I found this, forgotten in my wips folder. I know I should be working on Ribboned Witch, but I have to write a lot of original-word-smexxy at the minute, and I don't want the crossover ;-)

So I offer this, only a little bit smutty one shot.

And if you squint at it sideways, it could be a prequel to The Wife of Severus Snape. Maybe. Perhaps...

Edited to add: Thank's for the Ginny/Harry catch. I keep unexpectedly Drarrying myself ;-)

"My second cousin works in the Department of Magical Births, Deaths and Marriages and she said, that her supervisor said that the law was practically passed. We'll see it in the New Year."

Hermione Granger looked up from her book and her eyes narrowed. The two Sixth Year boys sat a little further down the Gryffindor table, heads close together, but their voices were carrying.

What law? She subscribed to both editions of the execrable Prophet, the Quibbler and –for her sins— Witch Weekly. And when the owls felt like it, some of the Continental papers too. She liked to know things. Make plans. Be ready. The war –and winning it— had taught her that well.

"What law?" A Sixth Year girl, Helen Bright, leaned across the table and pushed aside a waterjug. "Alex, Philip? What law?"

"A marriage law." Alex frowned and caught his fingers in his hair. "What with," he flicked a quick, uneasy glance to the High Table and a watching, narrow-eyed Headmaster Snape, "You-Know-Who dead, and the huge loss of life to the wizarding world…" His shrug was tight. Uneasy. "The Ministry wants us tied down and, you know…" A faint hint of red touched his cheeks. "Babies."

The girl blinked. "I'm not even seventeen till August."

"Special dispensation under those conditions, my cousin said," Philip said with a shrug.

"Rubbish…"

Hermione only realised she'd growled the word when the three Sixth Years stared at her. The boys had blanched.

"As…as you say, Hermione," Alex muttered. He dragged at Philip's collar and pulled him away from the table.

Helen had a tight knuckle pressed to her lips. "It's not true is it? They wouldn't do that?"

Hermoine stopped herself from sighing. "Of course they wouldn't pass something as asinine as a Marriage Law. Alex and Philip made it up. It's stupid."

Helen had smiled at her, huffing a strained little laugh before her expression grew relieved and grateful. She'd happily gone back to her breakfast.

But…Hermione kept hearing the same thing, over and over. Different years, different Houses. The persistent worry about an impending marriage law. And it happened again at dinner. A gaggle of Seventh Year Ravenclaws girls she passed on the way to the Great Hall.

The repetition was gnawing away at her.

And if the worst did happen, who could she approach? Ron hadn't returned to Hogwarts to sit his accelerated NEWTs, taking –with Harry— Kingsley's offer of an Auror Apprenticeship. Not that she'd want to marry Ron. The very thought ran her blood cold.

One battle-fuelled kiss was all they'd shared. And she was glad of it. He'd hinted for more, then got huffy, then sulked when she refused. He'd been an…infatuation. Someone to latch onto because he was always…there. Making that permanent? She'd lived with him for a year –properly, with no escape, no respite— and that had been enough.

Oh no, there had been respite. He'd walked out on them. The Horcrux had exposed that weakness. When it came to it, Ronald Weasley broke when he was most needed. That, more than anything, had killed her interest in him.

Hermione had the suspicion his continued interest was a charade. Simply something his mulish nature refused to give up on. She huffed an annoyed breath. And she read The Prophet. Had seen the undoctored images. Ronald Weasley wasn't exactly…pining for her.

Yet…there was one wizard who made her pulse drum, her belly clench…

Her eyes darted to the High Table and caught the black, implacable gaze of Severus Snape. He lifted an imperious eyebrow. Heat burned in her face and she pulled her gaze away.

…but he was an impossible want.

She plopped down next to Ginny and started to pile her dinner plate with food.

"Only a few days for you?"

Hermione frowned at her friend, her mind still swirling over whom she could marry if the law fell.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Until you leave?"

"I'll be back in the New Year."

"Not as a student. You're Apprentice Granger then." Her friend smirked at her, but it faded. "What's wrong?"

"All I've heard today is talk of a marriage law."

