Severus leaned against the solid wood of the massive four-poster's headboard and glared at the door separating his bedchamber from that of his wife's, cursing the little know-it-all for putting him in this state. For sliding delicate tentacles of Gryffindor sentimentality beneath his well-built shields and ensnaring his very soul. The chit even dared to admit an attraction to him that began years before the announcement of the Ministry's newly minted legislation on marriages. And only last week, a mere three months after their formal binding, she'd brazenly declared her love, then indicated a desire to exercise her marital rights in the bedroom. Bloody hell, she was making plans to move into his rooms permanently in less the a fortnight, returning hers to their former state as the cozy family suite used by so few of the headmasters of Hogwarts.

He ran his hand down his face to push a little more of the tiredness away. The day had been marked with one minor disaster after another. Yet while he'd wanted nothing more than to collapse in a heap on the downy mattress of his bed after the evening meal in the Great Hall, he couldn't bring himself to deny her their new nightly habit of quiet discussion and discourse. And, though he'd never admit it to anyone but her, he wasn't inclined to forsake her company for the benefit of a little extra sleep. He'd become quite accustomed to her sharing his bed for an hour or so before the last bell sounded signaling curfew.

Naturally, this ritual didn't start out in his bedchamber. He was a gentleman if nothing else, and she a witch far too good to have her reputation tarnished by gossip spilling over from the house elves to the staff. No, it started out quite properly in the headmaster's sitting room. Then the interruptions began. If it wasn't Minerva dropping by to discuss some less than critical matter or friendly chatter, it was Lucius or Kingsley on the Floo requesting assistance or advice from one or both of them. It was a bloody nuisance! How was he supposed to conduct a courtship—a courtship, mind you, Minerva, Lucius, and Kingsley had forced the Wizengamot to insert into the binding contracts of a chosen few, like himself and Miss Granger's along with young Mr. Potter and Miss Lovegood's, to allow them time to get to become better acquainted before engaging in the more intimate aspects of marriage—when they allowed the newlyweds very little solitude? He'd never know how he'd managed to fall so deeply in love with his wife amidst the chaos of such company.

Severus thumped his head against the dark Madagascar ebony and sighed, then looked at the stack of books freshly arrived from the Malfoy family library. He loved Hermione Granger-Snape. Deeply. Completely. True love, not the extreme gratitude masquerading as the emotion in the brain of the lonely, mistreated, miserable young man he had been so long ago. And it filled his very core with peace and contentment, binding him up so tightly he would disintegrate should the silken cords of it ever break. She deserved the sweetest seduction someone of his experience, or lack thereof, could muster. That's why this was so important to him. Why he wanted to take it beyond the 'insert A into slot B' knowledge garnered from conversations overheard in the shadowed corners of the Slytherin common room when he was a student. Why he'd sought advice from Lucius Malfoy of all people.

With the dessert dishes cleared, they departed the elegant dining room. Hermione gave his hand a gentle squeeze, then left his side to join Narcissa in the conservatory to discuss the upcoming fundraiser for Hogwarts' scholarship program. Watching her go, her bearing as regal as any pureblood princess, his pride built until it spilled out in a soft smile. When she came to the intersection of the corridor leading to the belvedere, she glanced over her shoulder, and he gave her a shy little wink. She beamed back, and warmth infused deep inside his chest. Remembering their companions, he turned on his heals and led Lucius to the manor's large library at the opposite end of the passage. They could imbibe in a little after dinner brandy while their wives plotted and planned the school's financial future. Then, when the fine cognac warmed his compatriot's humor and dulled his wit a fraction, Severus would slyly seek counsel on his dilemma. Opening the large hand carved double doors, his stomach somersaulting dangerously at the prospect of the questions he needed to pose to his old friend.

"She has you quite besotted, Severus."

Severus stumbled into the library after the blond wizard, shock turning his feet to cement. "What?"

The other wizard turned, his lips curling into a Slytherin smirk. "Oh, don't worry, old man. She's just as smitten with you, if not more so." He glided across the floor and flopped gracefully onto one of the leather club chairs arranged before the blazing logs on the hearth. "It appears Minerva, Kingsley, and I were correct in our prediction."

