Chapter Text
Every afternoon, Hermione Granger emerged from the shadowed corridors of the Department of Mysteries to go for lunch.
Today was no different. Like every day for the past three years, she passed this grand atrium of the Ministry of Magic — bronze figures frozen in a silent march, their faces etched with courage, their names engraved beneath. It was a demonstration of their bravery, which the world could never dare to forget, but it was also a daily reminder of what they had lost.
What had started as an agonizing sting had turned to numbness. Hermione herself had to admit how lucky she was. She was still alive. She was still here. Yet the wound in her heart hadn't healed one bit, and she no longer wished to face death again.
Three years had passed, but the memory of that day continued to grip her.
Hermione pulled herself away from her thoughts. At the Ministry's golden doors, she stepped into the busy street, magic glimmering in the air. She moved quickly through the lane and reached Le Petit Sortilège, a place around the corner where she could have a quiet meal.
"Hermione! Over here!" Ron's voice cut through the gentle murmur, while several other customers glared at him. He felt a bit embarrassed and apologized in a low voice. Harry had his usual warm smile, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose.
Both wore the dark robes of Auror trainees, silver badges pinned to their collars. Despite the faint traces of fatigue on their faces, there was energy in their eyes.
"What happened to your face?" she asked, eyeing the bruise on Ron's cheek. She looked at Harry, eyes widening, "What is going on with your hand?"
"Training," Ron said. "I will spare you the stressful details."
"This is getting ridiculous," Harry complained, rubbing his temples. "They've even assigned us reading homework. Pages and pages on defensive spell mechanics."
"You know," Ron brightened, "Hermione, you should join the training program with us. You'd be brilliant at it."
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "You’re on your own now."
Harry and Ron chuckled, tossing around a few silly jokes.
The familiar banter surrounded them as they ordered their food. For a moment, it felt just like their good old days at Hogwarts—Harry with his crooked grin, Ron’s face turning a bit red, and Hermione thinking, just for a second, that the world was simple and clear.
Some things, despite everything they’d been through, never changed.
Not long after, their food arrived. Ron, who usually dug in without a second thought, suddenly sat up straighter.
"Look," Ron whispered, leaning forward. "Look over there. Wait, don't be so obvious. Don't turn your head around."
Hermione hesitated but subtly followed his gaze.
At the far end of the restaurant, just by the window, stood a familiar figure. Severus Snape. He was with Draco Malfoy. They exchanged a few words, then both sat down.
He looked different. His face a bit fuller, the sharp angles softened slightly. He had put on a little bit of weight since the war, though his posture remained rigid, tense even in a quiet setting. His hair, once a greasy curtain, was now neatly combed, a faint sheen of grey streaking through the black. He spoke quietly to the server, his expression serious, but without the shadow of constant bitterness she remembered.
She supposed this was the difference now—Snape, once a feared and mistrusted figure, now awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class, and served as a respected member of the Wizengamot. They always said Slytherins had a way of finding power, and as Hermione looked at Snape, she found herself almost agreeing.
Harry leaned in, still staring at the distant figure. "He still scares the hell out of me."
"No shit," Ron muttered. "Did you know Snape’s going to give a lecture on Dark Arts for our training? Hasn’t even started yet, but he’s already assigned us like 500 pages of reading."
Hermione’s curiosity sparked. "What kind of reading?"
Ron shrugged, pushing his mashed potatoes around. "Well, if you want to read it, I can give it to you. Something about mid-century Dark Arts. How’s that supposed to help us, anyway?"
"Mid-century?" Hermione leaned forward. "Ron, Dark Arts were at their peak during the Middle Ages. That’s when most of the foundational curses, blood rituals, and forbidden enchantments were developed. Even Voldemort had a deep respect for that period. He collected books and scrolls from that era."
"Well, brilliant. That’s just what I needed." Ron grumbled, though he didn’t seem surprised.
Harry chuckled,"at least now we know he’s teaching. Better than running into him without warning."
"Mate, you're really not making me feel any better."
Harry stabbed a piece of grilled chicken with his fork, popped it into his mouth, and asked, "Do you think Snape also applied for the marriage law exemption?”
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That ridiculous law? Matching two complete strangers to live together for a year just to see if they could actually get married later? Honestly."
"I don’t know," Harry shrugged. "I thought it was sort of… romantic."
"You two better have filed for the exemption," Hermione said sternly.
"Of course we did," Harry and Ron said together.
Hermione seemed satisfied, but she glanced back at Snape, who was fully engaged in the conversation with Draco, now quietly sipping the white wine. "I doubt Snape would bother. But even if he didn’t , the magic wouldn't match him with anyone."
"Why not?" Harry asked. "I know we don’t like him, but that’s a bit… a bit mean, isn’t it?"
"I’m not being mean!" Hermione defended herself, her voice rising slightly. "The enchantment is designed to match two people who share similar interests and have a gentle, compatible feeling toward each other."
"So they kind of like each other, and the magic just… matches them?" Harry asked, frowning.
