Disclaimer: The characters, settings, etc. of the Harry Potter series are not mine. I just play with them.
The Grand Statement
On the 20th day of May, two days before the five year anniversary the fall of the second Dark Lord and approximately sixty years before the rise of the third, Mr. Severus Snape, former Potions Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, recipient of an Order of Merlin of the second class, published author, and accomplished researcher, made what the Daily Prophet headlined as The Grand Statement.
Severus Snape, as he told Prophet reporters and those who'd gathered to hear him speak just outside his Tuscan villa, was calling upon the recently inducted and very young Minister of Magic, Harry Potter, to repay a life debt owed to him, in full, within forty eight hours of his statement.
For a wizard to demand a life debt to be paid in a specific manner was rare enough to generate press coverage, it was, however, not completely unheard of. The life debt that existed between Snape and the Minister had become something of a legend since the end of the war. There were a number of tall tales detailing the events of the eve of the final battle that had resulted in Harry Potter becoming indebted in the most binding way possible to the hated Potions Master of Hogwarts, but only the two men ever knew the exact particulars of what had occurred.
Mr. Snape finished his statement that morning in May by proclaiming that he would accept payment of this debt in only one form; specifically, Snape wanted Minister Potter to break his engagement with his fiancée, the bookworm and former Gryffindor know-it-all, Hermione Granger.
As the Prophet reported in its evening edition, Minister Potter responded to Mr. Snape's Grand Statement with only two questions. Firstly, the Minister wanted to know what would happen if he failed to pay his debt? Secondly, the Minister was curious (as was, to be quite honest, the rest of the wizarding world) as to why Snape was so keen on Granger.
Mr. Snape replied that if the Minister failed to pay him in the way he had specified, it would cost him, as it usually did when one failed to pay a life debt as asked, his life. As for why he was so interested in Miss Granger, Snape would not comment. He cited that it was a rather personal matter, the details of which would be made known exclusively to Miss Granger as soon as Potter handed her over.
The Minister's response was to ask if Snape actually intended to make Miss Granger his own.
Snape replied that of course this was his intention. Why would he have even bothered if it were not?
Hermione Granger had agreed to marry the Minister of Magic for a few reasons, all of which she thought of as highly rational.
Point one, with Ron dead, Neville married, Dean Thomas living as a muggle, and Seamus Finnigan quite homosexual, she'd thought her options were rather limited.
Point two, Harry had asked just months before her twenty-seventh birthday. She was practically a spinster; desperate times, it was often said, called for equally desperate measures.
Point three, Harry had just been made Minister of Magic. As such, he needed a wife. It was a status thing and it was giving into a rather sexist ideal of a powerful man needing a wife to stand behind him, but Hermione cared too much about her friend to allow him to live as The Bachelor Minister.
Point four, Harry had asked. This was much more than she could say for anybody else.
Following the established mode of his predecessor, Arthur Weasley, Minister Potter kept a counseling cabinet which he would consult for guidance in times of trouble.
This was one of those times.
"He can't be serious about this," Minister Potter said as he flopped into the leather chair at the head of his conference table. "What would Snape want with Hermione?"
Councilmen Gregg cleared his throat gently. "Apparently, sir, he intends to make her his own. If you recall, you asked him that question yourself."
"Yes, Gregg, I know," the minister snapped, frowning at the councilman. "But, I don't trust him. Furthermore, I don't believe him."
Councilman Percy Weasley leaned forward in his chair; it squeaked forebodingly under the great weight that was being shifted about. "You must do as he says, Minister. It's the nature of a life debt. If you refuse his terms, you will die."
"Suddenly and painfully, too," Coucilman Longbottom added. "I knew a bloke who died as a result of failing to pay a life debt. It was awful, Harry. You'd be best to just give her to him."
Minister Potter leaned back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at his councilmen as he tapped the end of his quill against the tabletop, spattering ink all over the surface. "We'll convene the Wizengamot," he declared after a moment. "We'll let them come to a final decision regarding the matter."
Sitting between Severus Snape and Harry Potter on a bench before the Wizengamot was not how Hermione had planned on spending her Sunday evening. In fact, just that morning she'd purchased a new novel and a pint of ice cream, and both were sitting alone in her flat, positively begging to be devoured.
But the poor little things would just have to wait because her fiancé, the Minister of bloody Magic, had an emergency that required her assistance.
Assistance which apparently consisted of sitting on an uncomfortable bench between her former Potions Professor and the man she was going to marry in two weeks' time.
"You'll have heard about The Grand Statement?" one of the Wizengamot questioned, peering over his spectacles at her.
"Erm," said Hermione, glancing quickly at Harry, "no, sir. I haven't."
"I see," the old wizard replied. "Well, to put it simply, it seems that Mr. Snape has demanded that the Minister of Magic repay a life debt owed to him within forty-eight hours, and the only form of payment Mr. Snape will accept is, in fact, you."
