Author's Note: Hello again! I just wanted to thank you all for reading. Enjoy!

Chapter 2 Part 1

He had his answer, and it didn't make things any easier.

Their fifth morning sharing a bed, Severus woke with the knowledge that he preferred her hair down at night. When it was down, it mostly fluffed out behind her. When it was braided, it frizzed and tickled his chin and arm and nose, and he wanted to lop it all off while she slept. He vowed to say something to her at the soonest opportunity.

Annoyed, Severus extricated himself from her embrace and rose from the bed. He selected his clothes and headed into the bathroom for his morning shower. Aside from her mane of hair, he knew he could potentially do this long-term. Once he had gotten used to being touched, he quite enjoyed having her in bed with him. She was warm, which would be a boon in the dungeons, especially in the winter months.

Further, it was helpful to have someone he could call in to reliably watch a potion so he could actually have a decent lunch instead of waiting until whatever he was brewing was done. Hell, she reminded him to take a lunch. Hermione would quietly wait until she saw that it was safe to interrupt whatever he was doing and ask when he wanted her to take over. Fait accompli. He didn't have to ask. If it wasn't for her, he probably would have skipped lunch nearly every day.

It would save him from listening to Poppy's "motherly concern" at the start of term's health checks, if nothing else. In all honesty, the Mediwitch was worse than Molly Weasley when it came to badgering him about his weight.

Severus scowled at his reflection as he patted his shaving cream onto his face. He didn't know why Poppy bothered—he had always been rather thin and always would be, and his looks certainly would never improve. Too many frown lines, sharp cheekbones, overlarge nose... Why the hell would Hermione seriously want to marry him? Their children would suffer hideous hair, terrible teeth—well, perhaps not, hers were at least straight.

And why the hell would she choose to have children with him? Maybe it was that she valued intelligence. Or perhaps some old-fashioned notion of having children with her spouse. He wasn't about to ask, and she was bright enough to realise if he attempted Legilimency. He was capable of it, certainly, but not at all subtle.

Maybe he should work on that. Would she be amenable to practicing? Dangling any sort of new knowledge over Hermione Granger's head would certainly lean her towards agreeing to it.

Discarding his current train of thought, he checked his reflection to make sure he had covered all of the pertinent areas, then dampened the flannel and began wiping off the foam. The night's stubble left with it.

Severus started the shower and laid out his towel and the clothing he had carefully selected while waiting for the water to warm.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," he muttered, stepping under the spray.

He had been living in disbelief since she had, for lack of a better term, proposed. Disbelief that she had the ability to just outright proposition him. Disbelief that he enjoyed living with her. Disbelief that he thought he could marry her and not completely ruin their friendship. Disbelief that a spouse, a family, was possible.

He worked shampoo into his hair. He had never thought he could have a family. With Lily, he knew she wanted children, and she had waxed poetic about her envisioned wedding night to the point he had awkwardly excused himself and made a run for it, that was how uncomfortable it made him. He had decided that friendship was the way to go, and he would happily be Uncle Severus to Lily's future children...

...Right until he had fucked that ten ways 'til Sunday. And her future child had turned out to be a horrid little menace determined to get himself killed under his watch.

Then the Dark Lord, the war, everything... Who would want a dried up, bitter old man who thought sex was completely disgusting? A spy, who even now was partially distrusted? He had never thought he would have a close friend like he had with Hermione. Certainly, he got on with Minerva and Filius and the rest—except Longbottom and Sybil—in a nicely distanced colleague sort of way. He even managed what passed for good-natured rivalry when it came to Quidditch and the House Cup.

Severus rinsed the shampoo out.

And he was friends with Lucius and Narcissa, still. Somehow.

It wasn't the same sort of friendship with Lucius and Narcissa as what Hermione had wrangled her way into, but it...it worked. He was nasty, and she was nasty right back. He was...nice...and she didn't mention it. It worked.

But then Hermione had gone and proposed.

It was madness. It was worse than any of Albus's insane ideas during the war.

Worse yet, he had decided what to do. Given in, really, but it was a decision nonetheless.

