easier after the bonding either, but she's instinctively correct that the focus will then be on the bonding itself and not the events that preceded it.
So she takes a deep breath and answers, "I'd at least like to get a change of clothes. Formal robes would be nice."
"Oh, quite right, my dear. Of course."
"I'll just nip back to the Tower and fetch some things..."
"Not at all, no need to bother yourself about it." He calls for Winky and tells her to fetch whatever Miss Granger requires. Hermione lists everything she needs, and the elf disappears with a 'pop' leaving behind the faint scent of Butterbeer. Hermione imagines this is easier than trying to explain to Lav or Parvati why she's sneaking her dress robes out of her wardrobe...
Madam Pomfrey returns just as Winky pops back with the dress and some supplies. "Thank you, Winky," The Headmaster dismisses her. She just shrugs, tugs at her disheveled clothing morosely and disappears again. "Poppy," he begins, taking no particular note of the elf's apparent distress, "would you mind helping Miss Granger prepare? I'll go see to Severus," and out he strolls.
"'Prepare', Miss Granger?" And Hermione now has the pleasure of facing all of the questions she herself still has, fired in rapid succession from the Matron. Unsurprisingly, she can offer no satisfactory answers.
Albus knocks and enters the back room without waiting for Severus' response. That, Severus thinks wryly, serves nicely as a metaphor for most of their interactions. Superficially observing Miss Granger's 'niceties', but never really reflecting his wants or needs.
"Miss Granger informs me that you've settled on mutually satisfactory terms." Severus doubts that's quite the expression for that either, but doesn't interject. "She's changing now, and I thought we should do this immediately following."
Severus is exceedingly glad he's seated. Well, lying down. That's probably even better. He can feel the blood rushing from, or maybe to, his head. Probably both, sequentially. He knew, knew Albus was in a rush to get this done, but he'd never imagined... There's no point in arguing. It's decided. Whether now or later... It probably makes little difference.
Albus is briefing him about... things. The Oath Miss Granger took which makes doing this sooner helpful for her. Of course, certainly, if he says so.
That there are apparently other 'couples' who will be following. Bonding. They, he and Miss Granger, apparently they're a plural pronoun now, needn't worry that they'll stand out. No, of course not. Severus doesn't intend to. This idea was Albus'. He's just following orders and will ignore any and all responses. This isn't his doing. It's ridiculously naive, and the sort of thing that only makes sense when one isn't thinking at all or so utterly disenfranchised one's ceased caring. Both are close to the truth.
Other 'couples'. It's absurd. Severus hopes Albus isn't just doing this to provide a smoke screen.
Shy of Hagrid and a Slytherin pure-blood supremacist Firstie, he shudders at the thought, severely, even if it is only polemic, he really can't conceive of odder bondmates. Perhaps Filius and Olympe. No. There is no conceivable way other 'couples' would provide any kind of distraction or cover. It's pure stupidity. Well, that's Albus' problem as well.
Slowly it dawns on Severus this is happening now, and it occurs to him he's still lying in bed in an Infirmary gown. This isn't at all how he means to do this. He summons Sunny and has him fetch his dress robes. Albus approves, but bites his tongue, waxing on about some other arrangements he's making. Severus isn't listening. He's too weak to get dressed, a promising sign, applies a small assortment of Cleansing Charms to himself and then magics the gown off and his robes on. Not once in the process does he leave his bed. Also not promising.
He knows he won't do this lying down. He'll have to stand for the ceremony. He summons phials of Anti-spasmodic, Strengthening Potion, and Pain Relief and quaffs the lot, waits for them to take effect and then slowly sits up on the edge of the bed. It takes a moment, a very long moment, for things to stop spinning.
Albus is still rabbiting on.
Boots! For the love of Merlin, he's not doing this thing barefooted!
On request, Sunny brings him his dress boots, freshly polished. Without him even asking, the little elf magics them on him. The two of them have been through much together. Sunny is good at anticipating the Potions Master's needs, and not embarrassing him further in the process. Which is why he's now also wearing socks, even if he hadn't thought to ask for them. Severus is having enough problems remaining upright; he doesn't even notice.
They wait like that until they hear the sound of the witches approaching.
Hermione holds up her dress robes, the ones she wore to Bill and Fleur's wedding in August. They're a deep red which was very nice on her, but Madam Pomfrey looks at them a bit askance.
"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione prompts calmly when the Mediwitch doesn't speak her mind. Hermione's not anywhere near as clothes mad as nearly every other witch of her acquaintance, and the moue of disapproval at the outfit doesn't send her into a tailspin. Which is good as she's not fond of heights. Or flying. And certainly not spinning while faced with either.
"It suits you..." the Matron answers, but it doesn't sound... definite.
"But?" Hermione coaxes.
"Considering the other half of the equation, perhaps it's not a... conciliatory choice." Hermione blinks, taking her meaning but unsure. "It could be interpreted as throwing down the gauntlet."
She sees the sense in that, she's not convinced as such, but she's open for suggestions, and the quality of those is likely to influence her evaluation of the advice. So she asks, "What would you suggest?"
"I'm not suggesting green or silver or pandering, not at all, but perhaps something neutral would be a wiser choice... Your reasoning for choosing the aubergine yesterday still holds," she volunteers.
The purple had indeed looked nice, and the Matron is quite right about the Muggle-born badge hardly showing on that background. Hermione slips into the robes and transfigures them as the Matron had shown her. Poppy smiles in approval at how quickly she's mastered the adjustments to that spell. The colour suits her just as much as it had the day before, there hadn't really been any question, and that's soon settled.
Madam Pomfrey Vanishes the bandages on Miss Granger's arm and steps back to take a look at the result. "I'd also suggest removing the frippery from your waist." She tells the younger witch decisively.
"Frippery?" Hermione sounds puzzled.