Hermione could not stop her mouth from falling open. She knew it was quite foolish, to sit there looking like a fish, but she honestly couldn't stop the reaction. "Professor Snape wants me? In what capacity, exactly?"
"He said," Harry began from her side, "that he intends to make you his own. Whatever that means."
"It means," Snape interjected, his tone cold, as he looked over Hermione's head at Harry, "that he wants her as a companion and, later, as a wife."
"Er, yes," said the wizard sitting before the three acquaintances, redirecting everyone's attention to him. "But the Minister does not believe Mr. Snape is entitled to you, Ms. Granger."
Hermione felt her brow furrow as she gave this matter a bit of thought. "But the terms of a life debt entail that Harry make the payment in the manner and period of time Professor Snape demands or die."
"Yes," the elderly wizard said. "This is quite true, Ms. Granger. And this is why the Minister has convened the Wizengamot to consider the matter. He seems to think it altogether unfair that he be forced to choose between the woman he loves and death."
"The romantic answer," Snape drawled from beside her, "would of course be that he'd rather die than part with the woman he loves."
"That's it, then!" Harry suddenly exclaimed from her other side. "You're doing this to kill me!"
Snape sneered. "Logical though it may seem, Potter, that is not my motivation."
"Then what is, Professor?" Hermione asked.
Snape turned his gaze away from Harry to focus on her. She watched his mouth settle into a hard, grim line as he contemplated her face for a few moments. Finally, he spoke. "I will tell you the specifics in due time, Miss Granger. For now, know that I have no interest in causing Potter harm. I simply demand you because you are what I want."
If fighting alongside him in the war and working with him for the Order hadn't given Hermione reason to trust him implicitly, she probably would have scoffed at his words. As it was, she was fairly tempted to believe him.
"This isn't fair!" Harry suddenly exclaimed. Turning, Hermione could see that he was staring up at the Wizengamot, his expression quite pathetic. "Hermione is mine. I asked her to marry me and she agreed which makes her mine. Snape can't just take her from me!"
Hermione frowned. She wasn't a doll that Minister Potter, petulant child that he appeared to be, could simply claim and own. She was a woman, a human, and she had a mind of her own, even if she was currently being treated like a commodity which one might barter. "Yes," she said quietly, "Snape can."
She heard Snape snort amusedly, but kept her eyes riveted on her fiancé. His mouth opened and closed soundlessly at least three times before he was finally able speak. "But 'Mione," he whined, and oh goodness, she had never been more embarrassed by Harry than she was at that moment. "We're supposed to get married."
"Yes," she said tersely, "I happened to realize that, Harry. But obviously that can't happen now."
"But 'Mione," Harry whined again. "You're supposed to be my wife."
Hermione sighed, shrugged her shoulders, and gave her former future husband a look that she hoped conveyed her resignation to the apparent hopelessness of their situation. Snape was to have her, and it was probably best that they recognize that there was little they could do about the matter.
After a few moments of silence from the Minister, his fiancée, and the Wizengamot, Hermione heard Snape clear his throat. All eyes, including her own, turned toward him instantly, and Hermione was quite surprised to find him staring at her rather intently.
"I'm willing to compromise," Snape stated softly. His eyes remained on her.
"Yes?" the old wizard of the Wizengamot said as he leant forward slightly in his seat and pushed the spectacles that had slipped downward on his nose back into place.
"If Miss Granger agrees to spend a period of twenty-four hours in my company, from seven o'clock tomorrow morning until seven o'clock of Tuesday morning, the she may decide as to whom she would rather marry," Snape said, his tone soft, but his words as distinct as if he'd shouted them. "Should she choose to marry Potter, I will still hold the life debt fulfilled." He paused and turned his attention to the Wizengamot. "Her happiness," he said emotionlessly, "is worth far more than Potter's life will ever be."
"Now see here" Harry exclaimed again, but was silenced by the old wizard.
"Shush, Minister," the elderly man said, peering over his glasses at Hermione. "What do you think of this arrangement, Ms. Granger?"
Hermione frowned. "It's quite reasonable."
"Then do you consent?" the old wizard asked.
Hermione nodded.
"Well, that's settled then!" the old wizard said, smiling as he sat back and looked at his fellow, and apparently mute, Wizengamot members.
Snape cleared his throat once more, returning the attention of those gathered back to him. "I will collect you at your home at seven, Miss Granger," he said quietly. And then, quite suddenly, he turned on his heel and left the room in a flurry of black robes.
Obtaining a copy of The Daily Prophet containing a detailed transcript of Mr. Severus Snape's Grand Statement had been easy enough. Getting through it, Hermione found, had been a bit more difficult, for it intermittently left her feeling distractingly flattered, light headed, and indignant. And when she was finished, she thought she needed nothing more than a rather large glass of wine and at least a good hour of time to sit on her couch to stare at her walls and ponder this mess.
However, Harry had come back with her from the Wizengamot hearing and had insisted on staying with her while she packed for her holiday to Tuscany where, she'd gathered from the article detailing Snape's statement, her former professor made his home.