He began to soap himself, sparing a glance down at his cock. He sneered down at it. Damn thing was hard this morning. Slicking his palm with soap, he took care of it. It felt good, certainly. He wasn't immune to the pleasure that carried through his nerves, nor was he immune to the basic physical needs of being male. Morning erections happened. Severus lacked control over it. Usually, it went away as he woke up, but some mornings it was insistent on being handled before it would allow him to piss.

And handling it in the shower was preferable, as all fluids washed down the drain.

It amused him that bodily fluids involved with sex disgusted him, but he could disjoint beetles, dismember various animals, and all the rest that Potions called for without flinching. He could put on gloves and be up to his elbows in bubotuber pus, but the thought of sloppy kisses turned his stomach. He could fill his office walls with pickled things and look upon them with no issue, but the mere mention of two people fornicating repulsed him.

Just what he had needed to compound the horribleness of his life.

He had never found it appealing. No, he'd never walked in on his parents as a child, or any such rubbish. He had actually thought something was wrong with him—more wrong than his hair and teeth and, well, everything—when as a teen he had begun witnessing Lily's obsession with joining married life, and his Housemates's propensities for snogging in the common room, and he had been utterly disgusted. The summer after his twelfth year, well after morning erections had started to plague him, he had risked his father's ire by sneaking a ride on the Knight Bus into London to St Mungo's, desperate for an answer.

After he had cajoled his way in via a sympathetic Healer, the risk had netted him some answers. The terms and descriptions...made so much sense. He'd gone home feeling quite a bit better about the whole thing and even the beating that had followed his little escapade hadn't taken the shine off the knowledge that he wasn't broken or some such rubbish.

It had been a relief, and he wondered if it was better now for Hermione, as well. Knowledge was a precious thing, something they both valued. Severus had seen the books she had brought from London, and he hoped they gave her the same assurance and comfort that he had garnered.

Rinsing away the last of the soap, Severus shut off the water, letting the droplets run down his body before reaching for his towel. Perhaps he would attempt to do something with his hair. Today was going to be an interesting day, after all.

A single glance at his reflection and he scowled. The hair was a lost cause.

Hermione lay awake, blinking groggily up at the ceiling. She was emphatically not a morning person, but having Severus around making noise was a good way to wake up. No blaring alarms, no being shaken awake by a House Elf, just slowly waking up as she heard the water run.

She woke a few times in the night, mostly because the man had incredibly sharp ankle bones, and was surprised to find that he allowed her to use him as a human teddy, for each time she woke she was in his arms. He was very comfortable, and warm, and once she had positioned her feet away from his again, going back to sleep was an easy thing.

Stretching, Hermione idly wondered if they could make a go of it for real, or if they would end up parting ways when the soon-to-be law was inevitably repealed.

Stop it, she told herself firmly.

She should stop worrying over it. Severus hadn't even answered yet. They still had two weeks or so until the soonest the law would be put into motion, and the Prophet had been strangely quiet on the subject since that first article.

Never a good sign, that.

The water shut itself off, and she listened to the sound of silence as he dried and dressed. When the bathroom door opened, she sat up and then blinked in bleary surprise.

"What are you wearing?"

"A suit," he answered curtly. He didn't look terribly happy about it.

"It looks very nice on you," Hermione said honestly. It did. It was well-tailored and flattered his lean frame. She didn't know anything about men's clothing, but the look suited him very well. Black with a dark grey waistcoat and a crisp white shirt. His usual cravat didn't look at all out of place, but she couldn't figure out why the change in his attire. "But why are you wearing it?"

Severus's lips thinned and he seemed to sag in defeat. "I thought perhaps that since you've finished your lesson plans that you'd like to—"

The rest was lost in a mutter, and he looked as if... Was he blushing?

"What?" Hermione got out of bed, tossing the sheets and comforter back up haphazardly and coming around the side of the bed to meet him. "Severus, is everything okay?"

Merlin, he was definitely blushing! "Fine," he replied, not meeting her eyes. "Do you have a white dress?"

Hermione gaped at him. "A what?"

