Tyger! Tyger!

Disclaimer:

I didn't not invent this universe.
I did not invent the principal characters.
I did not write any of the first five Harry Potter books.
I will not write the next two.
I didn't even come up with the basic premise of this story.
I'm a two-bit fic hack.
It would not be worth the effort to sue me.

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize thy fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And why thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors grasp?

When the stars threw down their spears
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
- William Blake

It all ended.

Presaged by a rain of blood. Seconded by an impenetrable fog.

Two weeks after their 7th year at school started, it all ended.

Ron killed three Death Eaters before one he had left cursed his wand hand into oblivion.

After that, the rain turned from blood to fire.

A horrid inhuman shrieking had been going on for hours and hours by the time she was able to find Harry.

All Hermione wanted to do was get to her friend, despite that fact that when she found Harry she was almost guaranteed to find Voldemort. Voldemort. Why did Harry always have to face him alone? She finally found the room, but Dumbledore held her back.

"This is Harry's battle to win or lose." It was a tribute to the insanity of the moment that she considered trying to fight her way past him for an instant.

Then they heard a voice, like Harry's only deeper, only a monument to wrath and rage, like Harry's if Harry had an inhuman monster hiding in the depths his soul.

"Avada Kedavra," the Harry Thing spat.

A scream.

Shouts of "No," "NO."

But the animal shrieking continued.

Dumbledore threw the door open with his own hands. The cluster of wizards who had assembled there, held back like Hermione herself, pushed through the door.

One of Harry's glittery green eyes hung uselessly from its socket, but he was still standing.

Tom Riddle lay dead on the floor greyish fluid leaking from the corner of his mouth.

The painful noise was still ringing out.

There was a knot of Death Eaters, their wands trained on a single target, muttering what seemed a continuous string of "Crucio, Crucio, Crucio."

Hermione recognised Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Mcnair in the crowd.

It took her a moment to realise who the victim was. He hung upside down and his face was crusted with vomit.

Snape.

Somewhere in the room she heard rather than saw Draco Malfoy, his cry was inarticulate, the only word she recognised was "Father."

The tall blonde boy raised his wand. "Let him go."

Lucius Malfoy looked at his son and sneered, "Your teacher is a traitor, the greatest traitor of them all."

"Let him go," Draco insisted quietly.

Lucius shook his head.

"Avada..." Draco began, his wand pointed squarely at his father.

"Avada Kedavra," Lucius Malfoy pointed his wand and killed his only son with lightning speed. Whirling around, he turned and executed the Death Eaters who stood nearest him, including one Hermione recognised as his own wife, Narcissa.

Real time seemed to start again after Lucius dropped his wand.

Of all people, Harry, stumbling and one eyed, insisted on carrying Snape's shaking body from the blood spattered burning room. Not even Dumbledore dared stop him.

That was how it all ended.

It was also how it all began.

Three weeks later they were back in school.

Neither Ron nor Harry would ever play Quidditch again, but they didn't seem to mind much.

Harry combed his hair to cover the puckered blank socket. She had to admit it gave a certain rakish affect. He kept Ginny Weasley within arm's reach like his life depended on it.

For reasons that could never be explained properly, Ron needed an entirely new wand now that he was forced to change wand hands. But he was doing fine using the stump of his arm for inane practical joke after inane practical joke; in fact, they were all fine and having the time of their lives. If it all seemed a bit forced and hysterical at times, she imagined that would wear off eventually.

If Snape was not suddenly transformed into the picture of good cheer it was understandable, if anything, the man seemed tired. As though he needed nothing so much as a six-month long nap before he could get back to insulting his students with conviction again. He no longer tormented Harry in the classroom; instead, he seemed intent on pretending Harry Potter had ceased to exist.

Hermione, for one, was surprised that he hadn't gone mad. More so when she learned the Potions Master had survived more rounds of the Cruciatus Curse than any other wizard in the medical records at St. Mungo's. More than the Longbottoms. Yet he was as apparently sane as ever.

He did finally have his Order of Merlin, though.

Lucius Malfoy, ironically, emerged unscathed.

He pled Imperio; after all, what else would drive a man to take part in the torture of his closest boyhood friend, then turn around and slaughter his wife and only child?

The Ministry of Magic wouldn't have liked Hermione's answer. She overheard McGonagall and Snape agreeing that Fudge was more convinced by his finances than the facts. It made her miserable if she let herself think about it and, for once, even she wanted not to think.

Nearly one quarter of the wizards in the country were dead.

The students held impromptu parties in the common rooms at least once a week.

The government seemed over-strident, but that was to be expected. Hermione paid it no mind, until the decree was issued.