"You have such a nice figure, I can't imagine why you'd detract from it like that. May I?" She enquires, and at Hermione's nod sets to work making small alterations to the dress. When she's done, it's hardly changed and yet unrecognisable. It's far more sophisticated, for one. The colour, naturally, makes a huge difference, but the dress' lines are simplified, and become more elegant. The neckline is changed. It plunges a little more deeply than before and is pleated, accentuating Hermione's décolletage. She blushes a little looking at it, but there's no denying it's beautifully done.
"Now, shall I help with your hair?" The Matron is quite certain, having known the witch before her for years now, that she probably could use some assistance on that front. Hermione simply nods again. Madam Pomfrey hasn't steered her wrong yet.
Hair Charms are something every female (and a fair few males) nurse, mediwitch and healer learns early in their studies. It's imperative to have it under control for their work. Given the inquisitive minds involved, the solutions are frequently elaborate.
Poppy has the good sense to keep that in check, and decides on something simple and soft that leaves Miss Granger's hair down. "There," she says with some satisfaction, "that's very flattering."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione readily replies, turning her head this way and that, trying to get an impression of the results, but immediately seeing that it falls in a gentle curl, just over one eye, and it's far more subdued. "It certainly looks like some effort went into it. That seems... right for the occasion."
Madam Pomfrey ducks her head, a little uncomfortable with the praise. This is hardly how she normally interacts with the students. But a bonding lasts a lifetime, or she hopes it does, as the alternative would mean either of the participants' deaths, and she's treated both of them far too often to take that thought lightly. It seems... fitting to mark the day as something special.
"Would..." she pauses, and then decides it's the right thing to do. "Shall I help you with your makeup?"
Hermione looks surprised, and a little embarrassed, but certainly not averse to the offer. "Would you? Thank you! I... I'm afraid I'm rubbish at Beauty Charms."
"It's just a question of learning and practice, as with anything else." Poppy waves her wand and then inhales roughly. "Oh. Oh dear." Hermione flinches at the sound, but Poppy lets out a soft chuckle. "No worries, my dear. The results are lovely... They're just a mite... old fashioned. I guess it's just as true for me as you - it really is about learning and practice, and I'm afraid I'm a little behind the times."
The Matron waves her wand again, and the near wall is turned into a mirror. Hermione turns and can't believe her eyes. At first, she has trouble recognising it's her reflection in the mirror. The difference in the dress' colour is striking. Her hair... With the makeup, she looks a little like a cinema star from the 40's. She looks...
"You look beautiful," Poppy says simply and with conviction. "I'm just not sure it's what you were hoping for as a result. I guess my age is showing," she admits in a huff of self-deprecating humour. "Perhaps I could tone down the makeup a little, or if you'd like, we can fetch one of your contemporaries?"
Hermione has a flashback to a few too many failed attempts of Lav's which invariably seemed to make Hermione look worse and immediately answers with, "No!" And asking Ginny is clearly out of the question in the given circumstances, how would she explain them... Luna would probably be happy to help without any questions asked, but when she was finished, Hermione would probably be stood here with veg hanging from her ears... "No, that won't be necessary. It looks... I look... You've done a lovely job."
"I think I can do better, just trust me a moment," Hermione tenses reflexively, those are words she's heard before, invariably followed by a worsening of her condition, but Poppy is far too used to ignoring the tension in students. She takes no cues from it. Another flick and swish and a pleased smile creeps over her face. "Oh, my dear!"
Hermione turns again to look in the mirror and... Well! The results are remarkable. They look nothing like her, of course, which is why they're so good. The makeup's been toned down some, and seems more appropriate for a wedding than a gala. The overall effect is still very much... retro, but it suits the hair style marvellously and she looks...
She looks beautiful.
She knows her mother would have loved to see her like this. Even just a picture would have made her so happy... She tries to keep her eyes dry, but Poppy spots the telltale signs.
"Now, now, none of that," her lips purse as her concerns about this scheme of Albus' come unbidden to mind. She tries to put them aside, her opinion isn't asked here. But she knows there must be a good number of other things the young woman might be worried about that she can perhaps...
"Severus is an excellent choice..." She begins a bit clumsily. How does one tell a person their bondmate is... anything really? One shouldn't have to. A bonding is really only appropriate when the participants are absolutely certain of one another. Poppy feels a bit out of her depth right now.
But then the witch startles her with a slightly watery laugh and answers instead, "I was just thinking, I wish my mother, my parents, could be here for this."
Poppy has no way of knowing what has happened to the Grangers, and on the surface the thought seems so utterly normal, that she finds herself quite reassured by it. "Just a moment," she says and moves to her desk. She digs about in the lowest drawer for a bit and then her hand emerges clutching a very ancient model of a wizarding camera.
A Tergeo out of nowhere has Hermone blinking, but her nose decidedly unstuffed. She supposes that was only to be expected from the Matron. And a few more flicks and then the Matron is shooing her up against the window.
"There, that looks perfect. We'll simply take a picture for them, now won't we?"
It's a beautiful picture, but captures a slightly haunted look in her eyes as she considers her parents. Poppy might not have spotted it, but it's far more likely she did and takes the reasons for it to be something else entirely - any or all of the objections she personally has to this plan, for example.
"There, that should do... Oh, no, we've forgotten... Just a moment, dear."
She sends for Polly, and has her fetch something from the Matron's quarters. Moments later, the elf reappears with a small chest which the Mediwitch places carefully on her desk. She flips the lid open to reveal a jewellery chest, and fishes around until she emerges with a pair of delicate stud earrings in a deep blue sapphire.
She starts fixing them in Hermione's ears with an explanatory "Something old, something borrowed and something blue." And then she turns to the elf again, "Polly, could you please fetch us a bouquet of white flowers from Pomona?" The elf disappears with a 'pop', and Madam Pomfrey explains with a satisfied smile, "Something new."
