A/N: This was written for the Autumn 2011 SS/HG exchange as a community gift. My most humble thanks to ofankoma who betaed it for me with incredible dedication and finesse.

Hermione's Rectification

*REC*

A-hem.

Well, knowing me, nobody will be surprised to hear that I have to put forth a lengthy premise before getting to the point. I've always been one for having things explained in full and for clearly outlining a procedure in all its details. I think that having a question examined progressively (point 1, point 2, et cetera) is highly beneficial to understanding it, and understanding leads to finding solutions – if solutions are needed. In this case, no solution is necessary. None. I just aim at making you understand.

Of course, even those who don't know me personally are aware that I have been working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for three years now, and as prestigious and rewarding as it may sounds, at the core it is exactly what its name suggests. Law. And Law means codes, paragraphs, codicils, lists, regulations, norms, and more lists, lists, lists. Conditions after terms after clauses. This means a whole lot of knowledge that has to be compartmentalised in your brains in proper order, with categories and subcategories and the like. So, nobody will really wonder why I need to state my case from the start.

The first piece of evidence is this: I am attuned to unexpected events.

Remember that I am Muggle-born. I did not meet any other person with magical powers before I was almost twelve. I did not have magical friends during my childhood (if you grasp – a-hem – what I am implying here). Surely, when I was a child I knew I was extraordinary, but every only child that is born in a loving and providing family is convinced of his or her extraordinariness. I learnt how to read at two years and a half, and at four I was already browsing my parents' medical texts. At five, I won a maths contest over children that were twice or thrice my age. By seven, it was clear that I was a prodigy unlike any other. I could rearrange the toys in my room at will. I could make my beloved plastic Pegasus to fly across the room just by looking at it. Still, when Professor Flitwick arrived at my home in Salisbury to inform my parents and me that I was a witch and that I was admitted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it came as a surprise. I had performed it, but I had not truly believed in magic until then.

Professor Flitwick accompanied me to Diagon Alley so that I could buy textbooks and other materials for the next school year. Stepping into the Leaky Cauldron from Muggle London was, in truth, the first step into a new world. You can figure how everything surprised, excited, and scared me a little bit.

During that last summer before the start of term, I tried to read everything I could find about Hogwarts and the Wizarding world. I returned many times to Flourish and Blotts to collect some new books on the matter. I suppose it's superfluous to remind anyone that I read Hogwarts: A History well before setting my feet into the castle.

Well, knowing my record, I was sure I would be Sorted into Ravenclaw. Cleverness. Bookishness. Logic. You know. I thought those characteristics fitted me like a glove. Besides that, it was Professor Flitwick who had come to my house, so I took it as a clue. Imagine my surprise when the Sorting Hat, as soon at it was placed upon my head, bellowed, "GRYFFINDOR!"

So, in the arc of just two months, I received two big surprises: first, that I was a witch, and second, that my most salient feature was courage. Within another couple of months, there was another major surprise: I became friends with the famous Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter.

The awareness that I could be brave indeed, that I was a Gryffindor at heart, carried me on through all my years at Hogwarts. And they weren't as simple as you may think, even without considering the Dark Lord. (Oops. I said the Dark Lord. Eh eh. I meant Voldemort.)

Clause 1.1. I am attuned to learning something about myself I didn't expect before.

I was saying that knowing that I was a Gryffindor gave me the strength to behave as one. Being friends with Harry Potter meant that I had to be up to it. Finding myself in the very middle of a war asked things of me I had never believed I would do.

And this leads us to the second piece of evidence: I am not a saint.

I stole ingredients from Severus' cabinet so that Harry and Ron could get into Slytherin common room in disguise. I lied to teachers. Repeatedly. I brought Dolores Umbrige among a herd of Centaurs and I left her there. I Stunned. I Petrified. I hexed. I fiddled my parents' memories. I rigged the results of Ron's Quidditch selection. I sent angry canaries after him. I dumped him for good during Christmas holidays, and at the Burrow, to boot.