The Muggle-born Marriage Act.

Decreeing that all Muggle-born witches were required to marry within six months of their 18th birthday, to Pureblood wizards no less. Witches who failed to choose a wizard would have one chosen for them. Special dispensations were given for mental infirmity; somehow, she doubted she would be eligible for that one.

Research was the obvious solution, but research only told her the law was much longer coming than she imagined. If she had been paying attention, she could have predicted it herself. After the battle at the Department of Mysteries, when she and almost everyone else she knew could think of nothing but Voldemort, the Ministry of Magic had passed restrictions on marriage between first cousins.

Reasonable, right? Another instance of the wizarding world slowly catching up with the 19th, if not the 21st, century? No. It seemed many old pureblood families took the legislation as a cultural vendetta against those suspected of questionable sympathies.

As the war progressed, the law moved to ban unions between second and third cousins as well.

She hadn't even noticed when, three months before the ultimate defeat of Voldemort, all marriages between purebloods were outlawed.

As if by group consensus, the birth rate among purebloods, never exactly prolific, had dropped to zero. Zero. Nothing. In the last year, not a single pureblood witch or wizard had produced offspring. Given the choice between outbreeding and dying out they had chosen extinction.

So the Ministry of magic had moved its misbegotten legislative attention to the Muggle-born.

She understood what the ministry was trying to do; instil some hybrid vigour into those old incestuous families, force them out of their myopic world of pedigrees and blood ties, wrest their alliance from them by coercion if necessary, but this was certainly the wrong way to go about it. She couldn't think of a right way, but this certainly wasn't it.

She did the only thing she could think of, she sent a succession of howlers to Arthur Weasley.

Within a week, an owl delivered a marriage proposal from Lucius Malfoy during breakfast.

It was no great surprise when Professor McGonagall fetched her before the end of the day's classes.

An argument was already in full swing inside the Headmaster's office; she heard them as she and the Transfiguration teacher sat waiting in the ante chamber.

"Could you turn the divan on the opposite side of the room into a unicorn, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked and obliged. She supposed the Transfiguration teacher was aiming to distract her. But she kept an ear to the other room, performing her task with less than her full concentration.

"This is idiocy!" bellowed a deep voice.

"It is, nonetheless, the law," came the calmer one, clearly the Headmaster.

"So you are simply going to sit there, Albus, and let this happen?" She placed the voice as Professor Snape's as several portraits began to take him to task for using that tone with the Headmaster.

"It seems to me, you came up with quite a viable solution, even if it currently strikes you as less than ideal," Dumbledore said gently and was for some time answered only by the sound of restless footsteps.

Snape was pacing.

"Less than ideal? It was a joke!" Snape screamed.

"If you have a better idea, I am perfectly willing to hear it, Severus." There was the sound of clinking dishes. "Gumdrop?" Dumbledore offered.

"Headmaster, please," came Snape's voice in what was perilously close to a whine.

Hermione's eavesdropping was interrupted by Professor Vector's arrival with a parchment full of half-finished Arithmancy problems. With less than half her full attention, she grudgingly addressed the work. Nonetheless, it was some time before she was able to continue her "overhearing." McGonagall continued to address each of her subjects but potions in turn in the most irritating way; well, at least it gave her something to do.

"As you know, Mr Longbottom has petitioned for her hand as well and the youngest Weasley boy has attempted to convince the Ministry to accept a petition from him, despite the fact that he is underage and his parents refuse their consent. What did you say Weasley and Longbottom's chances were against Lucius again?" Dumbledore asked in the lightest, most inane voice Hermione had ever heard.

"Pfft," came Snape's reply.

"Sadly, I must agree with that assessment," said the old man. He sounded as though he had something in his mouth. "So you propose what? We send the girl to China until Lucius dies of old age? I hear the Muggles have managed to send people to the moon, we might try that. Are you absolutely certain you wouldn't care for a gumdrop?"

"It would hardly be more ridiculous than what you propose," Snape said sharply.

"May I remind you, Severus, that the proposal was, and will remain, your own," Dumbledore sounded almost amused.

What had Snape suggested? That she actually marry Malfoy?

"It most certainly was not my suggestion. It was a joke," Snape hissed adamantly. "The girl is indecently young, Albus, and you must realise the impropriety..."

Dumbledore cut him off. "I realise, Severus, that the choice is yours; ultimately, she lives and dies by your decision."

At that point, the Potions Master let loose a string of profanity the likes of which Hermione Granger had never heard before and, for the first time in months, he didn't sound tired at all. He was still swearing, making suggestions to the Headmaster regarding both his grandmother and mother that were both unsavoury and physically impossible, when Professor McGonagall led her through the door clearing her throat dramatically.