Next the Matron pulls out a Y-necklace matching the studs in its silver setting but dotted with small emeralds, rubies and amethysts in addition to sapphires. The amethysts match the colour of the dress perfectly, and the piece ties in very nicely. By the time the Mediwitch has hung it carefully around Hermione's neck, the elf has returned with a passable posey, largely in white but with a couple of red blooms. Hermione is just examining the necklace when she does. It's quite pretty and draws the eye to the flattering neckline of her robes.
Madam Pomfrey misunderstands the reason for her perusal and laughs, "I'm sorry, I haven't much jewellery, and the variety of stones means it invariably matches my robes well enough."
That draws a wide and sincere smile from Hermione. She certainly hadn't meant anything disparaging with her study of the accessories, they're beautiful, far nicer than anything she has, and the logic sounds so much like her own. Poppy positively beams when she sees her smile, thrusts the flowers into Hermione's hands and snatches her camera to take another picture.
"There!" She crows. "Perfect!"
And when Poppy gives the photo to Hermione later, she's surprised to have to agree that it is.
Severus rises, shaky on his feet, as the women approach. Albus waves his wand and Banishes the bed, nightstand, shelves, cupboard-cum-wardrobe and chairs... somewhere. The room is blessedly barren, for which Severus is thankful. It no longer looks like a place of convalescence, but it also hasn't been subjected to Albus' attentions, which is probably the best he could have hoped for. Albus cannot be trusted to decorate in good taste.
Severus leans up against the far wall of the room opposite the door for support, next to where Albus has taken up position in front of the little room's only window.
Poppy appears just a moment later, her face a strange mixture of trepidation and, inexplicably, pleasure. The trepidation Severus finds all too easy to understand, but he can't for the life of him begin to grasp how she derives any pleasure from these proceedings. Still, if he had to choose anyone to be here for this, she's one of the decidedly less foolish or sentimental. And, he has to admit, if only to himself, he knows she genuinely cares about his welfare. She may be the only one, he thinks, doing Albus an injustice. Fair enough, however, given what he's about to have them do.
Miss Granger enters the room behind Poppy, her nerves apparent, and perhaps a bit embarrassed by the obvious effort she has taken with her appearance. Her feelings about it notwithstanding, it's certainly paid dividends. She looks... she looks... lovely. Appropriately lovely. It makes Severus all the more self-conscious of his state. There's no good way to magic away the signs of his malaise, shy of a glamour, and were he to start with that, where should he stop? A Notice-Me-Not?
She, however, looks absolutely... fetching.
It's a... mature ensemble, he thinks not at all euphemistically, a blessing under the circumstances. That it's not in the least bit childish comes as an enormous relief. It emphasises her womanly attributes without seeming cheap or indecent, and although clearly made up, she certainly hasn't been tarted up, which he also commends. Her hair falls softly beside her face in a gentle curl that invites touch, not that he ever would. Severus is torn between being thankful that she doesn't appear too young, appreciating just how nice she looks and that she made the effort to do so, and feeling like a lech for having noticed.
It's not always easy being in his shoes. Why should today prove any different?
He decides she has done this for herself, not wishing to have such a momentous occasion take place in school robes or jeans. He takes no offence whatsoever at the thought, just as he hadn't meant any to her when he dressed to suit himself. There can be no suiting each other. For a moment he almost regrets not making more of an effort... But this at least means their thoughts aren't too different as to the significance of the proceedings. He takes it as a good sign, and relaxes slightly as she takes her place across from him.
He's vaguely aware of Albus directing them about, and then hears the man speaking, "Do you mind, Miss Granger?" But he's taken by surprise when Albus takes a flower from her bouquet... She has actually managed to drum up a bouquet, he notes with a start... Albus takes a chrysanthemum from her bouquet and affixes the stem to Severus' chest with a Sticking Charm. Apparently, despite a surfeit of buttons, none of the corresponding holes were deemed properly located for a boutonnière. He's probably right, but Severus feels obliged to give the man a baleful glance. It's mostly for show and lacking in feeling.
"You look absolutely beautiful, my dear," he hears the old fool spouting. "Doesn't she, Severus?" Severus looks like he might bolt if the man persists in this, but nevertheless manages a stiff nod. All present consider it a good effort, all considered, and Albus has the sense to cease needling before the proceedings come to a close before they can begin.
"First things first, I should think. Would you both extend your wands please, so they are touching?" They both follow his instructions. "As the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, I ask you, Hermione Granger, seventh year in good standing, do you withdraw as Professor Snape's student?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I do? I do." She's not quite sure what response he's looking for, but that seems to do the trick. It might have been nice if someone had told her what to say.
"And you, Severus Snape, Professor of Potions and current Head of Slytherin House, do you withdraw as Miss Granger's teacher?"
"I do."
There's a flicker of light over their wands, Hermione could swear it extends to the very walls, and everything seems to pulse faintly, glowing for a heartbeat or three, as though the castle were part of the exchange. And then the moment's over and she's left wondering what that was about.
When she dropped Divination, she simply walked out. There'd been no need for some kind of ceremony. She considers whether this isn't about placating the Professor somehow, and then wonders if she should still call him that. She decides he didn't stop being a Professor, merely hers, and that the title is still perfectly suitable and looks up at the man.
He's looking a little ashen. Almost as if he were a bit shaken by the rite. He's not particularly, he's simply in very poor shape.
For a brief moment, everything goes black in front of Severus' eyes, and his knees buckle slightly. Naturally, no one missed it. "Sir?" Miss Granger asks, concern clear in her tone. He just answers with a quizzical brow, as though everyone didn't know exactly what she was concerned about.
"You may need to stop calling me 'Sir' in public," he finally answers when the rest make it perfectly clear they're not willing to overlook the moment of weakness. That almost startles them enough to get them past it, but the little witch is bloody single-minded.
