Work Text:
A Difficult Man by Sixpence Jones inspired this. Read it. It's a wonderful one-shot. I just had to add a bit more...
She was the former Mrs Weasley.
Hermione let out a long breath and stared up the curtained canopy of her bed. Well, Snape's bed. She winced and caught her fingers in the wild tangle of her hair. Should he be Severus now that they were…married?
Gods…
Her belly turned over at the chaos, the endless columns of foulness Skeeter would churn out over Ron's idiocy.
He had thrown their marriage away for a galleon.
She huffed a sour laugh. Had it been worth even that? Severus could've thrown a bent brass knut at her very much former husband and she would've thought it generous.
And why was she not surprised, not surprised at all, that the wizarding world—because it was always the wizarding world, wasn't it?—had such a foul law buried beneath it? A Witch Auction. Where a woman could be cast off without a thought for her rights nor her body. At least...at least in the muggle world, when such things were done, there was consent, co-operation. Merlin, most times the wife had the new husband picked out and the price set...
Hermione looked to the shadow of the door. It was locked and warded, the residue of magic still a sting in the air even hours after. Anger had burned it from her.
Foul, cockroach of a man!
Not…not Snape. He, as bitter and cutting as he was, had simply shown her to the room, lifted an eyebrow, whipped magic over the room, then walked away without a backward glance.
No, Ronald Bilius Weasley was the…creature she cursed.
"We should never have married."
Her raw whisper was overloud in the silence of the small, dark room. Only a single candle lit the narrow space, throwing a soft and flickering gold over plain walls and the ornate scrolls of a cast iron fireplace. Beyond the curtains, the room was empty. Had…Severus thrown all the contents together to transfigure the bed?
Another bitter laugh escape her. And there was her brain, so eager to pull away from any thought of her disastrous marriage.
But it was true. Ron… They should've been a fling. Something brief, something that they'd look back on—as friends—and give an embarrassed smile over. A shrug. And a 'Gods, what were we thinking?' To admit, 'Merlin, that was a mistake!'. Not something that had ended in that insanely elaborate wedding, with ancient, unbreakable vows and magic and their own special glossy pull-out in The Prophet and Witch Weekly.
Love from the ashes of the war.
Building the future of the wizarding world…together.
Tripe. Utter and complete tripe.
And now, well now, it was over. Gone in the drop of a thick gold coin.
Hermione pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. And, gods, some part of her, some insane part of her, was fucking relieved.
No more drunken Ron threatened by her success, her magic, or her brain.
Yes, now she had the complete unknown that was Severus Snape.
She lifted her left hand to catch the shine of the platinum band that had replaced the monstrosity Ron had forced on her. Severus had said he'd explain…but he'd left her at the bedroom door. Perhaps he needed time to wrap his mind around the insanity of what he'd done? And she'd definitely needed time to calm her thoughts and magic—
The house wards rippled, a stir of magic that chased a chilled breeze through the air.
It had rolled through and over her room since she'd locked the door and thrown herself onto the bed. Howlers or patronus, or both. No doubt Molly would lay the blame for her son's idiocy at her former daughter-in-law's feet.
"This all falls to you, Hermione. If only you'd given him a little wizard of his own. A boy to carry on his name. He would be settled. He would be happy."
Hermione bit out the words. Sneered them.
"But what about me? What about my happiness?"
She winced and the guilt twisted. Could she have saved her marriage with a child? Mad Bella had cursed her ovaries, but magic was, well, magic and little by little down the years, her magic had reformed cursed flesh. In the beginning, she hadn't wanted to say anything, to get Ron's—or her own—hopes up. Then as their relationship soured, as Ron's drinking, his whoring…exploded, she didn't want to bring a child into such influence.
And he did have little wizards—and witchlings—to settle him.
At least three at the last count.
Unfaithful bastard.
The hint of grey dawn light cut through a gap in the curtains and Hermione groaned.
Her mind was still a whirr of churning thoughts. Better to start the day and sort through the mess of her life. Rolling out of bed, she flicked her wand over herself, transfiguring her pyjamas to jeans and a jumper. The colours bled into a shadowy amethyst, proof that the fabric of her original robes strained under yet another pulse of magic.
Gods, she needed every basic. Severus had brought her to his home with nothing but the clothes she stood up in and her little evening purse.
Tea. She needed scalding tea with a decent dollop of milk. Then something to make a list on. A fucking long list.
Starting with striping everything away from Ronald Weasley that wasn't nailed down.
A witch scorned would have nothing on a witch sold.
"Madam wife."