"Sit down, my dear Miss Granger," the headmaster said pleasantly. "Let me reassure you that your predicament has not gone unnoticed. In fact, your Potions Master and myself have devoted the majority of the day to attempting to find an acceptable solution. In case you have any doubts about our decision, both Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin are in agreement with our conclusion, as is Professor McGonagall."

McGonagall sighed. "I am at that."

Snape turned and gave McGonagall a betrayed look. "I thought, of all people, Minerva, you would take my side."

Dumbledore sighed looking over the tops of his glasses. "I believe Professor Snape has something to say to you, Miss Granger. Don't you, Severus?"

Snape moved to stand before Hermione and, looking down his nose, he all but
snarled, "Do me the honour of becoming my wife, Miss Granger, or die a horrible death."

"I beg your pardon?" She couldn't help blinking.

"Surely you can do better than that, Severus," Dumbledore said, still smiling.

"Very well," Snape hissed. "Marry me, Miss Granger, because if you do not, Lucius Malfoy will most certainly kill whomever you choose instead before making the remaining year or so of your life such a hellish nightmare that you will find death a sweet release."

Hermione could find no reply other than to go slightly green.

"Well?" Snape snapped at her.

She straightened in her chair. "Am I correct in assuming this would not be a real marriage, simply a formality, Professor?" she asked, attempting to clear her head.

Snape stood over her, continuing to glare.

"Your ignorance of Wizarding culture is astounding, Miss Granger," Snape said coldly.

It seemed to Hermione that everyone in the room inhaled at once.

Neither McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore seemed willing to look her in the eye.

"Consummation is an integral part of the Confarreatio Ritual, child, without it the wedding has no more legal weight than a fancy dress play," the Transfiguration Professor said, laying a hand on her shoulder.

Snape sneered. "The girl would no doubt prefer death via Malfoy to being mated to the fearsome Potions Master. Well, you aren't exactly my type either, foolish girl."

"Calm down, Severus, the girl has said no such thing," McGonagall clucked.

"May I speak to the Professor alone, please?" Hermione asked.

"Of course," the three answered at once; it was clear, however, that both Dumbledore and McGonagall believed they were the ones she wanted a private talk with, while Snape moved quickly toward the doors.

"I meant that I would like to speak with Professor Snape, please," she was trying to hold onto a sense of decorum, even though all her intellectual powers seemed to be failing at the moment.

Dumbledore chuckled, McGonagall smiled weakly, Snape threw himself down in the chair opposite her as though there were several hundred other places he would rather be.

"Minerva, after you,"

"Certainly, Albus."

"And Miss Granger, while you are perfectly free to deny Professor Snape's offer, I wish you wouldn't," Dumbledore said quietly as he shut the door.

"Well," Snape said, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.

"Well," she repeated, " I would like to know why you are agreeing to do this."

"Rest assured, Miss Granger, I have not been lusting after you lo these many years," he said archly.

"I never imagined you had, but I would like to know why you would marry someone you disliked. Is it because Professor Dumbledore asked you to?" she asked, trying not to sigh.

Snape leaned back in his chair and he did sigh; he sighed so heavily that melodrama was the only word Hermione could find to describe it. He sighed melodramatically, perhaps the sigh came with the swirling black cape.

"You think me such a fawning lackey to our good Headmaster that I should marry at his whim?" he asked.

"I'll admit that didn't seem likely either," she said. "So, why?"

"I do not dislike you," he scowled while looking pointedly away from her. "I imagine, were you not a student and were you not joined at the hip with the delightful Messrs Potter and Weasley, I might find you barely tolerable."

"There are other girls in the same predicament, not with Malfoy but forced to marry, why not one of them?" she asked.

"Firstly, because you are being threatened by Lucius and he does nothing without purpose, if he wishes to have you that is a compelling enough reason why he should be kept from it; secondly, because you are admittedly not stupid; thirdly, there has been enough killing, I am quite frankly tired of it... Miss Granger, do you know what the Confereattio means? Do you know what you are being asked to do? What you are being offered?" he asked, looking at her sharply.

"I've seen a very few vague references in books, I know it's the pureblood wizard wedding ceremony but..." She faltered and he took the opportunity to interrupt her.

"Is there more to it than that? Indeed there is, Miss Granger. I would offer you the Coemptio, the common marriage, but it would leave Lucius too many openings for attack and afford you little more protection than you have now. The Conferreatio is different; it is a spell within a spell, powerful beyond reckoning, performed by a minimum of 10 wizards," he said, watching her reaction closely.

"A love spell?" she asked and immediately felt asinine.

