The Herald

4

Hermione Granger, pictured alongside Headmaster Snape, made short work of his new wife, cosying up to him despite his new status.

The war hero, brightest witch of her age, was welcomed at the table yesterday evening by the Headmaster, himself. The Potions' Master insisted in an exclusive interview that he and he alone had pushed for Miss Granger's attendance.

'A demonstration of magical cooperation and coming together of the most powerful wizarding generation in nearly 40 years.'

He was, no doubt, speaking of his godson's presence alongside Miss Granger, and the surprise appearance of Apprentice Auror Harry J. Potter and his wife.

More on that later.

The Headmaster seemed ever so keen to have the witch on his arm, casting aside his own wife of only two weeks. Is the honeymoon finished already?

More soon.

Oh, she despised that hateful Eilonwy. A pox on her.

Business endeavour or not, she was making Hermione look bad.

That photograph of herself and Severus had made it into the newspaper, of course. And to make matters worse she looked exactly the part of a besotted mooncalf, gazing up at him as he escorted her to her seat at the table.

And Skeeter, being observant as she was, -a pox on her too!- had not failed to notice it.

Throwing the paper onto the hearth, she promptly set fire to it. She unceremoniously flopped into her armchair, already anticipating an angry letter or four from the readers of the Prophet.

-

"Eilonwy!"

Oh Merlin, she was done for. The brunette cowered at the sound of her husband snarling her name. She had known full well that letting Rita run that article would land her in hot water. Yet, she had done it anyway, feeling slighted. Oh gods, she was most certainly regretting it now.

She hurriedly barricaded herself in her room. Yes, her room. They slept in separate beds, much to her dismay. Though, for the moment, she was quite pleased with the fact. Not that he wouldn't be able to get in. She'd never been the best at wards and locking charms.

And there he was, within an instant, standing in the middle of the room, his eyes angry, something fiery and passionate in them. He never looked at her like that unless he was upset. No passion for her, at all. He was always so cold with her. So distant.

Note to self: do not piss off husband.

He glared down at her, one hand fisted tightly, the other clutching the Prophet. She had, in the process of backing away from the door, fallen over backwards, she was now looking up at him from the ground. For all her elegance, she was as equally clumsy.

Wait, he hadn't even used his wand to break through her wards? Shit.

She shivered under his gaze. "Yes?"

He squinted at her, throwing the paper to the ground. "What the devil is the meaning of this? I had explicitly asked you leave her be."

She swallowed thickly, her shaking hands picking up the paper. That picture replaying over and over. The way he looked down at her. "It isn't fair," she replied, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "It isn't fair that you look at her that way,"

He exhaled sharply, offering her his hand and helping her get off the floor. "Life isn't fair." He stated coldly, dropping her hand as soon as she was standing again. "We agreed-"