Severus strode into the small kitchen, dressed in unrelieved black, shaved and his hair clean and swept back. He pressed his hand to the kettle and the curl of his magic heated the water. He lifted a dark eyebrow and his black gaze flicked over the stretch of parchment covering the kitchen table, before he returned his attention to mugs and milk and a tea strainer.
Hermione ignored his smart-arsed comment. She was used to ignoring a husband in the morning, though at least Severus was clean and lacking a world-class hangover. And could make his own breakfast. Yes, three points to House Snape.
She added another sigil to a set of arithmantic formulae. Nine sets twisted and turned around her, glowing in the low light of the kitchen. And they made grim reading.
It was immutable, this binding to Severus Snape. The only way out for her was another Witch Auction. And no, she would never suffer that indignity again.
Her gaze flicked to the man pouring milk into two mugs. Gods, when was the last time someone made her something as simple as a cup of tea? Too long. Far too long.
"I own—outright—the house I shared with Weasley."
Both of Severus' brows lifted. Was he surprised that she'd dropped Ron's name? But the more she'd thought on him, on their shared life, the more data she poured into her equations, the more her mouth had pressed together and the tighter the burn in her chest.
"But that's all."
"Forced dissolution of ancient vows favours the wizard."
"Yes, so it would appear."
Ron had sold her for no more than a galleon. And without her consent. With the invoking of such a law, sundering ancient magic, all assets had reverted to him alone. But for the house, which came to her via her parents. Fuck, she should've had more ties to the muggle world, something beyond the grab of wizarding law.
There was one spark though in the turn of her formulae.
"What is that?" Severus moved around the round table, a glide of black wool, a frown lining his forehead. "There. The rune berkana." Black eyes fixed on her. "Weasley declared you barren to the slack-jawed horde. Is it not the truth?"
He was sharp. But then he was Severus Snape.
Yet to share something so private with a relative stranger, even if he was now her husband. She sucked in a breath and picked up her cup. She winced at the first sip of tepid tea. "It was. In the beginning. I couldn't… I was…" She closed her eyes and breathed again. Gods, she loathed the word barren, as if she were a cold and unwanted fucking field. "For years, my magic, unbeknownst to me, worked on the damage Bellatrix had caused, healing me. I believe…"
"You never told him."
There was no censure in the words. He obviously had the measure of her former husband, and as a child himself brought into a foul family, he saw her reasoning for staying silent.
Hermione shook her head. "Not with the way we were. The way he was. No child…"
"No." He turned back to the kettle and in short order, a fresh mug was placed before her. He pulled out his chair and sat, the white mug cradled in his large hands. "You were…wise to do so."
Hermione caught her fingers in her hair. "If…if he was proven to have lied, would the auction be null and void?" Her belly twisted. Even being bound to Severus Snape didn't worry her as much as falling back into being married to Ron Weasley. "Would I then be married to him? Again?"
Severus' dark eyes fixed on her over his mug, a gleam of devilment there. "You would prefer me, witch?"
For a moment, for a long, long second the memory of his lips against hers filled her mind. Smooth and sure, firm, the hints of mint and something sweet and the ache that had filled her chest… The forbidden ache for more.
"Yes."
His eyes sparked at her calling his bluff.
Severus put his mug down and a long finger drew a line over the curve of the handle. "Auctions, especially witch sales, are old. Probably Roman, though no one's chased what sparse documentation remains back to a credible source. It favours the husband in all things. Especially if forced. With your vows, a man could…dispose of a wife for a stain on his shirt."
"But if the stain wasn't there?"
"Intent, Hermione. Magic is always about intent. And intent is founded on belief. Weasley believed that your body was damaged at the time of the auction.
"Belief is not fact."
"Indeed."
Hermione groaned. "If I push, if I fight to take back what is rightfully mine, I do not want to find myself bound to him again. Never again." She buried her fingers deeper into her hair and she stared down at the lines on the old oak table. "Why did you throw that coin, Severus?" She looked up at his impassive face. The burn of more questions sat on her tongue. Spite? Bitterness? To sow discord? Because it was expected of him to be wicked? All of the above?
"Beneath the veneer of purity and light, the wizarding world is always the same. Selfish and ignorant. Should I not expose that?" He drank from his mug. "Your former husband has likely ruined his family name."
"That was only a matter of time."
It was a mutter under her breath and gods, she couldn't disagree with him. For too many years, she'd slogged against prejudice and misogyny. They'd fought a war against the dark, but nothing, nothing had truly changed.
"And…and what are we, Severus?"
"Honest."
She blinked. From the ultimate Slytherin? "Honest?"
"I am always honest."
"Except when you lie. You're the most successful liar in our world!"
He huffed a breath and his eyes gleamed. Hermione's heart squeezed at the…glint of wickedness there. "That is a skill I have…honed, Hermione. It is not who I am. I am considered…difficult because I am honest."