Hermione had never been to Tuscany in May. Accordingly, she was forced to spend a very long time contemplating the contents of her closet while the Minister of Magic sat on her bed with her cat.
"I just don't get it," Harry said, quite forlornly, as she plucked some of her more basic pieces from their hangers. She figured she could always transfigure to adjust them if the need presented itself.
"What's to get?" Hermione asked as she threw the items on the bed next to Harry, Crookshanks, and her bag. "Snape," she said as she picked up a black skirt and began rolling it into a neat bundle, "has decided, for reasons unknown, that he wants me as his companion and wife. Though, I personally wonder what he intends to do with me."
Harry snorted. "Oh, the usual, I imagine."
Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes. "Shut up, Harry. Snape's not like that. And anyway, he wouldn't take me all the way to Italy to just do it. Nor would he demand that we not marry if that was all he wanted."
Harry shrugged as he picked a piece of lint off of her blankets. "But, he wants to marry you, 'Mione. That's what married people do, you know."
She sighed once more, but did not notice the way her shoulders slumped slightly. "Yes, I suppose they do. On occasion."
"Would you?" Harry asked, looking up at her earnestly.
"Would I, what?" she replied, feeling, as she picked up a pair of khaki trousers to fold, slightly scandalized that he might be asking if she'd shag Snape.
"Marry the greasy old git?" he said.
"Harry!" she exclaimed. "Professor Snape is a war hero and a very respectable man. I know he wasn't the nicest to us when we were children, but you should give him the respect he deserves."
It was Harry's turn to sigh as he tore his eyes away from his fiancée and flopped onto his back on her bed. "I knew it." He made a scoffing noise deep in his throat. "To think I'd lose my best friend to Severus Snape of all people."
"What are you talking about!" Hermione said as she picked up her favorite blouse and began to jerkily compress it. "I'm not going to choose Snape over you!"
Harry turned his head so that his gaze fell upon her instead of the ceiling. "Do you remember seventh year, Hermione?" he asked quietly.
"Yes," she said, softly, and did not meet his gaze with her own.
"Do you remember who you fancied yourself in love with in seventh year, Hermione?"
"Fancy is the key word there, Potter," she replied. "I was a child. It was a ridiculous school girl whim that had absolutely no basis in reality."
Harry snorted. It was quite unbecoming. "Maybe it had more basis in reality than you thought."
"Harry!" she exclaimed. "Honestly! Don't be so stupid."
"Don't be stupid?" Harry echoed, a grin forming on his face. "Is that the best response you can come up with?"
"At the moment, yes," Hermione snapped. "I'm under a bit of duress, you know."
Harry shook his head and clucked his tongue solemnly. "If you do choose him," he said as he turned his gaze back to the ceiling above them, "do me a favor and just kind of disappear. It would be embarrassing for the Minister of Magic to lose his fiancée to a former Death Eater."
Hermione shook her head as she began folding up the undergarments she was bringing. "Thanks for making me your priority, Minister Potter."
"Anytime, my dear," the minister sighed.
Severus Snape was late. At precisely one minute after seven, Hermione's former Potions Professor and war comrade stepped through her fireplace and into her living room, looking as if he had done it thousands of times before.
Stepping into her flat, that was, not flooing. She was quite certain he had, in fact, flooed thousands of times before.
"Er," she said, when the imposing and black clothed figure turned his eyes upon her, "Good morning, sir."
"Good morning," he replied, his tone was cold and he sounded as if he wasn't at all pleased to see her. "And please, Miss Granger, it would bring me a great deal of joy if you would refrain from calling me 'sir' or 'professor' in our time together."
Hermione's brow furrowed. "Then what shall I call you?"
He watched her, expressionlessly, for a moment as he seemed to contemplate her question. "Calling me by my surname would do, I suppose."
Hermione nodded. "Fine then…Snape. You can call me by my first name, if you like."
He frowned, shaking his head. "Miss Granger will do for now."
"Okay," she replied, offering him the best half smile she could muster. "Well," Hermione said, as she grabbed up her bag from the floor and strode towards where he stood beside her fireplace. "I'm ready to be off."
Snape smirked as he eyed her bag. "Do you really suppose you'll need all that clothing, Miss Granger?"
Hermione shrugged as she glanced down at the quite obviously over-stuffed overnight bag. "I, erm, well, I've never been to Tuscany in May, so I wasn't quite sure what I'd need. Actually, I've never been to Tuscany at all, let alone May, so I have no idea, really, what one might wear. In Tuscany."
The smirk twisted slightly until it almost resembled the very smallest of smiles. "Tuscany," he repeated, and she noted that, for some reason, it sounded much better when he said it.
"Yes," Hermione replied, a bit breathlessly, and hated the flush that she felt spread across her cheeks.
"Did it ever occur to you, Miss Granger, that you might bring along one or two pieces of clothing and then transfigure them as needed to better suit the climate of our destination?"