She smiles a bit nervously and tries again, "It’s just that you looked a little shaky on your feet. Are you quite sure you want to do this now?"
He can hear Poppy behind them beginning to make clucking noises of concern for his state. If he doesn't get a grip on this soon, he won't be able to, and the situation will spiral out of his control. If it ever was under his control, that is. "Just gone a bit weak in the knees..."
At that, Poppy's clucking only intensifies, he can hear her casting Diagnostic Charms, and he can tell she's about to call a halt to things.
"No better time than the present," he tries to quip, in a tone that unfortunately convinces all present of the exact opposite.
Putting on a brave face he tries again, this time with a stab at a joke as he looks at Miss Granger, "I believe we had much the same problem on Friday, did we not? Considering what the instances had in common, perhaps it's simply your proximity that has this effect on me."
Hermione's jaw hangs open, apparently waiting for a passing pixie to alight and take up residence. If she's not very much mistaken... No. She's very much mistaken. Clearly. But at the least, it was an attempt at... humour. She doesn't know what to think. There might have been something about the reason for the weakness being his life threatening injuries, but she's finding it impossible to focus on that when he seems to have just... flirted?
Poppy isn't fairing much better. Her expression mimics Miss Granger's near enough. Albus simply smiles like the smug bastard Severus knows him to be, but he'll proceed with the ceremony given the smallest window of opportunity; there's no need to bowl him a googly. The witches, at least, have certainly been thoroughly sidetracked and all concerns voiced on Severus' behalf rendered mute.
Hermione regains some of her composure and manages to stop gawping. And then she decides to respond in kind, a little unsure of her courage, "Or perhaps you were simply overcome at the thought of no longer having me in your class?"
Albus lets out a chuckle, Poppy gives one of her patented snorts, and Miss Granger relaxes noticeably at this confirmation that she isn't completely out of line. Severus stands staring at the young witch for a moment before he likewise lets out a huff of laughter, answering "You might just be right," with an inclination of his head and a faint smile. "Although less than I might have been were Mr. Longbottom still enrolled." She responds with a smile.
Albus clears his throat, redirecting everyone's attention. "Really, the room disappoints. It isn't worthy of either of you," and before Severus can intervene, Albus has raised his wand and passed it once over the wall behind him, and suddenly Albus has transfigured generous swathes of ivy and garlands of flowers, echoing Miss Granger's bouquet, strung around the window and the area where they're standing, creating the effect of an alcove of sorts.
Severus' hand reaches for the elderly wizard's arm and stops him before he can go any further. "Albus," he hisses in a warning tone.
"Very well, Severus. If you insist. It's enough. Good to know I still have it," he comments, winking at Miss Granger, as though his talents were ever in question.
Hermione is just happy he hasn't put her on the spot by asking what she thinks. Truthfully, it is pretty. It's probably even an improvement to the room. And while she likes that it's not quite the plain stone box it appeared when she entered, she still wouldn't want more. She's not comfortable making too big of a fuss about this. The more appropriate the trappings, the more it simply highlights how the main components, the bride and groom... the bondmates, are... not.
Albus must have continued speaking, instructing, commanding, or maybe Severus just remembers what to do. He and the young witch stand across from one another, extend their left hands and clasp them. Her hand is delicate, warm and soft in his. He's just satisfied his isn't clammy. Their left hands clasped, they hold their wands solemnly in their right hands. As the ceremony commences, they bring the tips of their wands together, so that they are just touching over their conjoined hands.
Magic flares at intervals, and they both repeat the words the Headmaster dictates when prompted. It's probably better that way. Both feel they'd be hard pressed to supply the right phrases of their own accords, even had they studied them.
It goes surprising well, really, until they reach the very end.
Severus and Hermione, Albus, Poppy
In which some of the promised flowers put in an appearance...
* Caveat Emptor - buyer beware
Originally Published: 2017-12-01 on AO3
Chapter: 028
Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
The necessary topics amply covered, and Severus keeps mentally reviewing their conversation to make sure that's true, Miss Granger leaves to inform Albus that they've come to an agreement. He can't help noticing as she exits that her hair isn't remotely as wild as he had expected. He's certain, even, that it's tamer now than when she entered the room, and the fact confuses him. No matter, he's agitated enough for the both of them.
Hermione finds Professor Dumbledore in the Matron's office when she pops in to let her know Professor Snape is available for her. The Mediwitch quickly gathers a few things and goes off to see her patient, leaving the younger witch and Headmaster the use of the room.
"It's all settled then, my dear?" He asks her. She nods, chewing her lip in a slight show of nerves. "Were there any other terms?"
"No, Sir. Nothing new." She pinks a little, having no intention of discussing the Potions Master's demand for chastity. She realises, of course, that the Headmaster must be all too aware of it, Professor Snape had said as much, but there are limits to what she is willing to subject herself to. That discussion is one.
She also believes without doubt that he is aware of the relocation requirement and insisted upon it himself. Not for one moment does she think it was the Potions Professor's idea. On the contrary, she's more than certain he very much doesn't wish for her to move in. That had helped convince her that he does indeed need this to happen, and that the Headmaster is even less trustworthy than she had previously felt. There was no reason, to her mind, why he couldn't have been upfront with her about that detail. And she felt sorry for Professor Snape for being forced to explain it to her. That was truly uncalled for.
"And you are comfortable with withdrawing from his class?"
'More so than with the aforethought chastity...' is the answer ungiven. Instead she replies, "Not entirely, but he seemed insistent. If we mean to do this, he was quite firm about that being a requirement." Which is true enough for both aspects.
"You aren't required to accept those terms," he tells her almost gently, and for the first time she wonders if he isn't pushing this course of action after all? If that had just been her imagination? Or if this is just a different tactic... She also wonders if he really means quitting Potions, or if he has perhaps performed Legilimency on her again and means... that other thing.