During the war, I fought. I sent people to hospital. I sent people to Azkaban. I admit that, just like everybody else, I didn't understand that there had been an agreement, extorted as it was, between Severus and Dumbledore. I profess that I misjudged him, that I was beside myself when I read on The Daily Prophet that he had been appointed Headmaster. To my neverending shame, I confess that, as he lay dying in the Shrieking Shack, I only Conjured a flask to store his memories (the memories thanks to which we won the final battle) instead of curing him on the spot. To my unceasing regret, I left the merit of saving his life to somebody else. Had I acted immediately, he would probably not suffer from chronic tracheitis. Yes, even today, you see. I continue to tell him that the dungeons are not healthy for him and that he should ask Minerva for another lodging, especially considering the changes ahead. But you know how stubborn he may be, and how attached to his habits. Just imagine that the other day, when I tried to tidy up his desk, or at least to make some room before –

But I digress.

I can see you, on the other side of this screen. You are yawning. You are already bored by my long preamble. 'Who cares,' you are mumbling. 'When does she get to the crux of the matter? I don't give a damn about all these pieces of evidence!'

Let's skip the rest, then, and go back to the first one. I am attuned to unexpected events. Therefore, why should I – and you – marvel when Professor Snape showed up in my office, two years ago, offering his help in the wording of the new law?

You all know how sensitive Professor Snape is, presently, on the matter of half-bloods and Muggle-borns especially. When he read all the fuss and the misconceptions The Daily Prophet was spreading around about the content of the reform, he came to the Ministry to check personally. He was directed to my office, and luckily I was on duty that day.

Just to refresh your memory, it was I who sponsored the health care reform, invoking equal right to health care for wizards and creatures alike, and equal financial and medical treatment for purebloods, half-bloods and Muggle-borns alike. Sorry if that bothered some of you out there. Next time you fill in a form for your mother-in-law's exemptions, you will thank us.

In any case, after the initial bout of yelling at my incompetence, Severus settled to read the actual text of the reform (as I wrote it, and not how The Daily Prophet reported it). When he finished, he made a few suggestions for improvement, and that's how our collaboration began. What is anomalous in that?

What is strange about the fact that, after spending two months consulting with him on the new law, submitting him every new draft my team and I produced, asking for his suggestions about both the theoretical and the practical scope of our reform, I started missing him when he was not there, thinking about him while I Flooed to the Ministry and back home, imagining me and him going for a stroll during off-duty hours?

You know how little it takes. A willing ear. A smile. A gentle mockery. The coincidence that it was springtime. I dare to presume that it's quite simple to understand, really.

And no, I was not replaying some old school crush on him. I never had a crush on Severus as a student. In his classroom, I only hoped he would recognise my skills as I thought they deserved. Yes, I wanted him to be impressed by me, just like all the other teachers were. To please him required more efforts than to please all the rest of the staff put together. And that was a challenge. Not a crush. Sorry. Though I admired him when he showed his Dark Mark to Fudge, oh if I didn't. Though I didn't miss his worried brow when he daily brought me potions after the battle at the Department of Mysteries. Though I didn't miss the shadow of despair that flashed through his eyes when he shoved Luna and me into his office that night.

All the while Harry was using his old copy of Advanced Potion-Making, I felt a rivalry with the student Severus had been. Of course, I didn't know it was Severus' book, so I don't think this counts in the present rebuttal. And after the battle of Hogwarts, well, we only exchanged a few civilities. A couple of visits to St. Mungo's. A couple of cards for Christmas and his birthday. You know that he returned to teaching only once I had already taken my N.E.W.T.s. In the following years, I met him only at official ceremonies and the like. Once, we found ourselves placed side by side at the table during an Anniversary dinner, and after a tentative beginning, we had an interesting conversation about Hogwarts nowadays and how his Defence course was going. But that was it, really. I might have wished for him to invite me to dance that evening, but he doesn't dance in public, you know.