Hermione nodded. "Yes, sir," she began, lifting her bag slightly, "that was my plan for all of these."
"Once again," Snape said, "Please do not call me sir. Now, return quickly to your rooms, take out all but enough clothes to make up one outfit, and then scurry back. I only have a limited amount of time with you, and I intend to make the most of it."
Unsure as to why such a pronouncement would make her stomach flutter in the most pleasurable way, Hermione obediently turned quickly on her heel and fled the room.
Tuscany, in May, Hermione discovered approximately thirty-five minutes after Snape had first arrived in her London flat, was quite pleasant. It was at least ten degrees warmer there than it had been at home, the sun was shining brightly from its position over the hills that seemed to go on forever behind the building she assumed to be Snape's house. In short, the place was beautiful. Quite beautiful, to be precise.
"Well," Snape said brusquely as he stepped around her where she stood admiring the landscape. "Come along, Miss Granger. We don't have all of eternity, and I do want you to have some breakfast before I take you to the city."
"City?" Hermione asked, his commands drawing her attention from the landscape back to him. "Which city?" she said as she scurried to catch up with him.
"Firenze," he drawled, turning his head slightly in her direction. "There is some art I wish to show you."
"Art?" she echoed as she followed him through the front door into his home.
"It is unlikely," Snape began as he stepped aside to allow her to pass and to reach behind her to shut the door, "that I stuttered, Miss Granger."
Hermione shifted her bag from one hand to the other in an attempt to distract herself from the rather unsettling way he was staring at her. "What art, sir?"
He sighed. "Do not call me sir. And you will see 'what art' in due time, Miss Granger. Now leave your bag here and come have some breakfast."
Obediently, Hermione set her bag down on one side of the hallway and followed Snape. He led her through his front hall, his sitting room, down another slightly smaller hall, until they came to a door way which, to her surprise, did not lead to the small, dining room she was expecting, but outdoors to a large patio.
Snape directed her wordlessly to a chair at the table that stood in the middle of the terrace; Hermione seated herself and watched her host as he took up the chair beside hers.
It was odd, in her opinion, to see her professor juxtaposed against the green, rolling landscape that lay behind him. It was so free, so wide open, and so relaxed; it was greatly at odds with her dark, up-tight companion.
They sat in silence for a few moments until, quite suddenly, Snape cleared his throat loudly, and a small house-elf appeared beside the table.
"Ah," said Snape, "Good morning, Lance."
"Good morning, Master," the elf replied, bowing lowly.
"As you can see, I brought back the guest I spoke of. She and I will have breakfast now. And after we're served, you may go to the front hall, take her bag from there, and bring it to the rooms we arranged for her."
Hermione did not miss the way the elf cocked his head thoughtfully at this command. "The rooms, yes. Of course."
The elf disappeared seconds later after giving another low bow, and after just a few seconds more, large platters of fruit, cold cuts, and breads appeared before them as did two large mugs of, if her nose did not deceive her, coffee and two glasses of pumpkin juice.
Hermione, deciding that she was quite hungry after an evening too stressful to eat more than twelve biscuits for supper, dove right in and piled as much fruit and bread as she could onto her plate.
Snape snorted delicately beside her.
"What?" she asked as she popped a grape into her mouth.
"I had no idea you had such, ah, refined table manners, Miss Granger," he said, his tone full of amusement, as he lifted his coffee cup to his mouth and took a sip.
"Would you have asked me to come here even if you had known?" Hermione asked as she took a bite of her bread.
Snape's face became quite serious. "Yes."
Hermione gave him a small smile. "Then my table manners shouldn't bother you in the least, Snape."
He smirked as he took a slice of melon and a sliver of what looked to be, if her culinary instincts were to be trusted, proscuitto from their respective platters and set them on his plate. "You're right," he said.
She very nearly choked on her fourth grape. "I'm what?"
Snape raised an eyebrow as he cut of a piece of the melon he'd wrapped in the cold cut with his fork. "I said you were right. Your assessment was correct."
"You admit that I was right about something," Hermione said, staring at him with an expression, she knew, must look very full of awe.
"I do," Snape said as he lifted his fork to his mouth. He chewed slowly, swallowed, and then opened his mouth to speak. "Does is displease you?"
Hermione shook her head. "No, but it does disconcert me. Especially since I remember all of those terrible rows we had at Order meetings over my assessments."
Snape smirked before responding. "Remember, Miss Granger, that you do not know very much about me. I taught you once, and we worked together to fight the Dark Lord, but we do not know each other well. Believe me when I say that I had reasons for picking all of those fights with you."
"Is that why I'm here?" Hermione asked. "So that we can get to know each other?"
He nodded. "In part."
"What's the other part?" she asked as she pulled apart a piece of bread.
"Patience," he whispered in response as he lifted his coffee mug again.
And he said nothing more for the rest of breakfast.