"I believe it's 'take it or leave it'," she replies. "You've convinced me of the advisability, and I can live with the... terms." She doesn't point out that 'you' was plural and actually meant Professor Snape more so than the Headmaster.
"'Caveat Emptor*' is every bit as applicable, and you do have the option of leaving it. Remember that." She can't help thinking phrasing it as 'remembering' is mostly about being able to blame herself after the fact. That feeling only strengthens when he smiles broadly and says, "Well, if that's all settled, what say we get on with it?"
"Now?!" She's completely thrown. That seems... rushed. Certainly unexpected.
"Is there any point in waiting, Miss Granger?" He queries innocently.
She just stares at him. A bunch of things run through her mind. Twice. And then a third time. She's not sure how to answer that, because it seems so obvious. If someone fails to see it as obvious, there's probably not much she can say.
'Professor Snape is currently being treated in the back room for what remains of his life threatening injuries from not even two days ago...' That seems a fine place to start. At the least, it might make sense to wait until he's recovered. At the very least until the Matron had finished this round of treatments. She can't understand why that doesn't seem to register with the man standing across from her.
And so she stands there blinking a little foolishly.
It occurs to her that Professor Snape had told her that she couldn't properly gauge his needs in this. That maybe that was the reason for the rush. He had asked her to allow him to make his own decisions, and she, reluctantly, decides he's capable of objecting to the Headmaster himself if he wishes to. That her objections should be solely her own.
It goes against her better judgment. She's been managing the decisions for those around her for so long...
She turns her attention to her own needs in this and realises that waiting only complicates things for her. Currently, she's hiding out in the Infirmary, hoping not to encounter anyone who will ask her anything she can't answer. She suspects if she tries to postpone this until the Oath expires, that Professor Dumbledore will simply extract another Oath from her. She's correct. And she still has no idea what she'd say to Harry or Ron, or anyone else for that matter. She fails to consider that it won't be much easier after the bonding either, but she's instinctively correct that the focus will then be on the bonding itself and not the events that preceded it.
So she takes a deep breath and answers, "I'd at least like to get a change of clothes. Formal robes would be nice."
"Oh, quite right, my dear. Of course."
"I'll just nip back to the Tower and fetch some things..."
"Not at all, no need to bother yourself about it." He calls for Winky and tells her to fetch whatever Miss Granger requires. Hermione lists everything she needs, and the elf disappears with a 'pop' leaving behind the faint scent of Butterbeer. Hermione imagines this is easier than trying to explain to Lav or Parvati why she's sneaking her dress robes out of her wardrobe...
Madam Pomfrey returns just as Winky pops back with the dress and some supplies. "Thank you, Winky," The Headmaster dismisses her. She just shrugs, tugs at her disheveled clothing morosely and disappears again. "Poppy," he begins, taking no particular note of the elf's apparent distress, "would you mind helping Miss Granger prepare? I'll go see to Severus," and out he strolls.
"'Prepare', Miss Granger?" And Hermione now has the pleasure of facing all of the questions she herself still has, fired in rapid succession from the Matron. Unsurprisingly, she can offer no satisfactory answers.
Albus knocks and enters the back room without waiting for Severus' response. That, Severus thinks wryly, serves nicely as a metaphor for most of their interactions. Superficially observing Miss Granger's 'niceties', but never really reflecting his wants or needs.
"Miss Granger informs me that you've settled on mutually satisfactory terms." Severus doubts that's quite the expression for that either, but doesn't interject. "She's changing now, and I thought we should do this immediately following."
Severus is exceedingly glad he's seated. Well, lying down. That's probably even better. He can feel the blood rushing from, or maybe to, his head. Probably both, sequentially. He knew, knew Albus was in a rush to get this done, but he'd never imagined... There's no point in arguing. It's decided. Whether now or later... It probably makes little difference.
Albus is briefing him about... things. The Oath Miss Granger took which makes doing this sooner helpful for her. Of course, certainly, if he says so.
That there are apparently other 'couples' who will be following. Bonding. They, he and Miss Granger, apparently they're a plural pronoun now, needn't worry that they'll stand out. No, of course not. Severus doesn't intend to. This idea was Albus'. He's just following orders and will ignore any and all responses. This isn't his doing. It's ridiculously naive, and the sort of thing that only makes sense when one isn't thinking at all or so utterly disenfranchised one's ceased caring. Both are close to the truth.
Other 'couples'. It's absurd. Severus hopes Albus isn't just doing this to provide a smoke screen.
Shy of Hagrid and a Slytherin pure-blood supremacist Firstie, he shudders at the thought, severely, even if it is only polemic, he really can't conceive of odder bondmates. Perhaps Filius and Olympe. No. There is no conceivable way other 'couples' would provide any kind of distraction or cover. It's pure stupidity. Well, that's Albus' problem as well.
Slowly it dawns on Severus this is happening now, and it occurs to him he's still lying in bed in an Infirmary gown. This isn't at all how he means to do this. He summons Sunny and has him fetch his dress robes. Albus approves, but bites his tongue, waxing on about some other arrangements he's making. Severus isn't listening. He's too weak to get dressed, a promising sign, applies a small assortment of Cleansing Charms to himself and then magics the gown off and his robes on. Not once in the process does he leave his bed. Also not promising.
He knows he won't do this lying down. He'll have to stand for the ceremony. He summons phials of Anti-spasmodic, Strengthening Potion, and Pain Relief and quaffs the lot, waits for them to take effect and then slowly sits up on the edge of the bed. It takes a moment, a very long moment, for things to stop spinning.
Albus is still rabbiting on.
Boots! For the love of Merlin, he's not doing this thing barefooted!