"'A what'?" He mimicked, his lip curling into a sneer before he controlled his expression with clear effort. "I know you're not particularly coherent in the mornings, but do attempt to engage that vaunted mind of yours. Yes, a white dress. Not robes."

"So you've decided?" Her voice came out in a squeak. "And that is how you go about proposing we head off?"

"Technically, you proposed to me," Severus snapped. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly re-evaluating his approach. "I was hoping that, as I've decided to accept, we could get this over and done with before you decide it was a terrible idea and run screaming from castle and country."

Smiling nervously, Hermione put a trembling hand on his shoulder and stood on tip-toe to brush a kiss over his cheek. He stiffened, but to his credit he didn't pull away.

"I have a dress I can turn white," she said. "Thank you, Severus. For being willing to marry me."

"I believe it's the other way around," he said as she dug through the magically-enlarged wardrobe.

"Well I believe," Hermione said, tugging on the zipper of the bag she kept her nice dresses in, "that it's a good thing we're friends. Oh, come on you stupid thing—Got it!"

She wrestled with the bag a bit more before pulling out the sage-green dress. It was tea length, but flattering to her small frame.

"I might turn it cream instead. White may be too much, wouldn't you think?"

"Whatever pleases you," Severus said.

Hermione hurried into the bathroom, hoping he wouldn't change his mind in the interval. The man looked nervous enough to bolt. Or vomit.

...She actually felt a bit like the latter herself.

Hermione washed quickly, her heart pounding. Her. Married. Today. To Severus. It seemed mad, but it was for the best. They were friends. They were colleagues. They could apparently cohabit a set of rooms with ease. They respected each other. It would be enough, short term. Long term, well...If she was perfectly honest, Hermione liked living with him. More, she liked him, full stop.

Working the shampoo vigorously through her hair, she worried about it. What if their practical decision to marry didn't work out? Would it ruin their friendship? It was nice, having someone here at Hogwarts with whom she could easily converse with on almost any topic and still sit in silence with. Yes, she was on good terms with most of the other professors, but Severus was a friend, and she valued him.

Losing him would be terrible. Hermione set her mouth in a firm line as she rinsed her hair. Well, she would just have to make sure she didn't lose him.

Severus was sitting stiffly on the sofa he had abandoned just a few days ago. The plush cushions gave him no comfort now, waiting for Hermione—his bride—to emerge from her (their?) room. His hands were balled into fists atop his knees, his knuckles white and sharp against his skin. He desperately wanted to run, even if he had been the one to spring the decision on her.

Yes, what they were doing was eminently practical. Yes, they worked well together, even when one of them was in a foul mood.

But...Severus closed his eyes and breathed slowly, retreating behind his Occlumency shields before he jumped out a window.

What if he bollocksed the whole 'marriage' thing? He didn't have so many friends that he could afford to lose what he had with Hermione.

Worse, what if he came to love her?

Oh, his bloody therapist was going to have a field day if she dragged that out of him.

"Sorry," Hermione said.

Severus opened his eyes and turned to look at her. He froze, immediately grateful that he was actively employing Occlumency to sort his thoughts.

"What do you think?"

She gave him a spin, and he nodded mutely. It was all he could manage. Hermione looked lovely. She had changed most of the dress to cream, but it faded back to the green it was towards the bottom of the skirts, and was mercifully not wearing heels but flat green shoes. Her hair, still damp, was piled haphazardly on her head.

Hermione offered him a nervous smile, before crossing to a small chest. She dug through it, made a selection, and poked earrings into her ears. "So why the request to wear white?"

"Because we are aiming for this to look like we're not avoiding their blasted law," Severus said, his voice clipped as he clearly enunciated each word. She frowned at his tone, but said nothing. "As you are Muggle-born, a 'romantic' marriage at Gretna Green isn't terribly unusual, but that means we do require some trappings. Further, both of us have...unique names. When the Prophet does catch wind, they'll probably send someone to investigate our ceremony and we will be easily recalled."

"True." Hermione headed towards the kitchen, then paused. "Did you want breakfast?"

Severus hesitated. "I thought that perhaps I may take you to brunch. After, that is."