"Pfft," he snorted. "Merlin save me from the imaginings of teenaged girls! The purpose is nothing so plebeian; in the Conferreatio the participants' fates and powers are inextricably merged." He cocked his head. "Does the notion of having access to my magical abilities appeal to you, Miss Granger? From your expression, I would surmise you are either fascinated or revolted."

Hermione made a concerted effort not react one way or the other. "I find it appealing," she said, folding her hands in her lap, afraid to elaborate. "Who wouldn't?"

"You might be surprised," Snape said tersely. "Of course, you do realise if I did not believe you were destined to become one of the... more powerful witches of your generation, Albus could not have coerced me into this union no matter how long he held me captive in his office and offered me sweets. I believe," he paused and swallowed still looking sour, "that for you to die at your age, would be a senseless waste and I cannot abide waste."

"I do have a great deal of respect for you, Professor Snape," she insisted.

"So much respect you have, over the years, hexed me, set my robes on fire, stolen supplies from my private stocks," he glowered.

"I was eleven years old," she said indignantly.

"You were a brat and you are still a brat and I was your teacher!" he returned in an identical tone.

"You are still my teacher and that is why I find this entire conversation inappropriate," she said huffily.

"I find it disconcerting as well," he said with yet another sigh, "but it does appear to be the best course of action under the circumstances."

"What about my school? The year has just started, I can't very well marry you and continue going to class can I? The ethical considerations as well as the discipline issues would be..." She was starting a good roll when he interrupted her.

"Did you somehow fail to notice Professor McGonagall administering your NEWTS in the outer office?" he asked in a combination of sarcasm and wonder.

"Hell, I wasn't even paying attention," she said, running her hand over her face. "I thought she was just trying to distract me from my impending doom."

Severus Snape looked like he might almost smile for a moment before his face returned to its blank state. "We are agreed, then?"

Hermione nodded.

"Technically, you should say 'Nubo' to indicate your acceptance; it means..." he started.

"It means "I veil myself" ... Nubo, then," she said resignedly.

"And I should do this," he said, standing to unceremoniously dump a handful of galleons and a black iron ring from his pocket into her lap. "Miss... Hermione," he said, uncomfortably shifting from one foot to the other as he stood over her. "I... Um... We are not friends, but we are somewhat acquainted with one another. You understand I am not a particularly nice person, but I wish to make you a promise."

"Yes?" She answered him with similar lack of ease. No matter how many times she reminded herself whose side Snape was on, or how many times he had saved one or all of them, his mere presence gave her a chill in the pit of her stomach. Always. Inevitably. The same way she moved her hand reflexively away from a hot stove, Professor Snape made her want to cringe.

She was supposed to be his wife? The whole situation seemed bizarre and dreamlike.

"I will do my best not to be cruel with you. I do not wish this marriage to be a punishment for either of us. And I will protect you. You need never fear for yourself as long as I am alive," he said solemnly.

"What can I do in return?" she asked, wondering if there was anything at all she could offer that was of value to him.

"Grow up, Miss Granger, as quickly and as thoroughly as possible," he said without hesitation.

"Is that all?" she asked, it wasn't as though growing up hadn't been part of her plan all along.

Snape looked away. "I might not be adverse to eventually having an heir," he muttered almost under his breath. "I am, at the moment, the last of my line."

"That's reasonable," she said in what she hoped was a business like tone; she felt like retching.

"I'm glad you think so," he answered blankly before continuing, his voice suddenly brisk. "Arthur and Molly Weasley should be arriving any minute by Floo for the adoption..."

"What adoption?" she interrupted him.

"The Conffereatio may not be entered into by any parties whose parents were not joined in Conferreatio themselves. Under the present circumstances, Arthur and Molly have agreed to have you join their... brood. I understand Albus and Arthur have everything they need except for your signature. Miss Tonks and the rest of the Order members should be arriving in a few hours on the Express," he said.

She looked at him puzzled.

"We marry tonight," he explained.

"What? Isn't that rather sudden?" she asked.

"It is sudden, but today is the ninth of the month as well as perilously close to the full moon and no part of the Conferreatio may take place on the ides or the nodes or the waning of the moon or any number of days for a host of arcane reasons. Today will be our last opportunity for some weeks, some weeks that we cannot afford to give Lucius. He will stop us if given the slightest chance."

The awkward pause that would have surely followed was interrupted by Mr and Mrs Weasley stepping out from the fire.

Special Thanks to Fishbot for flying cross-country to beta the first chapter and to June Williams for spelling and Comma-Fu

Notes: Coemptio and Conferratio are both old Roman wedding/marriage forms.