He took her hand, the tip of his callused thumb stroking a slow and mesmerising line across her knuckles. The warmth of his touch sank into her flesh. Gods, was this attraction a part of the auction, drawing her to him? No…nothing in her equations showed…coercion.
This was her reaction to him. A heat, a…a desire that she'd long thought dead.
"Am I cantankerous and moody and…nitpicking? Yes, yes I am. But…" his dark eyes held her, sure and calm and with a strength that made her chest tight, "I would never slight you in public, nor in private. I would be faithful and I do not drink." He looked away to the dark corners of the little kitchen. "This house is mine. My work is here. I am…comfortable."
She would be as truthful. It was a strange fact to face with someone as notorious as the potions master. "I'm bossy and eminently practical and also a nitpicker." A smile broke from her and he huffed a breath. "As you now know, I own my house, though its contents are debatable. I'm a ministry cog, a Master of Arithmancy and," her lips twitched into a smirk, "fertile."
Severus' eyes were sharp. Focused. He wet his lips and the so-slight movement flexed a knot in her belly. "A child?"
"Possibly more than one."
Severus shook his head and stared at her in disbelief. "A child —children— with me?"
"You protect your own, Severus Snape. You will ensure they thrive." She winced. "With Ron…"
"You already mothered him."
"I did."
"And when…?"
'We will let magic decide."
"Witch!" He barked a laugh. "Where is the woman you plans and lists and runs nine —nine— sets of arithmantic equations?"
She shrugged and drew her thumb over his, the strong line of it, wrought through talent and power. "Magic healed me."
How could she explain, that for all her practicality, all her logic, it was the swell of a feeling in her chest that it was right, at this time, to let magic follow the route it wanted? It had healed her. And though it was strange to consider magic as a force outside of herself, in that moment, she wanted to believe she was healed for a reason. And their child would be cared for, loved, protected and would not suffer Ron's childish vagaries. Severus Snape would be a parent. A father. Not…whatever the hell Ron was now. An utterly selfish wastrel.
"Consummation, I believe, could seal the magic of the auction." His lips ticked up at the corner. "It would then be my right to sell you on."
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She ignored his snippy little comment. Git. "And with the marriage sealed, any…retribution I sought from Weasley would have no come back? I could not return to the dubious honour of being his wife?"
"A consummated marriage vow severs all bindings but blood."
A sweep of her fingers shrank down her equations and they slid, flattened and stuck to the piece of previously blank parchment laying on the table.
Severus' eyes gleamed. "One of your own spells?"
She lifted her shoulders, ready for whatever derision he decided to spill over her. "Yes."
"Patented?"
Hermione couldn't stop the frown. "No…"
"Good, then Weasley will make nothing on it. I advise you, Madam Snape, to patent your work." He smirked around his mug. "I do so…appreciate a wife who can support herself."
"Git."
But her lips quivered and she fought back a smile.
"So…" Severus put down his mug and pushed himself out of his chair. He offered his hand. "Shall we?"
A swirl of pixies took flight in her belly and she willed herself up, to take his hand and to breathe. Just breathe. Magic danced over their fingers, a warm rush that filled the air with the scent of fresh herbs. As unbelievable as it was, and Hermione had lived through too many completely unbelievable things, what was happening between them was right. Favoured by magic itself.
"Yes, I believe we shall."
"Mione, where have you been? You've been gone a fortnight!"
Ron staggered towards her along the darkened hallway. Stinking and unshaven, his clothes creased and stained with food and stale beer, he was a sorry excuse for a wizard.
And so he should be. The Prophet had not been kind. To either of them. But Hermione found she couldn't give two stuffs about the vagaries of the wizarding world. Her new life had a decided spark to it…and that thought turned a sharp smile on her former husband.
Ron straightened and tugged at his quidditch jersey. A sneer lifted his lip. "Crawling back, are you? Escaped that bastard Snape? Do you know what I've suffered because you just…poof…vanished?" He snapped his fingers and a weak spark of magic brightened the shadows. "The names they called me in The Prophet? Me, Mione, me! A loafer. A brute. That I was a parasite. Living life off a false fame."
Hardly the worst names, but Ron was used to being adored.
It was time that others saw the man she'd spent the last eight years with.
"This is my house. All the contents are mine. This," she wagged a scroll at him, "is your eviction notice from the Ministry. Everything tied to you will be sent to the Burrow within the few minutes. I will allow you to leave under your own steam, if you're not gone, then you too will be sent to the Burrow."
Ron blinked. "Now wait just a minute, a Witch Auction gives me—"
Hermione tilted her head and smirked at him. "Everything?"