"The magic is quite sophisticated, like the Sorting Hat," Hermione explained. "It considers personality, interests, everything, including the history between these two people. But still! This whole law is a violation of free will!"
Ron swallowed his sandwich. "Maybe some dusty old book could match with Snape."
"Ron!" Hermione shot back, her brow furrowing.
Ron’s face reddened. "I’m just telling the truth! Look, I’m grateful for what he did for us, what he did during the war. No one denies that. But I’m just being honest."
"I wouldn't be surprised if girls are falling for Snape these days," Harry said. "He's become sort of a dark hero, hasn't he?"
"True," Ron admitted. "I've heard a few witches at the Ministry giggling about how 'brilliant and tragic' he is. But come on, who would Snape actually like? He's never dated anyone, I mean, at least after the war, has he? Otherwise it would be all over the newspaper. They care too much about him now."
"Why are you guys so obsessed with Snape’s love life?" Hermione huffed, crossing her arms. "Can we please talk about something else? Like how we should be pushing to get rid of that ridiculous marriage law?"
Ron grinned. "Well, it's more fun than talking about law reforms, isn’t it?"
Harry laughed. "Sorry, Hermione. But admit it, you’re curious too."
"I am not!" Hermione insisted, though a slight flush touched her cheeks. "I'm just more concerned about people's basic rights being violated. Okay, I will send you guys some of the legal research and the petition I wrote. Make sure you sign your name and ask anyone you know to sign it!"
In the following days, Hermione was completely immersed in her work. After the war, she joined the Ministry of Magic. There were many other options at the time, but she felt the Department of Mysteries was the most appealing to her, as they were conducting a major project to sort through and identify all the dark magic that Voldemort and the Death Eaters had been using.
The Aurors had found Voldemort's books and mysterious dark magical objects that no one could quite explain. Part of her job was to analyze these items, and to her surprise—which should not have been surprising at all—Voldemort was rather well-read.
She could see why people would be attracted to Voldemort. The horrible future he tried to build, to some extent, had its charm, because it was a promise to live a life without restraint: a life of forbidden knowledge, a life of power, of glory, and of great ambition.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock.
"Come in," she said, looking up from her notes.
The secretary stepped in, a folded parchment in hand. "This just arrived for you, Ms Granger. Marked confidential."
Hermione took the envelope, frowning slightly at the unfamiliar seal on the back. As the door clicked shut behind the secretary, she turned the letter over in her hands. The wax was a deep green, stamped not with the Ministry’s emblem.
She opened the letter—then drew in a sharp breath.
Ministry of Magic
Office of Magical Family and Social Welfare
Dear Ms Granger,
We are writing to inform you that, under Clause 3 of the Marriage Cohabitation and Compatibility Act (commonly referred to as the “Marriage Law”), you have been matched with Mr Severus Snape.
As our records indicate that you did not file for exemption before the deadline, we trust that you will honor your civic duty and proceed in accordance with the conditions outlined below. Failure to comply will result in a fine of up to 5,000 Galleons and a term of 18 months in Azkaban, as stipulated in Section 6 of the Act.
The terms of the match are as follows:
(a) Both parties must reside in the same living quarters for a period of twelve (12) consecutive months.
(b) While encouraged to foster mutual respect and emotional connection, any romantic or physical engagement must remain fully consensual.
(c) At the end of the twelve-month period, both parties will have the option to either formalize the union or sign a release to part ways without penalty.
(d) The cohabitation period may be terminated prior to its full term if one party is assigned to a designated national service mission of significant importance or if verifiable evidence of physical or psychological harm is presented by either party to the appropriate authorities.
We thank you for your cooperation and trust that you will treat this matter with the seriousness and dignity it requires.
Yours sincerely,
Ms Elspeth Marchbanks
Senior Officer, Magical Family and Social Welfare Unit
Ministry of Magic
Hermione stared at the letter. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lowered the parchment onto her desk. For a long moment, she just sat there, trying to breathe.
This doesn’t make sense. She had filed for exemption. She knew she had. She remembered printing the form, signing it, sealing it in the correct envelope. She remembered planning to drop it off after her meeting at the Department of Magical Family and Social Welfare.
Her eyes widened.
“Oh no,” she breathed.
She shot up from her chair and moved quickly to the tall shelf behind her desk, rifling through folders, files, stacks of parchment—until her fingers brushed the familiar ivory envelope.
There it was. Still sealed, with her signature in tidy ink across the bottom. The official exemption form.
She closed her eyes, groaning softly.
The meeting that day—sixth floor, right outside the main office area. It had run long, dragged on with some ridiculous debate about wand safety protocols. By the time it ended, she’d been so distracted, so eager to get back to her reports, that she’d stuffed the letter into her bag and… forgotten.
It had sat there for days. Then weeks. Now—too late.
Hermione sank back into her chair, staring at the envelope like it had personally betrayed her.
"Oh Lord," she muttered. "Snape is gonna fucking kill me."