Had it been anyone else, Hermione might have been slightly offended at being commanded to "freshen up" after her breakfast dishes were taken away, and the elves made it quite obvious that it was time for she and Snape to start their day. As she was dealing with Snape, however, she decided not to find his demands insulting and instead complied without hesitation or argument.
She followed the house elf that Snape had summoned, Lance, from the patio and into the house. The little elf silently led her through different rooms and hallways, up stairs and around corners, until they came to two large wooden doors that opened inwards to reveal what looked to be the master bedroom.
"Isn't this Snape's room?" Hermione questioned as she followed the elf into the room.
"Yes, Miss," Lance replied.
"But aren't you going to take me to my rooms so that I might get my things to freshen up?" Hermione asked, as she cast the elf a puzzled stare.
Lance looked equally perplexed. "Master tells Lance and the elves that the Miss will be staying in his rooms. Lance has brought the Miss's things to Master's rooms just as Lance was told. Lance is a good elf!" he concluded in a very defensive tone.
"Yes, yes, you're quite good," Hermione said dismissively. "But," she began again, "if I am staying in Snape's rooms where will he be sleeping?"
The elf looked at Hermione with an expression that seemed to convey that he thought her the oddest creature he'd ever come in contact with. "The Master will sleep in his library on his couch, just as he told the elves."
Lance left the rooms quickly, seeming to take the gaping and silence that followed this pronouncement as a dismissal.
Though she didn't quite understand why or how, none of the passers-by seemed to notice when she and Snape apparated into the middle of the crowded street in Florence. Hermione supposed that the number of people on the street may have had something to do with, but she was too busy being disconcerted by Snape and his behavior to give the matter much thought.
She pulled her hand free of his grasp as he grabbed onto it to lead her through the throngs of people toward the entrance to the museum. He glanced at her, his expression full of curiosity, but he made no comment on her action.
Snape, it seemed, had already purchased tickets for them, for he lead her straight to the entrance. It also seemed that he had a particular destination in mind as he stalked purposefully through the gallery, up stairs, stepping quickly around other visitors in order to bypass room after room of art that Hermione imagined she would very much enjoy viewing. Hermione barely had time to register the delicately and beautifully painted ceilings above her or the sculptures lining each side of the hallway in her effort to follow Snape closely.
"Where are we going?" she asked as she finally managed to catch up with him as he stalked down the hallway.
"The Botticelli Room," he replied, tersely, barely sparing her a glance.
"Oh," said Hermione, as she walked beside him and kept up the best she could. "You seem angry," she said after a few moments.
"You seem aloof," he replied, his tone remarkably conversational.
"Well," Hermione began, feeling slightly irked that he was treating her like this because she was treating him like she was though she had very good reasons because his kindness was highly suspicious, a bit too suspicious if you asked her and—
"Well?" Snape asked as he stopped suddenly and turned to look at her. "That is your response?"
"I didn't finish!" Hermione snapped.
"Then by all means," he drawled, "please do."
Hermione crossed her arms before her and glowered up at the man that stood before her. "You gave up your bed for me."
He didn't even blink. "Yes."
"Why are you being so nice to me?" she asked, "That sort of gesture is highly uncharacteristic of you. What do you really want from me? Money? Sex?"
"I didn't," Snape replied. "But if you are offering, I would not decline."
"I am not offering!" Hermione exclaimed, her cheeks flushing immediately.
"Ah," he said, smirking at her. "Then I do not want any of it."
She relaxed a little at this. "Then why are you being so kind to me?"
Snape stared down at her silently for a few moments before clearing his throat. "I am no fool, Miss Granger. By this time tomorrow you will have returned to London and will resume your role as the future Mrs. Harry Potter. I…" he began, breaking off to clear his throat once more. "I would just like to spend one day in your company that is at least somewhat pleasant. And I suppose that if it were to be pleasant, I would have to be, at the very least, somewhat agreeable."
"Oh," she replied.
"Well," he said, turning away from her abruptly. "Come along."
Hermione followed him into the room numbered ten. She followed him past the crowd of people gathered before a large painting on wall, through the room until they stood in front another painting before which another, if slightly smaller, crowd of people were gathered.
Snape said nothing as they stood there for a few moments, staring between the gaps in the group before them, at the painting. It was one that Hermione easily recognized, for it had always been one of her mother's favorites.
"Primavera?" Hermione whispered as the crowd began to disperse in clumps of two and three.
Snape grunted; she took it as an affirmative.
When there were only a couple of people left, he grabbed her by her upper arm, pulling her forwards, so that they could stand closer and get a better look.
"Oh," said Hermione once Snape had moved them to what she imagined he thought of as a satisfactory location. "Oh, it's so much lovelier in person."
He grunted again. "Look at the Graces," Snape commanded after a second or two of silence.
"They're lovely," Hermione sighed. "Look at their robes! Look how he managed to make them appear so light and soft!"
"She reminds me of you," he continued, seeming to ignore her words as he indicated one of the three girls in gauzy white robes who stood in the forefront with her back to her audience, holding the hands of her two companions.