Ginny laughed and poured pumpkin juice for herself and Hermione. "That. There's always talk of it. Especially in the upper years. It happened once," she frowned, "just after a plague, I think. Well they tried, Mum said." Ginny snorted. "Imagine telling an armed witch she had to marry, marry now, and produce babies? That ministry didn't last long."

Her friend leaned in and her voice dropped to a whisper. "Really I think it's a way to pull in gullible witches. 'Hey, we'll be tied down soon to other people. You'll probably get a withered old wizard. Let's shag.'."

Hermione sputtered a laugh. "Thank you for the offer Ginny, but no."

Ginny smirked, her brown eyes sparking. "Well, don't say I didn't ask…"

And they both burst out laughing.

Hermione gave the insane idea no further thought.

Until the panicked emergency Order meeting at Grimmauld Place. And Professor McGonagall's brusque revelation that the new Marriage Law was all too real…

Pandemonium broke out around the long table stuffed into the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place. Shouts, and fists thumping against the ancient wood, and the rattle and crash of plates, cups, glasses and cutlery.

Hermione simply sat. Frozen. Caught in the disbelief that it was true. And not a ploy by some young, spotty wizard to pull a naïve witch into his bed. Words rattled over her. How it would be different from the last attempt at enforcement. Brutally different. Broken wands. Banishment. Oblivating those who didn't comply and sending them out into the muggle world.

Which was insanity.

Forgetting that magic existed didn't kill the magic in their flesh and bones. Wild bursts of uncontrolled power could prove deadly. For those around the caster, as well as the poor witch or wizard at its heart...

Professor McGonagall threw down a report down on the table and Hermione leafed through it. Her stomach dropped. Why the hell had they fought a war when the Ministry was taking away every freedom? Because they were scared. Terrified.

Arithmancers, and the centaurs had confirmed it in the stars, stated that without intervention, magic would be gone from the British Isles within two generations. Her head swam and she let the heavy cover fall back into place. A stone sank in her belly. Duty. It was all down to doing her duty for her magical race.

Who would she want? Who would want her? She'd never been swamped with boys –men— interested in getting even as far as a chaste kiss. Again Ron didn't count.

Harry would formalise his commitment to Draco. At least magic would allow them to father a child between them. A wry smile twisted her mouth. Though she could never imagine Draco…waddling.

The other Weasleys were struck off. Married, in Romania, pompous or a pair that danced on her very last nerve. Maybe she should take Ginny up on her offer? There was Kingsley? Or Merlin forbid… …Sirius.

Her chest cramped. She refused to think of a certain dark wizard's name.

Hermione looked up from her whitened knuckles…and was surprised to catch the eye of the Headmaster. He leant against the long dresser, a figure of strange calm in the wild burst of shouting Order members. He lifted an eyebrow and the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Something sly. Almost wicked. And Hermione's heart beat for another reason other than panic and fear.

Was he…? She swallowed and wet her dried lips.

His darkly glittering gaze narrowed there, before sliding lazily up to meet her eyes again. The twitch of a smile deepened.

She had never thought he would want her.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, wanting to calm the wild, almost dizzying thud of her pulse. Oh, but she had most definitely thought of wanting him. In her Second Year, when he flattened Professor Lockhart. That long-legged stride. His almost impossible aura of power.

When he'd shown his Dark Mark to the Imbecile Fudge. Slughorn's party, where he was a delicious black sentinel. Effortlessly powerful compared to the boys surrounding him. As Headmaster, soon to be her employer as she took up the position of Charms Apprentice to Professor Flitwick, standing at the golden lectern, so imposingly tall and elegant.

Gods, she'd admired him for a long time. And then there was his intelligence, his hands and –Nimue preserve her— his voice. The hated snake hadn't robbed that beauty from him.

Hermione opened her eyes and found his sure gaze. Her heart squeezed. Magic-soaked madness or intending marriage to Severus Snape? She doubted few would see anything positive there. Too many would say they'd prefer the madness. But they were idiots. And no one had ever accused Hermione Granger of being that.

The brightest witch of her age twitched a smile and gave him a brief nod.

Something flashed in the blackness of his eyes. Satisfaction. Heat. Desire.

Her breath caught, the sudden flare in her flesh hot and almost overwhelming. The Headmaster glanced at the open doorway…and it was easy to slip out of the wild, gesticulating madness that surrounded her.