"Good idea. My stomach isn't entirely settled."

Hermione stared at the dining table before taking one of the sweet pea blossoms that wasn't entirely browned yet and tucking it into her hair. Details and all that.

"One moment."

Severus stood and strode into the brewing room. He opened the crate he had finished yesterday and removed a phial. Uncorking it as he walked back to her, he offered it to her.

"Drink."

She didn't check the label or smell the contents before downing it in one swig. She grimaced. "That's disgusting."

Severus shrugged and Vanished the phial to the recycling bin in the depths of the castle to be washed for reuse. He was astounded that she would trust him so blindly.

"And yet it is intended to settle one's stomach, among other things." He didn't mention he had already taken one and had a spare phial secreted in his trouser pocket. "Are you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Hermione replied.

To his surprise, she extended her hand and took his with it.

"It's a bit of walk to the gates. Would you rather walk in quiet?"

He found himself squeezing her slim fingers. "No."

The walk to the Apparition point had been filled with stilted conversation on the book she was reading and his potioneering progress. At least the weather had been fine. No ill weather to make the awkward walk miserable as neither of them spoke about their morning plans.

They saw no one else on the path; not even a flock of birds. No centaurs were seen darting among the trees of the Forbidden Forest, nor did the Giant Squid wave a tentacle in greeting.

The clanging shut of the gates behind them sounded ominous, but Hermione reached for him again, giving him a nervous smile. She wondered if all brides were so nervous on their wedding day. Severus stared at their linked fingers for a long moment before pulling her closer than necessary for Side-Along. It was the closest to an embrace Hermione thought that she would get in public—if one could count the deserted lane between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade as public—and took it as a sign of comfort. Severus took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

Then there was that breathless, squeezed feeling that did absolutely nothing for her nerves.

When they had Apparated with a sharp crack to an alley in Gretna Green and found themselves un-Splinched, they set about finding a chapel. People, seeing their attire and the way her hand was tucked safely into the crook of his elbow, were kind enough to point them to a suitable spot. An older couple even volunteered to witness for them, to Hermione's surprise. She had expected to have to ask, but clearly marriages like this were common enough that people liked to watch.

The chapel they had been directed to was small but pretty, and the elderly priest polite enough not to inquire about their obvious age difference or rather nervous appearance. Hermione found herself gripping Severus's hand tightly, but he did not complain or remove the appendage from her hold. Why was she so nervous? Hermione asked herself repeatedly as they filled out the paperwork required. This whole thing had been her mad idea.

Severus dipped his head down to speak to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear. His hair tickled.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded jerkily. "Nervous. Terrified."

"Do not be. It will be fine."

Severus's eyes met hers. The eyes of her friend.

"Breathe, Hermione. Just breathe."

Her chest rose and fell as she took one deep breath, then another. It helped a little.

Still her hand trembled as she took the pen to sign. Severus's hand rested on her shoulder, and she took it for the support it was. She had noticed that his eyes were remote now, and she tried not to make this any more uncomfortable for him than necessary.

Hermione signed her name, her name appearing in her usual script. Neat, tidy, rounded. She handed the pen to him next.

Severus signed his name on the line with an unusual flourish.

Both signatures, round and spiky, stared up at them. She exhaled slowly. They actually looked rather good together.

A scant half-hour later found the newly wed Professors Snape sitting in a Muggle cafe, ordering brunch. Hermione was certain she was still wild-eyed. Severus was looking...well, it was hard to tell with him. Resigned, maybe. Or perhaps he was screaming inside his head. She would never know, for he deftly poured his tea and began pushing beans onto his spoon with his toast points.

"Stop staring at me," he snapped. "For Merlin's sake, Hermione. Nothing is going to change aside from perhaps your name and our place of residence."

"Sorry," she replied.

Her fork was bent and she poked at it half-heartedly with one finger. Was it worth risking breaking the Statute of Secrecy to fix?

No, not really.

"And don't apologise," he ground out.

They ate, watching the Muggle couples in the restaurant. It wasn't terribly busy.

"It erm...it was a lovely ceremony," Hermione offered at last.