On request, Sunny brings him his dress boots, freshly polished. Without him even asking, the little elf magics them on him. The two of them have been through much together. Sunny is good at anticipating the Potions Master's needs, and not embarrassing him further in the process. Which is why he's now also wearing socks, even if he hadn't thought to ask for them. Severus is having enough problems remaining upright; he doesn't even notice.
They wait like that until they hear the sound of the witches approaching.
Hermione holds up her dress robes, the ones she wore to Bill and Fleur's wedding in August. They're a deep red which was very nice on her, but Madam Pomfrey looks at them a bit askance.
"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione prompts calmly when the Mediwitch doesn't speak her mind. Hermione's not anywhere near as clothes mad as nearly every other witch of her acquaintance, and the moue of disapproval at the outfit doesn't send her into a tailspin. Which is good as she's not fond of heights. Or flying. And certainly not spinning while faced with either.
"It suits you..." the Matron answers, but it doesn't sound... definite.
"But?" Hermione coaxes.
"Considering the other half of the equation, perhaps it's not a... conciliatory choice." Hermione blinks, taking her meaning but unsure. "It could be interpreted as throwing down the gauntlet."
She sees the sense in that, she's not convinced as such, but she's open for suggestions, and the quality of those is likely to influence her evaluation of the advice. So she asks, "What would you suggest?"
"I'm not suggesting green or silver or pandering, not at all, but perhaps something neutral would be a wiser choice... Your reasoning for choosing the aubergine yesterday still holds," she volunteers.
The purple had indeed looked nice, and the Matron is quite right about the Muggle-born badge hardly showing on that background. Hermione slips into the robes and transfigures them as the Matron had shown her. Poppy smiles in approval at how quickly she's mastered the adjustments to that spell. The colour suits her just as much as it had the day before, there hadn't really been any question, and that's soon settled.
Madam Pomfrey Vanishes the bandages on Miss Granger's arm and steps back to take a look at the result. "I'd also suggest removing the frippery from your waist." She tells the younger witch decisively.
"Frippery?" Hermione sounds puzzled.
"You have such a nice figure, I can't imagine why you'd detract from it like that. May I?" She enquires, and at Hermione's nod sets to work making small alterations to the dress. When she's done, it's hardly changed and yet unrecognisable. It's far more sophisticated, for one. The colour, naturally, makes a huge difference, but the dress' lines are simplified, and become more elegant. The neckline is changed. It plunges a little more deeply than before and is pleated, accentuating Hermione's décolletage. She blushes a little looking at it, but there's no denying it's beautifully done.
"Now, shall I help with your hair?" The Matron is quite certain, having known the witch before her for years now, that she probably could use some assistance on that front. Hermione simply nods again. Madam Pomfrey hasn't steered her wrong yet.
Hair Charms are something every female (and a fair few males) nurse, mediwitch and healer learns early in their studies. It's imperative to have it under control for their work. Given the inquisitive minds involved, the solutions are frequently elaborate.
Poppy has the good sense to keep that in check, and decides on something simple and soft that leaves Miss Granger's hair down. "There," she says with some satisfaction, "that's very flattering."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione readily replies, turning her head this way and that, trying to get an impression of the results, but immediately seeing that it falls in a gentle curl, just over one eye, and it's far more subdued. "It certainly looks like some effort went into it. That seems... right for the occasion."
Madam Pomfrey ducks her head, a little uncomfortable with the praise. This is hardly how she normally interacts with the students. But a bonding lasts a lifetime, or she hopes it does, as the alternative would mean either of the participants' deaths, and she's treated both of them far too often to take that thought lightly. It seems... fitting to mark the day as something special.
"Would..." she pauses, and then decides it's the right thing to do. "Shall I help you with your makeup?"
Hermione looks surprised, and a little embarrassed, but certainly not averse to the offer. "Would you? Thank you! I... I'm afraid I'm rubbish at Beauty Charms."
"It's just a question of learning and practice, as with anything else." Poppy waves her wand and then inhales roughly. "Oh. Oh dear." Hermione flinches at the sound, but Poppy lets out a soft chuckle. "No worries, my dear. The results are lovely... They're just a mite... old fashioned. I guess it's just as true for me as you - it really is about learning and practice, and I'm afraid I'm a little behind the times."
The Matron waves her wand again, and the near wall is turned into a mirror. Hermione turns and can't believe her eyes. At first, she has trouble recognising it's her reflection in the mirror. The difference in the dress' colour is striking. Her hair... With the makeup, she looks a little like a cinema star from the 40's. She looks...
"You look beautiful," Poppy says simply and with conviction. "I'm just not sure it's what you were hoping for as a result. I guess my age is showing," she admits in a huff of self-deprecating humour. "Perhaps I could tone down the makeup a little, or if you'd like, we can fetch one of your contemporaries?"
Hermione has a flashback to a few too many failed attempts of Lav's which invariably seemed to make Hermione look worse and immediately answers with, "No!" And asking Ginny is clearly out of the question in the given circumstances, how would she explain them... Luna would probably be happy to help without any questions asked, but when she was finished, Hermione would probably be stood here with veg hanging from her ears... "No, that won't be necessary. It looks... I look... You've done a lovely job."
"I think I can do better, just trust me a moment," Hermione tenses reflexively, those are words she's heard before, invariably followed by a worsening of her condition, but Poppy is far too used to ignoring the tension in students. She takes no cues from it. Another flick and swish and a pleased smile creeps over her face. "Oh, my dear!"
Hermione turns again to look in the mirror and... Well! The results are remarkable. They look nothing like her, of course, which is why they're so good. The makeup's been toned down some, and seems more appropriate for a wedding than a gala. The overall effect is still very much... retro, but it suits the hair style marvellously and she looks...
She looks beautiful.
She knows her mother would have loved to see her like this. Even just a picture would have made her so happy... She tries to keep her eyes dry, but Poppy spots the telltale signs.
