Vindicated.
She was sure it was a wonderful feeling. Or, at least, a bitter 'I told you so.'
He sat to her left (cane propped on his knee), upright and staunchly imposing, even sitting in a wheelchair. His eyes were staring forward determinedly as the Minister continued his oration.
She took a shaky breath as praising words rolled over the audience, dictating a life's worth of service and an eternity of gratitude owed by the entire community.
And as the concluding remarks echoed through the grand atrium and the standing ovation began, she watched him stand shakily on his atrophied legs, weeks of practice barely preparing him for the march to the dais. He wavered as he leaned on the cane, and she put a reassuring hand on his elbow.
"No," he muttered, batting her hand away. "I can do it."
And as the crowd cheered, Severus Snape limped to the podium, bowing and receiving a beautiful purple ribbon bearing a glinting medal, closing his eyes at the pleasant weight of 'this is so right.' She was sure he could no longer hear the raucous applause over the pounding of his heart.
He strode purposefully back to their table, wheezing with the effort, and she caught his hand as he sat heavily, squeezing it tight.
They both chose to ignore that there were tears in his eyes again. Beautiful, happy tears blurred his vision, but never spilled over. Of course, that would be quite undignified. Slytherins certainly didn't cry. Snapes definitely didn't cry.
In public, that is.
And she grasped his shoulder with another hand, leaning in to place a kiss on his cheek.
To say that he was surprised would be an understatement. His cheeks were stained pink.
She stood, and would later swear she had clapped the loudest.