Damages
I hate the MLC. Really. With a passion, and this is why. Whenever I've read one, the evil plot bunnies come out to play, and I end up imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios. Below is one such outcome - something I wrote on LJ and promptly forgot about (perhaps for the best, actually), but anyway it's reposted her for what it's worth.
Damages: Rated: M MLC, so non-con. Summary: A widow at forty, Hermione ponders her life thus far.
Disclaimer:Nothing's mine it all belongs to JK Rowling.
Damages
Hermione regarded her reflection in the mirror with a sense of detachment.
‘Black is not my colour.’ Indeed it was true. Her widow’s weeds did nothing for her figure or her complexion.
Her son, Jonathon stuck his head around the door. ‘Are you ready, Mum?’
‘Nearly.’
Since her sombre robes seemed hell bent on draining the life out of her, Hermione applied a lipstick charm in an attempt to give her face a lift.
‘That’s a bit of an improvement, I suppose,’ said the mirror.
‘You’re too kind.’ Hermione smiled at the mirror that had been dishing out advice all her married life. It had been a wedding present from the Weasleys. In fact, the first time she had stood before it, she had been dressed in her wedding finery – an ivory silk robe that had been chosen by her late husband, Severus Snape.
Due to an insane law, Hermione had been forced into marriage at the tender age of nineteen. She had had no choice in the matter; Severus had petitioned for her before her then boyfriend, Ron Weasley had managed to get his act together. When she asked him why, Severus had told her bluntly that if had to marry anyone it would be someone who would be guaranteed not to produce idiot children. Fate sealed, her genes and her womb were signed over to the man who had gone out of his way to make her adolescence a misery. The future did not look too promising.
Hermione’s only act of defiance had been on her wedding day. Her wedding robes, though beautiful made her look a lot older than she was. The choice of arum lilies for her bouquet made her think of death. As her father offered his arm to her, Hermione said, ‘One moment, Dad,’ then transfigured her robes to black satin and added a black veil as an afterthought. It had caused a sensation and made the front page of the Daily Prophet. Predictably, her husband had been furious and accused her of making him a laughing stock.
On their wedding night, Severus told Hermione that once she had produced the two children required by the law, she would be free to leave. Trembling, Hermione had allowed him to undress her, then watched as he divested himself of his clothing. Severus’ emaciated, scarred body had repulsed her – a fact she did not try to disguise. Without any further preamble, Severus had pushed her back onto the bed, got between her legs and entered her. Unaroused and dry as a bone, the consummation of her marriage had been an uncomfortable experience for Hermione although, mercifully, she had not been a virgin. Severus had been slightly disappointed in this fact since first blood commanded a fair price on the black market.
Things went from bad to worse as Severus continued to force himself on Hermione in an effort to impregnate her as quickly as possible. Each time, Hermione could not hide her disgust. For one thing, Severus’ hair stank of cauldron fumes most of the time and his personal hygiene, in general, left a lot to be desired. For another, the way he ran his hands over her body when they fucked, made Hermione feel like a specimen he was getting ready to dissect. In fact he made her skin crawl. On the one occasion Severus tried to kiss her, Hermione baulked. It was one thing to have him pounding into her body, but quite another to have his tongue invade her mouth. She almost puked. He never did it again.
Hermione held out for a year, hoping that the law would be repealed. She had managed to avoid pregnancy thus far due to a morning after charm of her own invention. Severus was already suspicious that she had managed to circumvent the law somehow and reminded her that the sooner she conceived, the sooner marital relations would cease. Hermione gave in. Thanks to a Fertility Potion that ensured a multiple pregnancy, Hermione gave birth to twins ten months later, thereby fulfilling her part of the agreement. She was now free to leave.
There was, however, one snag. The marriage contract stipulated that, in the event of a divorce, the petitioner would loose all parental rights. Hermione knew that she could not leave her children with Severus. Although the twins had not been wanted, she had nevertheless brought them into the world and their welfare was her responsibility. So, she stayed. She decided to name them Sarah and Jonathon. Severus objected to such plain names, but Hermione argued that she had suffered for her name over the years and did not want to inflict her children with anything more exotic. Severus had to admit she had a point.
Hermione and Severus continued in their sham of a marriage for the next twenty years. The twins, with the uncanny knack that children have, realised from an early age that their parents did not get on. As a result, they were very insecure as children and grew into adults that were afraid to commit in a relationship. Much to Severus’ consternation, neither child was particularly bright academically or showed any interest in Potions. At Hogwarts, Sarah was sorted into Gryffindor and Jonathon into Hufflepuff. Severus lost all interest in them.
Hermione took a lover and resumed her career, rising through the ranks in the Ministry until she was in a position influential enough to get the law repealed. With the twins now adults, Hermione had been considering seeking a divorce when Severus had died following an explosion in his laboratory.
Which was how she came to be getting ready to play the part of the grieving widow…
‘Hypocrite,’ Hermione said to her reflection. She grinned. Maybe life did begin at forty. With a quick swish and a flick, her black robes changed to Gryffindor red.
‘Much better,’ said the mirror.
Hermione had to agree. Black really wasn’t her colour.