She stood in the deep shadow of the passage, her heart in her throat, willing none of the others to turn around, to question where she had gone as she waited. Waited…

Severus Snape eased into the shadows, the kitchen door shutting softly, quietly behind him. He closed the distance between them, till his wall of black wool, heavy with spiced herbs, enveloped her senses.

"You understood my meaning, Miss Granger?"

His voice was low and deep and lined with every sin. She shivered. "Yes, sir."

She started at the touch of a callused fingertip over her cheek. When he tilted her chin up, she forgot to breathe. "Severus." It was little more than a hot whisper and her mouth parted under his hot gaze. "Say it, Miss Granger."

She wet her lips again and his black eyes gleamed. "Severus."

He leaned in and his lips brushed her ear. A gasp broke from her, slipping into a whimper as he murmured, "Hermione…"

Her eyes slid shut, her flesh, her blood on fire with him. Gods, what was he doing to her? Oh, she knew what. But why? Why was he offering? Was she simply a convenience? Everyone knew, everyone, that his heart was buried with a dead woman.

"I have watched you these past weeks, Hermione."

His voice was low and soft, his breath stirring her skin, his scent and heat and power wrapping around her until she couldn't think, couldn't focus. Her hands pressed to the thick wool of his frockcoat, that reality, the bite of his infamous buttons into her palms, giving her back some sanity…but the feel of him. Hard, firm under her touch. "Severus…"

"Watched and waited. Whilst you were my student, I had no plan to approach you. But in the New Year, you were to become an apprentice. And in that moment, I would have you. Pull you back into a shadowy alcove and ravish you."

Hermione's breath hitched and the coiling tension in her belly twisted. Hard. "Why?"

It was the only word that escaped her. Why would he want her? The bushy-haired know-it-all. No one saw her as a woman, save Ron Weasley. Didn't spare her a second glance if she wasn't primped and slicked with magic and potions.

"You are brilliant. Ambitious. Passionate." He paused and his breath teased her skin. "Carnal."

Gods, was that how he saw her? She wanted to be that woman. But the last one. Her innate honesty kicked in. She swallowed. "Not, not carnal. I haven't…I"ve never…" She pressed her lips together, hating her cowardice. "I'm a virgin."

Severus growled. Actually growled and a delicious shiver rippled down to her toes. He eased back and his hot, dark eyes fixed on her. His thumb teased across her lip. "Krum? Weasley?"

"Viktor is gay. I was his unsuspecting, underage beard."

That drew a sharp smirk from him.

"And Ron? One unedifying kiss."

Severus closed his eyes and a deep breath lifted his chest. His gaze found her again and that shine of satisfaction was back. "Will you marry me before this law is enacted? So that we can kiss and bite and fuck without any fear of following its insane ruling?"

Hermione blinked. She pressed her lips together as something in her heart shrank. For all his saying that she was brilliant and passionate, he, just like any other wizard with a witch, simply wanted to get into her knickers. "Just for that?"

"We are powerful. Together," a rare smile touched his mouth, "gods, we would be unstoppable. But more than that," he cupped her face in his large, warm hands and the softest kiss brushed her lips, "there would be pleasure and companionship, heated arguments, making up with a wild fuck across my desk…and the quiet moments."

Severus' gaze held her and she sank into its blackness. "Of sharing a book, of catching your eye across the breakfast table. Of spooning my body around yours in the bleak depths of a Scottish winter. Holding you close." A touch of a smile lifted his mouth and his gaze softened. His smooth, rich voice was little more than a whisper. "Of one day, pressing my hand to the rising swell of your belly and knowing our child nestled safely within."

Hermione pressed her lips together to deny the burn of tears threatening to break free. It all sounded…wonderful. Gods, how long had she ached for this wizard to say something exactly like that?

She licked her lips. "Yes." Hermione jerked a nod. "Yes, I want that. I…I will marry you, Severus."

He grinned at her. A proper big grin that shone in his eyes and made her belly swoop. Within a heartbeat, he was slipping a deeply red garnet and silver ring onto her finger.