"But you can't see her face," Hermione stated.
"Yes," Snape said. "I know."
"Then you can hardly know if I am like her," Hermione replied.
"True," he said, his voice rather quiet and almost contemplative, "I can hardly know her when all I can do is watch her from afar."
Hermione pursed her lips as she pulled her gaze away from the painting to look up at the man beside her. She saw, though she was not surprised at this point, that he was watching her intently.
"It's the hair, Miss Granger," he sneered after a few moments of silently staring at her. "Though hers is certainly a bit more controlled, it has the same coloring as yours and a bit of the same texture."
"It's far less frizzy, though," Hermione observed as she turned back to the painting.
"Maybe she lives in a humidity-free climate," Snape said.
Hermione gave a wistful sigh. "Then what a life she must lead."
She heard him snort gently. "Indeed."
She had never expected to go to a church with Severus Snape. Certainly not a Catholic church. But there she stood, nonetheless, having left the Uffizi after a good three hours of viewing works by Botticelli, Fra Angelico, and countless other masters of their craft. She had emerged from the gallery quite tired and very much prepared to return to his home for some lunch and a well deserved rest, but Snape had insisted they visit at least one more site before they returned.
She had found it impossible to tell the man no.
And as a result, she now stood beside him in a dark, cool corner of the cathedral of Florence. The interior of the church looked rather plain in comparison to the pictures she'd seen of other Italian churches, like St. Peter's, but the façade of the church was certainly something to be noted, as Snape had made sure she'd done before they ventured inside.
"Look at the colors," he'd commanded gently, watching her as she inspected the building's face. "It's as if they built it this way so that God might notice it more easily from above."
"It's beautiful," Hermione had agreed as he paused.
"Indeed," Snape had said, quietly, and though she didn't look, she had a feeling his eyes were still upon her.
It was a relief to get out of the heat as he led her inside the quiet and fairly crowded building. He'd taken her hand, though this time she let him, and directed her over to one of the far corners in which they could look out at the entire church.
They stood silently together, Snape still clasping her hand in his own, before Hermione finally decided to say something.
"This is lovely," she said softly. "The entire day has been lovely." She turned her head so that she might look at him and saw that he was, once again, watching her. "Thank you for this, Snape."
He cleared his throat. "I don't love you, Miss Granger," he said, quietly.
Hermione blinked. "All right," she said, and suddenly struck by the peculiarity of the situation, attempted to pull her hand from his grasp.
He held on tight. "But I believe I could, Miss Granger."
"Could what?" she asked, frowning as she tried, to no avail, to pull her hand away.
"Love you," he replied. "I believe in time that I could love you. If I had the opportunity to come to know you better, that is."
She forgot about her hand as she stared in disbelief at him. "You think you could fall in love with me?"
"Yes," he said, his tone even. "Quite easily."
"But you hate me!" Hermione protested. "You've hated me since I was a child."
"I never hated you," Snape said. "I was highly annoyed by you."
Hermione made a scoffing noise. "And you think you won't be now?"
"Oh, on the contrary," he replied, "I know I will."
The confusion she felt must have been evident on her face, for sneering, he continued. "For a great part of my life, Miss Granger, I was forced to be a spy. Now that this particular phase of my life has passed and I no longer have to teach those uncouth brats at Hogwarts, I find myself with a great deal of spare time."
"And?" she said, incredulously. "What do I have to do with that?"
"I'm getting to that," he snapped. "My life is boring. I need someone in it who will challenge me, who will annoy me, and who will keep me busy."
"You don't need someone for that," Hermione protested. "You need a hobby! Or a pet! A pet would work wonders, Snape. Why don't you get a dog or something? A parakeet?"
He smirked. "I'm afraid, Miss Granger, that all I want is you."
Hermione gave a rather delicate, "hmph," in response. "How long have you felt this way?" she asked a few seconds later.
"Too long," he replied.
"When I was a student?" Hermione asked.
"No," he said, "since some time after the war."
Hermione felt a sense of relief that he hadn't been harboring tender feelings for her since she was a first year. "I don't know that I am thing to counter your boredom, Snape."
He peered down at her for a few seconds of quiet before speaking. "I need someone who will, as I said before, challenge me. You, Miss Granger, are one of the most inquisitive, talkative, and tiresome people I have ever met. And for reasons I cannot explain, I find myself fascinated by you and contemplating you far more often than I should. And, to be honest, the only way I believe I can cure this distraction that you cause me to is to study you."
"Study me?" she echoed.
"Yes," he said, smirking. "Study you like the complex little brew that you are deserves to be studied."
She couldn't stop the smile that formed on her face. "And how is that, Professor?"
"Painstakingly," he said, "and for years and years."
She hoped he didn't notice the little shiver that crawled up her spine at his words.
"I think," he continued, "that we would be happy together. We would have an interesting relationship, and I promise that you will never feel bored nor unchallenged nor unappreciated. And, I think that you could come to love me, after a time."