Oh, and honestly, everybody was moved when Harry let him hold Albus Severus during his christening. I might have sobbed a little louder than anybody else, but that was only because Molly had momentarily left the building to lull Jamie to sleep.

So, it was not planned that I would fell in love with him, but let me repeat for the third time: I am attuned to unexpected events. Let me remind you that I was, only during my first two years at Hogwarts, almost killed by a Mountain Troll, turned into a semi-cat by a Polyjuice gone wrong, and Petrified by a basilisk. That gives a certain acquaintance with the unexpected to a young mind.

Therefore, which is the queer part of inviting Severus to the Tate Modern, where he had never been, and kissing him goodbye when we reached the Apparition point? Surely he was surprised, but you shouldn't be. A million kisses are shared every day in the world. A thousand new couples form every day in the two hundreds nations of the seven continents. A hundred thousand good memories are made each single day since the world started spinning, all the evil notwithstanding. Even the most wretched among you have their own little share of happiness. Why should you envy ours?

Maybe you think that Severus isn't lovable. Maybe you are fooled by his occasional bursts of temper and his snide remarks. Maybe you still begrudge him for his enterprise with the Dark Lord... Voldemort. Maybe you still blame him for dismissing Dumbledore.

You are all so blind, my dear audience.

Oh! And probably you even suppose that I can't love him because he's ugly! Oh! But... But really, how narrow the human mind can be. Three quarters of the world population are descended from ugly parents.

And you could never blame him more than he already blames himself. For everything.

I've heard that some people speak badly of us because of our age difference. Really, this is a curious case of Muggle prejudices applied by wizards to other wizards, as bizarre as the cases of misogynist women. If the life expectancy for Muggle Englishmen is of seventy-seven years, for English wizards is of one hundred and fifty-two. (Yes, I know: for Japanese wizards is of one hundred and fifty-eight. But what can I do about that?) This means that, for a wizard, middle age starts at seventy-six. Severus is forty-eight now, and was forty-six when we started going out together. Do you really believe he is old?

(Well, he does, but that shouldn't justify you. I feel old too, sometimes, and I'm 'only' twenty-eight. But I have a war on my shoulders, and Severus has two.)

As for the other false assumptions, they are all irrelevant:

a) No, he didn't use love potions on me. I wasn't cursed, brain-washed, Imperioed, or anything of the sort. There is no coercion at all in our relationship. No illegal magic was involved. It was I who seduc– er, who secured that he would notice my feelings.

b) No, we don't have to stay together to fulfill some kind of prophecy, to renew some old magic, to comply with Fate, et cetera. We stand together because we are happier like that.

c) I am not going to marry him for his money, or vice versa. Whoever came out with this hallucinated assumption? Do you know which were the incomes of Severus' family, or his salary under the old poof... Dumbledore?

d) Severus is never violent, does not use lewd language, is never physically aggressive with me in any way. How could you imagine that? He loves me. He respects me. He never took me against my will. Please. I'm disgusted even to say it. Do you realise what a bad impact such revolting insinuations have on his self-esteem? Please, stop it.

e) I have not saved him from alcoholism, drug addiction, depression, suicidal tendencies and the like. Really, do you believe that a spy can indulge in that?

f) He was not Cruciated by the Dark Lord on a regular basis. He was not physically abused as a child. Sure, there was friction between his parents, but neither of them was a monster. There are dissensions in every family that has to deal with long-time unemployment, economical need, and health issues.

g) As a Death Eater, Severus never raped or killed anyone. Yes, he plotted to attack and overthrow the Ministry with his squad, caused (victimless) explosions in Muggle neighbourhoods, and brewed doping potions for his fellow plotters; but he was never, as his father wasn't, a monster.

He is a good man. Not a perfect man, but a good man. He was able to recognise the errors of his youth and to amend them. I don't know many other people who have been able to do that. Yes, Percy Weasley, but his faults were smaller, his reputation less tainted. Draco Malfoy? He is still on probation, but I want to believe in his sincerity. Remember my second piece of evidence: I am not a saint either.