Severus gained the other seat, his knees threatening to give way. "You, Minerva, and Kingsley." A thick fog crept into his brain obscuring his speech centers. "Prediction." Dear Merlin, how many times had prognostications complicated his life?

Lucius eyed him with a mixture of certainty and superiority. "Of course. You didn't think we'd leave such things to fate or, Merlin forbid, the Wizengamot did you? They asked for our input on certain matches, and we gave it. Once they offered a few concessions, of course."

His view of the room narrowed slightly, the bookshelves and walls roiling like a navigational buoy in the North Sea. His stomach undulated, and he fought back the rising nausea with closed eyes and deep, slow breaths. While he knew the governing body of wizarding Britain wasn't inclined to view him favorably enough to insure a match with an appropriate witch, to have it confirmed, to learn the only three who knew of his—predicament—had actually made the match between himself and the formidable Hermione Granger instead of fighting for a complete exemption to help him escape the inevitable embarrassment… "Concessions?" he whispered.

"The courtship clause."

Lucius' voice permeated the first layer of Severus' stupor. He latched onto it like a survivor clutching flotsam. Surely they didn't realize the consequences of what they had done. Of what they had sentenced Hermione to once…

"To force you to bind with Miss Granger is one thing, but to force you to be intimate with her before you were ready, before you both felt secure in whatever tenderness might blossom between you and content with the situation, would have been an epic catastrophe. Thus, the clause.

"The fact it scuttled Molly Weasley's machinations was simply an added bonus." Lucius looked rather too pleased with the situation despite the continued animosity between the families. "Even Arthur's prestige following the war couldn't get their youngest whelp matched with Molly's top choice. And as it was young Mr. Weasley's promiscuity and refusal to acknowledge any of the witchlings claiming to have bore his offspring that force the Ministry's hand, he and the former Miss Parkinson were not offered the option." Lucius chuckled, his voice dripping with delight. "It seems Elphias Doge thought the boy deserved any misery coming from the binding and wouldn't be dissuaded by Arthur's petitions or Molly's threats."

Oh, God. Severus' spirit spiraled towards his toes. Was he being used as a fool's pawn again? To play the foil in the ongoing feud between the Malfoys and the Weasleys?

"According to Ginevra, Molly was apoplectic over the decision. Even going so far as to threaten disavowment should my dear daughter-in-law not persuade me to use my influence with old Elphias and other sitting members of the Wizengamot to overturn the decision." Another chuckle escaped the regal wizard, this one softened by genuine fondness. "Luckily, Ginevra has a pragmatic view of the world. She simply told her beloved mother…"

Relief surged through Severus in such a powerful swell, he nearly allowed the blackness edging his vision to swallow him. He wasn't being played for a fool. Ginevra was one of Hermione's dearest friends, the maid of honor at their wedding. And she had become quite dear to Lucius and Narcissa since her marriage to Draco. Neither one would see her hurt. And if Hermione was swept up in all of this only as a ploy to humiliate the Weasley's their daughter-in-law would most definitely be hurt. Ergo…

With an almost audible snap, Severus' senses reordered themselves. This wasn't about some decades-long disagreement. It wasn't a play for more power by the three matchmakers. It was, quite simply, a true desire to see him happy. To see them happy. And with hope now flooding his soul, he realized his friend had unwittingly offered the perfect opening for his request.

Straightening, Severus stood and sauntered toward the drinks cabinet, allowing a bit of quite to invade the room. For seconds, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. The clink of fine crystal as he uncorked the Napoleon brandy. The slosh of liquid as he poured a measure of the amber nectar into the snifters. The familiar Malfoy smugness. And when the perfect moment turned over, Severus' voice penetrated the air like the sharp point of a fencer's epee. "Well, since you obviously know Hermione and I so well." He turned and peered at his friend with as little distain as he could manage. "Perhaps you would be willing to advise me on the correct response to a recent development."

Severus glanced again at the research material discretely delivered by one of the Malfoy house-elves. Despite some of the more dubious covers, they were his instructors. His counselors. His salvation. And he would peruse them carefully. Consider them thoroughly. Follow their dictates to the letter. Because she was worth every effort.