Hermione, though once a Gryffindor, was not brave enough to tell him that at the moment she thought that he was right. Instead, she nodded quickly and said, "Perhaps."
He smirked at her. "Then I believe there is little more for me to say on the matter, Miss Granger. You know why I've brought you here, you know my motivations for demanding the life debt be paid this way, and now you must make your decision."
"Right now?" Hermione asked, her stomach clenching at the thought of having to make a life altering decision immediately without even having the opportunity to make, at the very least, a short pros and cons list.
"No," he sneered, "not right now. I can't imagine you'd be able to make a choice without doing at least six series of arithmantic equations."
"Hmph," Hermione said again.
"Come along, Miss Granger," Snape said, smirking and tugging on her hand as he walked towards the exit. "Let's go home."
While Hermione dined on Severus Snape's terrace, drinking a delicious brunello and eating gnocchi with a delectable cream sauce, the Minister Harry Potter, stumbled through her fireplace and into her flat.
The minister was in a condition he would have called slightly tipsy; his late best friend, Ron, would have called him smashed.
In his drunkenness, Harry had left Madam Rosmerta without paying her for her fine firewhiskey and flooed from Hogsmeade to his fiancée's apartment with the single desire to go home.
He staggered through her sitting room, through the doorway that led into her bedroom, and ignoring Crookshanks, who did little more than look up the man and blink as he came into the room, tumbled onto Hermione's bed.
And Harry, having inhaled the scent of the detergent she used on her bedding and nestling himself between the soft blankets she insisted on piling on top of her mattress, had little trouble falling asleep.
On the continent, in a foreign bed in a foreign bedroom, Hermione was having a bit of difficulty finding slumber.
She lay on her back, staring into the darkness and focusing on her breathing. She chose to occupy herself by counting the number of times she inhaled and exhaled. She did this particular exercise for a number of reasons. Firstly, if counting sheep was supposed to be relaxing and sleep inducing, why wouldn't counting breaths be equally as effective? Secondly, she wanted to avoid all thoughts of the man in whose bed she lay. Thirdly, she didn't want to think about tomorrow.
Tomorrow she would have to make a decision. A decision which, this time yesterday, had seemed so simple. Logic dictated that she should stay with Harry. He made her laugh; he was kind to her; he could provide for her.
But something kept reminding her of Snape, as if he were actually a viable option. Snape, it nagged, also amused her. He was also reasonably kind to her. He could certainly provide for her. In any case, Snape would do for her precisely what he seemed to desperately want for her to do for him: provide a challenge. Snape was an accomplished man, a master of his field, and a man of high intelligence. Accordingly, Hermione was quite certain he would provide for her an intellectual stimulation that Harry never would be able to.
Not that Harry wasn't interesting and engaging, it was just that she held a great deal more respect for someone who had mastered the art of Potions in comparison to one who had mastered the art of argumentum ad populum.
And what was more, what was much, much more, Snape said that he could love her. Not that she didn't think that Harry loved her. Oh, she knew that he did, but he didn't love her in the way Snape's quiet words had promised he would. Harry loved her as the best friend and pseudo-sister whose side he'd been glued to since he was eleven. Snape, it seemed, could potentially love her in a completely different way. A way, if she were to be quite honest, that was very enticing.
Hermione stopped breathing when one of the large, wooden doors opened, a shaft of light momentarily piercing the darkness, and someone stepped inside before closing the door behind him.
A figure moved toward the bed, and Hermione's eyes only needed to adjust slightly in order to make out the identity of the person, tall and dressed in a grey nightshirt, who had silently conjured a chair to rest beside the bed.
And who she saw seat himself in the chair, clasping his hands in his lap, and turning his gaze upon her.
"Why aren't you sleeping?" he said eventually, his voice soft.
Hermione cleared her throat. "Strange bed, strange room. That sort of thing."
"Ah," he said. "I understand."
"Why aren't you sleeping?" she replied.
"I couldn't let the last bit of my time with you go to waste," he replied solemnly, and Hermione felt something in her chest tighten at this pronouncement.
"Oh," she said.
Silence fell upon them after this. Hermione stared into the darkness that she knew hid the ceiling from her view. Snape, she imagined, stared at her, though she didn't look at him to confirm this.
After a period of time—minutes, she supposed, though they felt like hours—Snape cleared his throat. "Miss Granger," he began and paused to sigh. "Hermione," he ventured again, sounding almost hesitant. "May I…may I say something to you?"
Hermione gulped and hoped it wasn't audible. "All right."
"I want to thank you," he said, "for spending the day with me. It was very pleasant, and I could not have hoped for anything more. In fact, you've made me very happy."
Her chest tightened again. "You're welcome," she whispered.
Silence fell upon them once again as Hermione redirected her attention to the ceiling and Snape continued to keep his eyes upon her.
"Professor," she began minutes later, "Why on earth did you make a statement to the press about the life debt? Isn't that a bit gauche?"