"Now, now, none of that," her lips purse as her concerns about this scheme of Albus' come unbidden to mind. She tries to put them aside, her opinion isn't asked here. But she knows there must be a good number of other things the young woman might be worried about that she can perhaps...
"Severus is an excellent choice..." She begins a bit clumsily. How does one tell a person their bondmate is... anything really? One shouldn't have to. A bonding is really only appropriate when the participants are absolutely certain of one another. Poppy feels a bit out of her depth right now.
But then the witch startles her with a slightly watery laugh and answers instead, "I was just thinking, I wish my mother, my parents, could be here for this."
Poppy has no way of knowing what has happened to the Grangers, and on the surface the thought seems so utterly normal, that she finds herself quite reassured by it. "Just a moment," she says and moves to her desk. She digs about in the lowest drawer for a bit and then her hand emerges clutching a very ancient model of a wizarding camera.
A Tergeo out of nowhere has Hermone blinking, but her nose decidedly unstuffed. She supposes that was only to be expected from the Matron. And a few more flicks and then the Matron is shooing her up against the window.
"There, that looks perfect. We'll simply take a picture for them, now won't we?"
It's a beautiful picture, but captures a slightly haunted look in her eyes as she considers her parents. Poppy might not have spotted it, but it's far more likely she did and takes the reasons for it to be something else entirely - any or all of the objections she personally has to this plan, for example.
"There, that should do... Oh, no, we've forgotten... Just a moment, dear."
She sends for Polly, and has her fetch something from the Matron's quarters. Moments later, the elf reappears with a small chest which the Mediwitch places carefully on her desk. She flips the lid open to reveal a jewellery chest, and fishes around until she emerges with a pair of delicate stud earrings in a deep blue sapphire.
She starts fixing them in Hermione's ears with an explanatory "Something old, something borrowed and something blue." And then she turns to the elf again, "Polly, could you please fetch us a bouquet of white flowers from Pomona?" The elf disappears with a 'pop', and Madam Pomfrey explains with a satisfied smile, "Something new."
Next the Matron pulls out a Y-necklace matching the studs in its silver setting but dotted with small emeralds, rubies and amethysts in addition to sapphires. The amethysts match the colour of the dress perfectly, and the piece ties in very nicely. By the time the Mediwitch has hung it carefully around Hermione's neck, the elf has returned with a passable posey, largely in white but with a couple of red blooms. Hermione is just examining the necklace when she does. It's quite pretty and draws the eye to the flattering neckline of her robes.
Madam Pomfrey misunderstands the reason for her perusal and laughs, "I'm sorry, I haven't much jewellery, and the variety of stones means it invariably matches my robes well enough."
That draws a wide and sincere smile from Hermione. She certainly hadn't meant anything disparaging with her study of the accessories, they're beautiful, far nicer than anything she has, and the logic sounds so much like her own. Poppy positively beams when she sees her smile, thrusts the flowers into Hermione's hands and snatches her camera to take another picture.
"There!" She crows. "Perfect!"
And when Poppy gives the photo to Hermione later, she's surprised to have to agree that it is.
Severus rises, shaky on his feet, as the women approach. Albus waves his wand and Banishes the bed, nightstand, shelves, cupboard-cum-wardrobe and chairs... somewhere. The room is blessedly barren, for which Severus is thankful. It no longer looks like a place of convalescence, but it also hasn't been subjected to Albus' attentions, which is probably the best he could have hoped for. Albus cannot be trusted to decorate in good taste.
Severus leans up against the far wall of the room opposite the door for support, next to where Albus has taken up position in front of the little room's only window.
Poppy appears just a moment later, her face a strange mixture of trepidation and, inexplicably, pleasure. The trepidation Severus finds all too easy to understand, but he can't for the life of him begin to grasp how she derives any pleasure from these proceedings. Still, if he had to choose anyone to be here for this, she's one of the decidedly less foolish or sentimental. And, he has to admit, if only to himself, he knows she genuinely cares about his welfare. She may be the only one, he thinks, doing Albus an injustice. Fair enough, however, given what he's about to have them do.
Miss Granger enters the room behind Poppy, her nerves apparent, and perhaps a bit embarrassed by the obvious effort she has taken with her appearance. Her feelings about it notwithstanding, it's certainly paid dividends. She looks... she looks... lovely. Appropriately lovely. It makes Severus all the more self-conscious of his state. There's no good way to magic away the signs of his malaise, shy of a glamour, and were he to start with that, where should he stop? A Notice-Me-Not?
She, however, looks absolutely... fetching.
It's a... mature ensemble, he thinks not at all euphemistically, a blessing under the circumstances. That it's not in the least bit childish comes as an enormous relief. It emphasises her womanly attributes without seeming cheap or indecent, and although clearly made up, she certainly hasn't been tarted up, which he also commends. Her hair falls softly beside her face in a gentle curl that invites touch, not that he ever would. Severus is torn between being thankful that she doesn't appear too young, appreciating just how nice she looks and that she made the effort to do so, and feeling like a lech for having noticed.
It's not always easy being in his shoes. Why should today prove any different?
He decides she has done this for herself, not wishing to have such a momentous occasion take place in school robes or jeans. He takes no offence whatsoever at the thought, just as he hadn't meant any to her when he dressed to suit himself. There can be no suiting each other. For a moment he almost regrets not making more of an effort... But this at least means their thoughts aren't too different as to the significance of the proceedings. He takes it as a good sign, and relaxes slightly as she takes her place across from him.
He's vaguely aware of Albus directing them about, and then hears the man speaking, "Do you mind, Miss Granger?" But he's taken by surprise when Albus takes a flower from her bouquet... She has actually managed to drum up a bouquet, he notes with a start... Albus takes a chrysanthemum from her bouquet and affixes the stem to Severus' chest with a Sticking Charm. Apparently, despite a surfeit of buttons, none of the corresponding holes were deemed properly located for a boutonnière. He's probably right, but Severus feels obliged to give the man a baleful glance. It's mostly for show and lacking in feeling.