Oh, had he known exactly what he was doing when he grabbed that tossed galleon? Had that been his little plan, to rid himself of her but make himself all too comfortable with every knut and stick of furniture she worked to save and buy?
He jutted out his jaw. "Yes."
"Shame then that you announced the Auction with a lie." Hermione waved her wand and the glow of her pregnancy flared bright in the shadows.
Ron blinked. Twice.
She could be the adult and not smash the facts into his face about the…nature of her fortnight away from him. She could be…
But the shadow of her second husband was a warm darkness at her back, the hint of his touch against her spine. The memory of pleasure not even an hour past…
"I would like you to know that in the last fourteen days I've had more orgasms than the entire eight years in your bed."
Ron choked and Severus' soft huff of dark laughter wrapped warmth around her heart.
"You…? He…? That's…?" Ron wagged a shaking finger at her belly. "Impossible."
"I've found that very little is impossible where magic is concerned." She gave him a tight and snippy smile. "The clock is ticking, Ronald. Leave under your own power, or have magic rip you away. Your choice." She shrugged. "I don't care."
"But…but…"
All higher brain activity —what little of there there'd been in the last few years— had leaked out through his ears.
"I would like to thank you, Mr Weasley."
Severus stepped up behind her, a hot wall of hard body and power. His arm snaked around her waist and his large hand rested over her belly, fingers spread. Hermione sank back against him and there, she felt the easing of his frame, the pleasure of her against him.
No, she hadn't lied to Ron. Sex with Severus Snape. That had been a well kept secret and one she intended to keep very much to and for herself. Except with her very-much-ex-husband.
"Your greed and reckless idiocy has given me a gift. One I shall treasure." Severus pressed a kiss to her temple and the quick curve of a smile teased her skin. "And truly, the sex is quite…exceptional. How supple she is. How…utterly filthy. "
Strangled words escaped Ron and his eyes bulged.
Git. But had she not implied the exact same thing? Just with less…detail. Detail that had her pulse jumping and a flash of heat chasing through flesh she'd thought sated.
"Tick tock." Hermione wagged her finger.
"Now see here, you just can't take—"
A swirl of magic twisted and bulged around her former husband, flowing streams of parchment and Ron's hideously orange Cannons memorabilia chasing into the growing bulge of white magic. His rants and screams churned through the sudden roar of magic and the blow back of power whipped at Hermione's hair, flattening her robes to her frame.
But Severus' hand was sure over her belly, the pulse of his protecting magic, the raw strength of him keeping her safe.
In another heartbeat, Ron was gone.
The passage was silent, shadowy and blissfully former-husband free.
Hermione sagged, the relief of the last step of removing Ronald Weasley from her life done and over with. Everything Weasley was no longer her concern.
"Set you wards, my witch, and we can return at our leisure."
Hermione flicked her wand, magic chasing through mortar, brick, glass and tile, wrapping the building from foundation to chimney pots. The work of a moment...and her wand arm fell. "I should let this place go, Severus." She stared over the familiar walls, seeing the shadows left by her parents' photographs and paintings stowed in the attic as their…muggle nature irked Ron. Everything about her lost parents had picked at him. As if he wanted no reminder that muggles could be clever and successful without a drop of magic. "It hasn't been my home, anyone's home for a very long time."
"There's no rush, Hermione." His lips brushed her temple. "It's yours. It's safe now."
She pulled his hand to her mouth and teased a light kiss across his scarred knuckles. "I'm safe."
Severus' chest lifted, the drawn breath of a moment, and his fingers flexed over her belly. He still wasn't used to her utter trust in him
So, of course, then he had to be a git.
"Shall we sex-scour the house?"
Laughter burst from her and she stared up at her husband. "Sex-scour?"
He gave a slow lift of his shoulders but there was a burning wickedness in his dark eyes. "Exceptional sex creates a magical…cleansing that lifts the aura—
"Bollocks!"
Severus' lips twitched. "I will have you know that it's your own friend that cited proof of sex-scouring…"
She groaned. "Luna..."
"Indeed, Miss Lovegood."
Hermione let out a long breath. "I would rather lift the aura of your home, Severus."
"Our home."
The single word caught and wrapped itself around her heart. Our. It had been so long. Too long. She pressed her forehead to his chest and breathed him in. The hints of wool, parchment and green herbs eased into her. Who would have said only a fortnight ago that Severus Snape was the perfect wizard for her…and that magic would gift him to her? Her thoughts pulled to the new life safe in her belly. Gift them both.
"Let's go home, Severus."
"As you wish."
And with a quiet crack, they were gone.
The Daily Prophet
Births
To Masters Severus and Hermione Snape, a daughter, Vanya.