His smile dimmed and that wicked flare was back. His sinful voice dropped to a dark rumble. "I have you now, Miss Granger…"

Severus' large hand cupped her jaw and his mouth dipped to hers in a warm brush, slow and sure. And back again with the hot tease of his tongue. Hermione opened her mouth under him, cautious, but wanting.

It wasn't the wild kiss she'd shared with Ron, but slow, so deliciously slow, a taste, a lick, the nibble of his teeth on her bottom lip, the flick of his tongue against hers. And every considered action swirled and dizzied her thoughts, sliding heat through her flesh to pool and deepen between her thighs.

Gods, who knew Severus Snape could kiss?

Her fingers fisted in the thick wool of his frockcoat and she pressed herself against his long body. He was firm, solid beneath her touch… He groaned and a long arm wrapped around her, set low on her spine, urging her closer—

She gasped at the hard line of his erection that dug into her belly. It fired fresh want through her flesh and she clutched at him, Severus deepening the kiss. Lifting her, pinning her to the wall, his hands on her arse, her legs wrapping around his waist.

Clothes. Too many clothes. She wanted skin. Hot. Hard. Taking her. Consuming her.

"Gods, Severus…"

"A bed would seal our agreement." It was a hot whisper against the shell of her ear and she shivered. "Let me taste every inch of you, my sweet girl."

The endearment caught her breath. "If we…" His dark gaze held her and her face grew warm. She cursed her inexperience. "Then we're married?"

"A basic, wizarding contract between two magical beings. Our word is our oath. Our bond."

She drew a line along his jaw, the prickle of an incipient beard under her fingertips. She would have him all to herself. Her own. Her husband. And the doubt swarmed again. Of her being a convenience. An inexperienced girl with whom he could play. That he wouldn't care…

"It is not love, Hermione."

And she bit back a pained whimper at those bleak words.

"Look at me, witch."

Hermione screwed down her courage and met his black gaze. His face was impassive, but his eyes had narrowed and something heated burned there.

"It is not love…yet. I believe… I hope that one day..."

His mouth twitched up at the corner and the thought hit her that he was just as nervous of her reaction to him. That they were throwing in their lot together on the strength of a shared passion.

Yet they were so alike. Bookish. Antisocial. Bossy. Independent. Passionate. Gods, was he passionate.

"I don't doubt we'll fight, Severus. But I want this. I want you. And if you feel the same way…it will work between us." She looked to his lips, plumped from her kisses and drew in a breath. Time to share the secret she'd carried with her for months. Possibly years. "And, truthfully, I'm already half in love with you."

Severus blinked. And with low growl and Hermione's laughing squeal, he disapparated both of them away to his usual bedroom on the first floor of 12 Grimmauld Place.

As the Order members wrote out lists of their members and Neville proposed to Ginny across the table over the mashed remains of a shepherd's pie…Ron frowned.

He stared up at ceiling. A thick wave of dust motes dropped through the light of the candles. Disturbed. Shaken loose. Sirius really should get the plumbing of the foul old house sorted. Should it be squeaking and growling and moaning like that?

"You finally snapping Hermione up then, Ron?" Fred smirked at him as he snapped off his patronus –a ragged-looking skunk— to one of the Delacour cousins, Genevieve. "The poor girl's waited long enough for you. I wouldn't hang about."

Ron sneered at him. "Of course she waited. We're perfect for…"

His frown deepened. Where was Hermione, anyway? She'd been sitting about three people down from him. Opposite… Where was the Greasy Git?

Ron's gaze shot to the ceiling and his stomach turned over. The four helpings of shepherd's pie soured in his gut.

No. No.

He closed his eyes as his insides rolled and his ears buzzed. She was up in his room, right now, and that greasy bastard was… Ron pressed a hand to his mouth. Mental. She was completely mental. Running of to…to when she could've had him.

Fine. Let her have the Great Bat and let everyone else pity their kids. Merlin, they'd look like Snape. Poor blighters. She was giving up some fine, Weasley blood for a monstrous, hook-nosed greasy-haired…inferi.

Another cloud of dust broke free of the ceiling and there was a distinct crack. Shit, that sounded like a bed breaking… More than one of the Order members now looked up, frowning.

Ron's jaw tightened. Well, totally her loss.

His eyes narrowed on Fred. And he tried to remember if Genevieve had any sisters.

Let me know what you think! :)