"You look absolutely beautiful, my dear," he hears the old fool spouting. "Doesn't she, Severus?" Severus looks like he might bolt if the man persists in this, but nevertheless manages a stiff nod. All present consider it a good effort, all considered, and Albus has the sense to cease needling before the proceedings come to a close before they can begin.
"First things first, I should think. Would you both extend your wands please, so they are touching?" They both follow his instructions. "As the current Headmaster of Hogwarts, I ask you, Hermione Granger, seventh year in good standing, do you withdraw as Professor Snape's student?"
"Yes. Absolutely. I do? I do." She's not quite sure what response he's looking for, but that seems to do the trick. It might have been nice if someone had told her what to say.
"And you, Severus Snape, Professor of Potions and current Head of Slytherin House, do you withdraw as Miss Granger's teacher?"
"I do."
There's a flicker of light over their wands, Hermione could swear it extends to the very walls, and everything seems to pulse faintly, glowing for a heartbeat or three, as though the castle were part of the exchange. And then the moment's over and she's left wondering what that was about.
When she dropped Divination, she simply walked out. There'd been no need for some kind of ceremony. She considers whether this isn't about placating the Professor somehow, and then wonders if she should still call him that. She decides he didn't stop being a Professor, merely hers, and that the title is still perfectly suitable and looks up at the man.
He's looking a little ashen. Almost as if he were a bit shaken by the rite. He's not particularly, he's simply in very poor shape.
For a brief moment, everything goes black in front of Severus' eyes, and his knees buckle slightly. Naturally, no one missed it. "Sir?" Miss Granger asks, concern clear in her tone. He just answers with a quizzical brow, as though everyone didn't know exactly what she was concerned about.
"You may need to stop calling me 'Sir' in public," he finally answers when the rest make it perfectly clear they're not willing to overlook the moment of weakness. That almost startles them enough to get them past it, but the little witch is bloody single-minded.
She smiles a bit nervously and tries again, "It’s just that you looked a little shaky on your feet. Are you quite sure you want to do this now?"
He can hear Poppy behind them beginning to make clucking noises of concern for his state. If he doesn't get a grip on this soon, he won't be able to, and the situation will spiral out of his control. If it ever was under his control, that is. "Just gone a bit weak in the knees..."
At that, Poppy's clucking only intensifies, he can hear her casting Diagnostic Charms, and he can tell she's about to call a halt to things.
"No better time than the present," he tries to quip, in a tone that unfortunately convinces all present of the exact opposite.
Putting on a brave face he tries again, this time with a stab at a joke as he looks at Miss Granger, "I believe we had much the same problem on Friday, did we not? Considering what the instances had in common, perhaps it's simply your proximity that has this effect on me."
Hermione's jaw hangs open, apparently waiting for a passing pixie to alight and take up residence. If she's not very much mistaken... No. She's very much mistaken. Clearly. But at the least, it was an attempt at... humour. She doesn't know what to think. There might have been something about the reason for the weakness being his life threatening injuries, but she's finding it impossible to focus on that when he seems to have just... flirted?
Poppy isn't fairing much better. Her expression mimics Miss Granger's near enough. Albus simply smiles like the smug bastard Severus knows him to be, but he'll proceed with the ceremony given the smallest window of opportunity; there's no need to bowl him a googly. The witches, at least, have certainly been thoroughly sidetracked and all concerns voiced on Severus' behalf rendered mute.
Hermione regains some of her composure and manages to stop gawping. And then she decides to respond in kind, a little unsure of her courage, "Or perhaps you were simply overcome at the thought of no longer having me in your class?"
Albus lets out a chuckle, Poppy gives one of her patented snorts, and Miss Granger relaxes noticeably at this confirmation that she isn't completely out of line. Severus stands staring at the young witch for a moment before he likewise lets out a huff of laughter, answering "You might just be right," with an inclination of his head and a faint smile. "Although less than I might have been were Mr. Longbottom still enrolled." She responds with a smile.
Albus clears his throat, redirecting everyone's attention. "Really, the room disappoints. It isn't worthy of either of you," and before Severus can intervene, Albus has raised his wand and passed it once over the wall behind him, and suddenly Albus has transfigured generous swathes of ivy and garlands of flowers, echoing Miss Granger's bouquet, strung around the window and the area where they're standing, creating the effect of an alcove of sorts.
Severus' hand reaches for the elderly wizard's arm and stops him before he can go any further. "Albus," he hisses in a warning tone.
"Very well, Severus. If you insist. It's enough. Good to know I still have it," he comments, winking at Miss Granger, as though his talents were ever in question.
Hermione is just happy he hasn't put her on the spot by asking what she thinks. Truthfully, it is pretty. It's probably even an improvement to the room. And while she likes that it's not quite the plain stone box it appeared when she entered, she still wouldn't want more. She's not comfortable making too big of a fuss about this. The more appropriate the trappings, the more it simply highlights how the main components, the bride and groom... the bondmates, are... not.
Albus must have continued speaking, instructing, commanding, or maybe Severus just remembers what to do. He and the young witch stand across from one another, extend their left hands and clasp them. Her hand is delicate, warm and soft in his. He's just satisfied his isn't clammy. Their left hands clasped, they hold their wands solemnly in their right hands. As the ceremony commences, they bring the tips of their wands together, so that they are just touching over their conjoined hands.
Magic flares at intervals, and they both repeat the words the Headmaster dictates when prompted. It's probably better that way. Both feel they'd be hard pressed to supply the right phrases of their own accords, even had they studied them.
It goes surprising well, really, until they reach the very end.