Her hand shook as she picked up her mug of tea. It had left a light brown ring on the white tablecloth. Severus paused, spoon halfway to his mouth, frowning.

"Are you having second thoughts? I can return to the chapel, Obliviate the staff, and Vanish the paperwork if you desire."

"No." Hermione was surprised at how firm she managed to say it. "I'm just a little overwhelmed. It's been a while since I've been on the receiving end of your decisiveness. It just feels very sudden."

Severus snorted. "I am afraid that comes from teaching for over twenty years. You yourself are plenty decisive. I have seen you hand out detentions to the little miscreants."

Hermione smiled and took a bite of her eggs. She chewed and swallowed. "That's true."

"What else is bothering you?" Severus asked, taking a bite of his own meal.

Damn. He was too perceptive. She tried to find a way to voice what was bothering her.

"I always thought that if I did get married that my parents would be there to see it. But they don't even know me, and they'll never know any potential grandchildren. I thought I had adjusted to that...but today..."

"It has all become real, rather than abstract," he surmised.

He had known about her parents, but hadn't thought to think of how their absence would affect her. If this marriage lasted long enough to bring forth children, he made a mental note to be aware that Hermione would likely have these same thoughts then.

"Exactly." Hermione scraped jam across her toast. "I don't mind being married to you—we've started as friends, and that's actually a really good foundation. I just wasn't expecting—"

"The regrets over your parents."

"Correct. I don't regret protecting them. I do regret that it was permanent. And odd as how it came about, I don't regret us. I just wanted to make sure you know that."

Severus nodded curtly. Was it a trick of the light, or was he relieved?

"What else did you have in mind for today?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"I thought perhaps a trip to Diagon Alley. A public stroll would do us some good, even if we aren't telling anyone of—" Severus flushed.

"About the wedding?" Hermione smiled.

Severus nodded. It was almost adorable, how embarrassed he was. Over the years she had become aware that beneath his admittedly off-putting exterior, underneath he was still incredibly shy and insecure. Yes, he was bitter. And antisocial on the best days, until you earned his friendship and respect...but once you had... Well, Hermione cherished her friendship with Severus all the more. He really was her closest friend, and she couldn't think of anyone better to have wed.

They were quietly more at ease now.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"Should I be remiss in telling you later, I do not regret this, either."

He didn't look at her while he said it. Merlin, he sounded stupid. But she needed to hear it, he thought. Hermione was a bookish woman, argumentative, thought she was always right, bossy... But still, she was his friend, and now his wife. And while the words were difficult to manage and unfamiliar in his mouth, they needed to be said.

"Thank you," she whispered.

They gave each other small smiles and went back to their meals.

Severus sat by the low fire in the squashy chair, still nursing his sole glass of Elf-made wine. He was too disturbed by the day to sleep yet, and Hermione had retired nearly two hours ago.

Hermione.

His wife.

He wasn't having second thoughts, no—the decision and reasoning behind it had been more than sound. And venturing into Diagon Alley after their admittedly awkward brunch had been a welcome relief to them both. Both of their shoulders had lost tension, their strides had become more relaxed amongst the uneven cobbles and tightly-crammed alley with all of its scents and sounds and fashions they were both more used to seeing.

Severus much preferred the Wizarding world to the Muggle one, and having Apparated, they had headed first for Slug and Jiggers, where he buried his nose in baskets of herbs to seek the freshest for his purposes. He had also nudged Hermione towards Madame Malkins', where he placed his customary summer order for new teaching robes—his always suffered an ignominious fate at the hands of one volatile brew or another. Hermione had placed an order of her own: he hadn't asked for what. And of course they had stopped in at Flourish and Blott's.

Neither of them had asked about Gringotts. He assumed that they would keep separate accounts.

No eyebrows had raised or tongues had wagged at the sight of the two of them together in Diagon Alley. Severus had been ready for it, his wand close at hand, but no one seemed to notice or care that the two Hogwarts professors had stepped out for a bit of shopping together. Certainly they—Hermione mostly—were stopped on occasion by people wishing to thank the 'heroes' or by students saying they were looking forward to the fall term, but that was all.