He is a good partner for me. For as improbable as it may seems to you, he makes me laugh. I am never tired of spending time with him. We like to talk as much as we enjoy to, er, perform non-verbal magic. We are so very alike, under many aspects.

He is kind to me. Sweet to the point that it aches, actually. You see, behind his bark, he hides a very sensitive pulp. The thorns are for self-preservation, like a prickly pear. As you may know, he was bullied as a boy, and that leaves a streak of insecurity in anyone. I can empathise with that. Under threat, he would close up like a clam. I would chatter without end. These are only two mirrored methods of coping with one's sense of inadequacy. Once you crack the egg, the vulnerability and the clumsiness are only too evident. Too exposed.

Only his shell prevented him from shattering, during the war. And you know what was asked of him.

What kind of proof can I adduce to make you accept my prejudicial interest in him? What can I say to persuade you that he is dear to my heart, as if he carried a slice of me inside his chest? Why would you doubt that my skin lights whenever he holds me into his arms?

Mind you, prejudiced in his favour, not deluded about his looks. He is a geek, after all, not one of those fops the girls fantasise about. His nose is not 'aquiline', it's just a big, hooked nose. His hair's oiliness defies any shampoo or lotion I know of. He's too lean to be considered muscular, but his grip can be quite strong. And have you ever been raked by eyes like his?

He is dear to my heart, not my Predestined Soul Mate. I don't believe in that. I believe in people who learn to live with each other's quirks. We like to talk, but we don't always agree. We love each other, but we also love to make fun of each other, in friendship. We cherish each other, yet we have arguments, sometimes.

He is my beloved and I long for his embraces, but this doesn't mean that our relationship is founded exclusively on outstanding physical compatibility. Just to clarify, he is not a sex god, nor do I want one. I'm perfectly content with what he is and with what we do together. Engagements are not based on what happens on a bed, or on other surfaces, whether horizontally or vertically arranged. (Remember Clause 1.1.: I am attuned to learning something about myself I didn't expect before.) Engagements are made on the circumstance that I may be mildly interested in watching him to go bald at my side. That will reduce the grease spots on the pillows, you see.

That said, I can't make it out how people would think that I am with him because of my love for the outcast, out of pity, or as a charity project. I am not betrothed to him because I have some kind of Florence Nightingale complex. I may have written the health care reform, but I'm not the Red Cross.

Take a minute to value what Severus is going to sign for, too, and ask yourself whether what you seem so eager to brand as an unfair agreement for me, it is not, in all probability, an unfair agreement for him. My icy feet in winters. (Especially if he insists that we stay in his quarters.) The nest of my hair in the bath. Constant chatter about the Ministry. Weekends cancelled because I work on them, as well. PMS eased by listening to Céline Dion.

Can you understand, now, how proud I am to wear his ring? Can you imagine how my spirit soared when he proposed? He floundered, the poor man, and was hardly whispering, yet never his voice sounded more musical to my ears. For a long while, all the room seemed to echo with his words.

Here, let me show you. See? It's a sapphire, not a zircon as Rita Skeeter put it. Zircons are for December, you ignorant cow. A blue sapphire, instead, is the birthstone of September and Virgo. It's the gem of commitment, trust, understanding and loyalty. I am sorry it didn't work for Princess Diana, but as for loyalty, I daresay that my own personal Prince is quite tested on the subject. Besides, blue is my favourite colour.

Severus didn't want me to video-record this, of course, but I can be pretty stubborn as well. I'm now going to upload this video on WitchTube, hoping that it will set the things straight on this matter. I've already written a formal protest to The Daily Prophet, complaining about this whole scandalous campaign, but I doubt they will ever publish it as I wrote it. I have been too lenient with Rita Skeeter in the past.

And now excuse me, but I have a wedding to organise. I'll inform you when we decide about the wedding list. In case you wish to send us a gift of your choice, please remember: no lilies, no big snakes, no cursed jewelry, and I already own twenty-two editions of Hogwarts: A History.

*CLICK*