Vignette 2: Wedding Album

As time passed, Snape began to ease into his new life, ever so slowly. Even though he continued to struggle with the help he now received from Hermione, they had their good days as well as their tense ones. At the very least, he was starting to act more like himself, or at least some form of himself.

This usually consisted of a comfortable little game of snark and counter-snark with his young hosts, but at least with Hermione, their wits seemed fairly well-matched for it, and they both seemed to gradually come to enjoy the play. At least it represented some vague sense of normality, in a world turned so upside-down.

While Hermione and Harry began to take courses online to further their education for use in the muggle world, starting slowly to give themselves enough space to simply catch up on living, Snape began to explore the possibility of contributing to the household income himself. Although Harry's inheritance from his father more than supported everyone, he was smart enough not to press that point to his former teacher, who would have gone off on a long-winded rant over his supposed "smugness".

But aside from his injuries, Snape's mind was finally starting to clear, and his flash-backs becoming less regular, and lessening in intensity. Hence, he was able to procure himself various gigs going over chemistry lab papers and sending them back punctually without ever leaving the house. He was always more than good at what he did, and he found that his adeptness worked in either magical or muggle worlds. This enabled him to restore some of his pride, and take his mind off of his physical state.

Still, it was an ever-present concern, and at times unavoidable. He sometimes found himself frozen in pain from a nerve spasm, running from his neck down his whole body in a spasm, almost akin to an electric shock. Hermione would sense when it was at its worst, and get him his pain medicine and let her hand gently rest on top of his, so that if he wanted, he could work his fingers around hers and squeeze until the pain eased.

Once, she knew how very bad his state was when he could hardly hold his glass of water to take the pills, the shaking being too much. She promptly took it from him and held it for him to drink. He tried, brokenly, to protest, to insist he had it under control. But she was firm, in a gentle, no-nonsense way, and soon he found himself yielding, drinking from the glass she held for him. His eyes were locked onto hers, a mix of dying defiance and watering pain, and then some tender melancholy.

She started to get up, and he rasped, "Please…st-stay looking…at me…till it's gone…"

He tightened in the pain, and she patted his hand reassuringly, her own eyes starting to water. And in those moments, he felt he saw eternity in those compassionate eyes, something fathomless, something divine which he realized had rarely bothered to see in people, but which existed all the same.

"I…I would have come to your wedding…" he managed, righting against the sting of the pain. "It wasn't from spite…against you or Potter, whatever I might have said. I…I think you go together well. You…you keep the damn fool boy in check…" He tried a slight smile, which failed rather quickly. "I just…did not wish others to gawk at…at the death-eater headmaster in a chair. Would have just been a distraction. And I'm no good at weddings; too much the cynic. Can't help myself at that, afraid…"

She shook her head and started to pull out her phone. "I never did show you our album, did I?"

His eyes sparkled warily. "What have I…done to myself now?"

She smiled triumphantly. "Here, we can go through them together."

He exhaled. "I doubt…I'll be particularly adept at this."

"It'll be good, it'll take your mind off the pain," she rattled on, moving her thumb along the screen.

"By making me look at your husband? To increase an alternative pain?"

She gave him a scolding look, but it was accompanying by a teasing twinkle in her eyes. "I don't suppose it would be quite the same without some snark, would it?"

He shrugged, and then winced. She noticed, and a look of sympathy came to her eyes. "Anyway," she hurried, "here's our pre-wedding photos. See, it's at the reception hall. Here's the full shot, the wedding party all together."

He blinked. "Nice…dress," he tried, though it couldn't help but sound forced.

She seemed not to mind, and proceeded showing him about twenty shots of her and Harry outside the building, inside the building, at the church, in the church, on a bench, at a table, kissing, eating, and otherwise. He was unbelievably bored, but did his best to hold himself together. He had vowed to try harder, and at least his physical pain was subsiding at any rate…

Just then, Harry wandered into the living room. "What's up with you two?"

"What does it look like?" Snape challenged, finally faltering in his resolve. "You're image is involved; it must be a torture session…"

"Oh, come off it," Hermione huffed, continuing to flip through and smiling brightly when she came to one where Harry fed her a forkful of cake.

"Wow, I look amazing in that one," Harry commented on his own picture.

"I think you're supposed to comment…on her," Snape groaned. "Insufferable narcissist…"

"Well, I am, actually" he retorted. "I'm commenting on her good taste."

Snape rolled his eyes. "As the sages say, love must be blind."

"Now, please, gentlemen, no fighting!" she shushed them. Then she squealed in glee as she found the picture of Harry taking off her garter. Harry made some sort of comment about inherent sexiness; Snape looked thoroughly unimpressed. Harry hurriedly amended that she was the one who brought out said sexiness. Snape raised an eyebrow. Then somewhere along the line they wound up snuggled on the couch in front of him, studying the photos off in their little love-nest world, and flashing the screen at him intermittently, which sort of gave him a headache.

They were being silly, immature, young idiots, he thought to himself. They were staying up too late, anyway, he registered. They have work to do, courses to take should be in bed. They were annoying twittering love birds.

And then he had the overwhelmingly strange sense that he was grateful to be alive to be a part of it, just to be drawn into the silly, immature, quirky moments of their lives. No words could capture that, so he just swallowed back the unexpected lump in his throat.