At least the two of them being seen together would certainly lend credence to their supposed romance and subsequent marriage when the Prophet finally caught wind of it. Severus was not particularly looking forward to that, and by the way Hermione had steered clear of the side street upon which lay the Prophet's office, he gathered that she looked upon that eventuality about as favourably as he.

Severus hadn't minded returning to her quarters and preparing dinner alongside her. He ground rosemary for the sauce while she chopped vegetables, and she prepared the pasta while he made up the sauce. Dinner hadn't even been awkward, both of them discussing the upcoming term and the people they had seen in Diagon Alley over their meal.

They had even then passed an agreeable night reading in front of the fire. Companionable, even.

But none of that was what was keeping him awake now.

No, what had him perturbed was seeing her reverently stroke the spine of a book in Flourish and Blott's, check the price, make a face, and return it to the shelf. Possessed by some strange urge, Severus had found himself crossing to her, plucking the book from its place, and saying, "Allow me to make this a gift to you" before his brain could even begin to fathom what his mouth and body were doing.

He hadn't looked at the price nor batted an eye when signing the promissory note for Gringotts to draw the exorbitant forty-three Galleons from his account. No, he had been too busy thinking about her face as the scrap of paper rolled up and vanished in a furl of flame before the 'e' in 'Snape' was even dry.

When Severus had said he intended to buy it for her, Hermione had lit as if by the sun itself. He almost thought no one had given the witch a gift before, and he knew that was not the case. She had been delighted by his offer. The way her eyes shone, the smile she bestowed upon him...

Never in his life had he ever been the cause of such a look—not even from Lily—and it disturbed him deeply. He could not seem to pinpoint why.

Severus swirled the wine absently, still turning the incident in the book store over in his mind. He wished that Hermione's wine glasses were not so much nicer than his own. Hers were enchanted to keep the wine chilled, whereas he usually dumped what he had not drunk when it warmed. He took another sip with a grimace. It was a fine vintage, but he always overestimated how much wine he actually desired when pouring a glass, and if it went warm he didn't feel compelled to finish it.

Wine made him introspective, so he didn't always want to finish a glass.

It was strange to be married. He was inordinately grateful that Hermione had suggested they not get wedding rings, as the weight would have been stifling. He was married. He had a wife. It was done. Had been for hours.

Severus idly wondered what she wanted to do about her last name.

He took another mouthful of wine. Damn it all, he was always introspective and maudlin when he drank, no matter the quantity. It didn't help, either, that when she had gone to bed, Hermione had dropped a kiss atop his head as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe for her it was. His own parents hadn't exactly been the model of a healthy relationship.

That gave Severus pause.

What if he turned into his father?

His brow furrowed.

No. He wouldn't. He refused to do so.

After a moment's hesitation, he drained the glass. No sense analysing the day any further, as he would only succeed in driving himself mad.

Banishing the glass to the kitchen, he doused the light and fire before padding silently into the bedroom. Once he had collected his nightclothes, he moved into the bathroom and completed his nightly ablutions.

He wondered if they would ever reach the point of comfort to change in front of each other, or if he would be dressing and undressing in the bathroom for the rest of his married life.

Breath minty from the rinse-and-spit tooth-cleaning potion, Severus found his way to the bed and squinted into the gloom. He was surprised to find that Hermione was not half on his half of the bed, but instead was curled up on her side, facing the window. As he leaned over to climb into bed, he saw that a slight frown marred her sleeping features.

Severus slipped between the soft sheets, lay his head upon his pillow, and waited for sleep to claim him.

And waited.

He turned one way, willing himself to fall asleep…

And waited.

He turned the other and adjusted his pillow, feeling agitated.

And waited.

A Tempus whispered into the darkness showed that an hour had passed, and he cursed, frustrated. Caving, he slid closer to Hermione, curling himself around her body. She let out a soft sigh as his arm went around her waist, and he froze. She didn't seem to wake, and he carefully worked the arm he was laying on under her neck and pillow. Hermione yawned and he froze again, but she merely made another contented sound and relaxed into his embrace.

He didn't remember falling asleep.