"I thought," he began quietly, "that such an action might appeal to your Gryffindor sensibilities. It's certainly the sort of thing your Potter would do, is it not?"
Hermione giggle softly. "Probably."
The chair creaked suddenly with a shifting of weight and Hermione watched the dark figure rise. A swish of his wand and the chair disappeared as the figure headed back towards the door. "You may leave any time you wish, Miss Granger. It is not necessary that you stay until seven. Thank you, once again, for allowing me the happiness this day has given me."
The door opened; there was a stream of light, then darkness and the overwhelming recognition that Harry had never thanked her for such a thing as making him happy.
By coming to a final decision regarding her situation the night before, Hermione supposed she'd managed to find comfort enough that she was able to eventually drift off to sleep, for she was awoken just after seven the next morning by the sounds of someone moving about the room.
Opening her eyes, Hermione saw that it was not a person who was in fact shuffling about, but was, in fact, Lance the house elf who seemed quite intent on dusting every inch of the bedroom.
"Lance," she said groggily, "what are you doing?"
"It's five after seven, Miss," Lance replied as he moved his rag across the front of the mahogany wardrobe that stood in the corner of the rooms. "Master said Miss would be gone long before seven and that Lance might start on his dailies at seven. Lance saw Miss hadn't left, so Lance waited five minutes before he started his dailies, but Lance cannot wait anymore, Miss. He cannot."
"I understand, Lance," Hermione said as she sat up in the bed, feeling quite sad that Snape had been so sure she would have already left. "Where is your Master now?"
"On the terrace," Lance replied, not looking away from the wardrobe. "Having his coffee."
"Thank you, Lance," Hermione said as she pulled herself from the bed, threw on her dressing gown, and left the rooms so that the little elf might complete his dailies in peace.
He looked quite at ease sitting in his dressing gown at the table on the patio as he sipped from his coffee mug and read through a newspaper.
In fact, he looked so content and comfortable that Hermione felt a bit guilty for disturbing him. But she was determined and, accordingly, nothing was going to stop her from finishing what she'd left her bed to do.
Seating herself in the same chair she'd occupied the morning before, Hermione clasped her hands before her on the table, cleared her throat, and waited, patiently, for Snape to look at her.
Her patience was quite worth the momentary look of pure, unadulterated surprise that flitted across his features. "Good morning, Miss Granger," he said calmly after a moment.
"Good morning," she replied, "Severus."
His eyebrow rose at this, but he made no comment.
Hermione swallowed quickly and decided to press on before he concluded that he had something to say. "I have some conditions, you know, for this arrangement. I feel as I've had little say in this entire matter as it is, and I am going to make some of my needs and wants known now."
"Conditions?" he echoed as his other eyebrow rose as well.
"Yes," she said, trying to keep her tone as business-like as possible. "They're all quite rational."
He smirked. "Then please delineate them for me."
"First," she began, "I want you to tell me the very instant you fall in love with me. I will not have you skulking about this place for days, trying to figure out the perfect way to tell me that you have feelings for me and avoiding it because you're afraid I won't reciprocate or some such foolishness. I want you to take a very direct and, er, Gryffindor approach in that area because I do not want to play games with you."
The smirk twisted. "Fine. As long as you are prepared to do the same."
"Oh," Hermione said, "I am. In fact, I'd like you to know that I care about you, Severus, and have done so for quite some time."
He said nothing to this, but looked a little surprised as he nodded.
"Secondly," she went on, "Crookshanks will live with us. I love Crookshanks, and if you want this to work, you'll need to at least tolerate the things that I love."
"Fair enough," he replied.
"Thirdly, you will not breathe a word of my decision to the Daily Prophet people. It would look terrible for the Minister of Magic to be left by his fiancée for another man."
Snape's eyebrow went upwards once more. "So, what will you tell them, then?"
"The truth," Hermione said. "That I truly enjoy Tuscany and that I care too much about it to leave."
The solemn look on his face made her chest tighten just as it had the night before. "Is that so?"
"Yes," Hermione said softly.
"In that case," he said as he settled back in his seat. "We'll have to arrange for that cat of yours to be brought here along with all of your belongings."
"Yes," Hermione replied, "we will. But for now, could you arrange for me to get a cup of coffee? Oh, and maybe some of that melon you had yesterday. It looked delicious."
The sneer on Snape's face was a bit lovelier than anything Hermione had ever seen before. "Certainly, Miss Granger."
Notes: This story was inspired by the SH Spring Faire Festival challenge number two, I Want to Kiss the Bride. Rules, guidelines, etc. for this challenge can be found at the Sycophant Hex site.
As for the information I've twisted and bent to suit my needs… You can read about life debts at the Harry Potter Lexicon. Also, I've only ever been to Tuscany in early June; my descriptions of the weather and the scenery, however accurate or inaccurate, are based on this experience as well as some research. All of the sites described in Florence are as accurately portrayed as my memory and my research could render them.
I think that's about all. Thank you for reading!