"Severus Snape was destroying his wife. Oh, it's not what you think. He wasn't doing it on purpose. Surprisingly I knew he really loved her, I just don't think knew how to treat her. He was still that nasty old git he was when we were in school and I think he was just wearing her down.
You see she just wasn't the same person anymore. She started out outgoing and then she was subdued. The outspoken girl I knew began deferring to him, checking his mood, anticipating his responses. She used to be a know-it-all eager to give the correct answers, then she began only giving information when he asked for it and even then she seemed unsure worried that she might be wrong. She used to boss us all around, even him but then it turned into questions. Would you like to do this? Is this all right? Do you mind if I do this? She used to have all kinds of potions experiments going on, projects, adaptations, improvements, writing articles, you know. Then she gave it all up to become his assistant. Assistant? It was hard to believe. Bloody hell, Hermione could have done that our first year.
I've tried talking to her about it but she just gets barmy and accuses me of being jealous. Good god, why does everyone think I'm still hung up on a relationship I had when I was sixteen? It's somewhat funny, though. Part of the reason we broke up was that even though I love her I could not see being with an outspoken outgoing bossy know-it-all the rest of my life-I mean, I have my mum. However, she certainly was not that person anymore, being Mrs. Snape changed her and not for the better as far as I was concerned.
I tried talking to Harry about it, but he would not listen to me. Harry's a romantic. He seems to think that true love will conquer all. I think it's the years he spent with the Dursleys. He was so grateful for the unconditional love he got from Sirius and so bereft from his loss that he feels like one shouldn't question the form love takes but should feel privileged to just to be loved.
I guess I was a little more cynical than that, I kinda thought that a person ought to be loved for who they are, not for who they might change themselves to be to make you happy. But I digress. What? I can use big words when the situation calls for it-I'm not stupid, you know. Anyhow, I decided I needed to talk to someone else. Not Dumbledore, I think he was just pleased to see Snape happy, well as happy as Snape could be. And Lupin? I don't know, he just struck as being impractical in this instance. Do not even mention Hagrid, even if he could keep his big mouth shut, he's not the exactly sharpest knife in the drawer and that's coming from me. No, it had to be McGonagall. She's sharp, practical, she liked Hermione and Snape, I doubted she was a hopeless romantic like the rest of them and I bet she's been around the block a few times-oh get your mind out of the gutter. I was right too. I mean her plan was just brilliant. The next part was hard but it had to be done. I went down to the dungeons to see Snape.
Oh, he was not happy to hear what I had to say. At first he shouted, he accused me of trying to sabotage his marriage, he glared, he intimated that I was jealous, he hinted that someone had put me up to this, he stalked back and forth with his robes swirling about. When I did not back down he actually listened. I don't think he truly believed me until I took out the time turner and showed him.
I showed him the times I remembered being present for. The times he mocked her aspirations. The times he gave her that look, yeah you know which one, when she was overeager about something. The times he would just rage in public about some little thing, she did or didn't do. And I showed him who she had become. After I was done, he took the time turner from me and looked at times I hadn't been there for. Then he stopped.
I felt sick. If I had wanted to hurt him on purpose, I couldn't have done any better. He sat there in front of me, with his head in his hands. He seemed broken. Finally, he looked up at me and asked me why. Because I love her, I told him. He asked me why I hadn't gone to her with this. I told him it was because she wouldn't believe me. She loved him and would brook no negative talk about him. Besides, he was the one at fault in this instance; he should repair the damage. He looked at me for a long time. I began to grow uncomfortable with those black eyes boring into mine. The silence stretched. Just when I was ready to say something he stood up, shook himself, clasped my hand, and thanked me! Yes you heard right, he thanked me and shook my hand. Now it was an amazing thing.
Oh, he wasn't suddenly all sweetness and light. I'm not even sure he's capable of that. And, Hermione didn't fall in love with a nice guy; if she had, she would have fallen for Harry. And, it wasn't as if Hermione changed back overnight; she's still not the same person she was when we were younger, but none of us are. But things are different for them. There's an easiness about both of them that wasn't there before. They smile.
Hermione eventually found out what I did. Boy was she brassed off. Blah blah blah, interfering with her life, minding my own business and then she gives me a big hug and tells me I'm the best mate a woman could have. I made her swear that didn't mean I was queer and wished her happy. And that, my friends, is how I saved the Snapes' marriage."
Ron leaned back, lifted his pint to himself and took a big drink. He looked around at the group gathered at the table and smiled.
"Bollocks!" Fred said. "Hermione would never have let herself get that way."
Draco sneered, "You expect me to believe that Professor Snape admitted he was wrong? Please Weasley."
"I am not a hopeless romantic Ron," whinged Harry.
"Oi! Don't shoot the messenger, I'm just telling the story."
"And a well-told tale it is Mr. Weasley," a dry voice interrupted.
Everyone turned and look wide eyed at Severus Snape who was leaning into the doorframe. Then they all looked away, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
"Just remember, lads, the thing about Weasleys, is that they are smarter than they look." And with a swirl of his robes, he was gone.