A/N: In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the Taylorswiftfest2022 collection.

This fic is based on "Speak Now" as part of Taylor Swift Fest. Even if you aren't familiar with the song or the artist, I think it will make just as much sense anyway. And for those of you that are, hopefully there are enough references to tickle your fancy. I certainly enjoyed working on it.

Thanks to my amazing beta photon08 for her work on this piece.

Hermione stared unblinkingly into the full-length mirror, her face pale and a hint of sweat threatening the carefully constructed curls near her hairline. Light ecclesiastical music wafted in through the thin walls of the detached bridal suite, just a few steps away from the small country church where she was to be wed within the hour. Standing there, looking at herself wearing her hair styled to within an inch of its life, makeup more suited for a winter wedding than a summer one, and a gown she did not choose and never would have, she could not fathom how she had wound up in such an unfortunate predicament.

Honestly, Hermione, how can you think like that? You're about to get married.

A knock on the door broke through her thoughts.

She turned to see Ginny enter and exhaled in relief at the welcome interruption. "Hi, Gin."

"Wow, Hermione, you look gorgeous!"

The redhead came up behind Hermione and gave a squeeze as she wrapped her arms around the older girl's middle.

"Thanks," Hermione said, addressing their reflections, "I feel like I have a stomach full of butterflies."

Ginny wrinkled her nose. "That's foul."

"It's a Muggle saying," Hermione laughed, but the sensation only made her stomach roll. Turning serious, she asked nervously, "Ginny, do you think I'll be any good at this?"

Still hugging her, Ginny placed her chin on Hermione's shoulder. Her frayed nerves and fierce doubts felt soothed by the contact. Hermione was so grateful that she and Ginny had become closer after school had ended, and to finally have a close female confidant in her life. That thought and Ginny's easy smile helped her lean back into her friend's embrace, her taut muscles relaxing as she breathed out a deep sigh.

"I honestly don't think my brother even deserves you, so how could you be anything less than perfect?"

Hermione swallowed thickly, smiling against her disappointment. She didn't want to have to be perfect anymore. She wanted to make the decisions that she wanted, that would make her happy, not because they were expected or because she felt obligated. She just wanted to be Hermione.

She just wanted to be free.

"And you and I will finally be sisters!" Ginny carried on. "So if he annoys you, you can come complain to me."

Hermione gave a tight-lipped smile.

Ginny's face softened for a moment, but she chewed her lip anxiously. She seemed to be contemplating asking something before finally deciding just to say it. "Did you invite him?"

"Gods no," Hermione scoffed. "Could you imagine him here?"

Even to herself, Hermione didn't find her reflection's expression particularly convincing.

"I'm sorry, Mione. I know you two were friends."

Hermione swallowed thickly and nodded, saying nothing.

Ginny kissed her on the cheek. "It's all right. You two will make up and you can tell him all about the wedding then. Doesn't really seem like his scene anyway, you know?" She gave Hermione another squeeze before letting go and heading to the door. "I'm going to go check on Ron now. We'll all be out there when you're ready."

Hermione glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until she was scheduled to walk down the aisle and bind herself to her childhood crush forever.

"Yeah I'll see you there."

The door closed and Hermione looked once again at her reflection, trying to quell the urge to run.

Severus Snape was not the kind of man to be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion. He'd never even been to a wedding before, and he would not have the Prophet getting wind that his first public outing after the war had been to a wedding of all things.

Especially not her wedding.

He slunk around the barn that passed for a church, his strongest Disillusionment Charm cast over him.

He crept up to the window, carefully stepping through tall weeds that had grown along the sides of the church. Could they not have picked a more suitable venue? Honestly.

He looked through the window and saw her friends and family beginning to take their seats. The Weasleys were all dressed in various hues, their robes such vibrant shades that he wanted to vomit. Couldn't they choose something like pastel? Something that wouldn't upstage her?

He scoffed. As if they could upstage her. As if anyone could.

Weasley was standing at the front, wearing robes so ostentatious they gave the impression he was Merlin himself. Severus had always found wearing formal robes at weddings to be the most ridiculous part of wizarding culture. His one hold over from the Muggle half of his upbringing was that he thought suits were far more presentable.

She wasn't there yet of course.

He leaned his head against the pane glass window and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths as the cool glass pressed back against his forehead. She had been visiting him ever since the war ended; for nearly three years, she came to his house in Cokeworth once a week, and somewhere between once being professor and student, and becoming friends, she had wormed her way into his heart. How could he have screwed things up so badly?

Severus hadn't even wanted to survive the war. To find that he had was both nauseating and distressing. What on earth would he do now that his life hadn't been forfeit to Dumbledore's great plans? He was content to wallow in his ancestral home until he wasted away, forgotten.

She, apparently, would have none of it.

Hermione arrived for the first time with a basket of food. "I figured you wouldn't be in any state to cook," she said with a compassionate smile, "given that you're probably still recovering."

He was outraged. How had a student gained access to his home?

"Don't worry," she replied as if she were the Legillimens. "I practically had to wring it out of Minerva. I'm the only one who knows where you are."

That was small comfort to him. He had never desired anyone except for his Secret Keeper to know he was even alive, and the Daily Prophet had already ruined that. But now for anyone to know where he was, let alone a young woman who had found it acceptable to show up at his house uninvited?

No, he needed to squelch that inclination where she stood. He grabbed the basket before forcefully shutting the door without another word.

The freshly steaming biscuits covered in apple-honey butter were divine.

He ate the basket in one go.

It went on like that for several months. She would arrive at his house on Sundays and bring him something he might need, or offer to run to town to get him something he desired. She seemed to realize he hadn't been leaving the house at all. He informed her several times that he had not asked for her help, but she came nonetheless.

Eventually, he let her inside. That was probably his first mistake.

She was enraptured by his home library. Severus tried not to squirm at the state of his home as Hermione admired the rows and rows of tomes with open-mouthed appreciation. His house had already been falling apart before the war ended, and had since become littered with the sort of clutter that one who doesn't feel any sense of purpose or direction tends to obtain.

Fixing up his house became the next stage of her plan, apparently. It didn't seem wise or worthwhile to fight her on her influence anymore. And it was improving with her around. She helped him set things to rights and even revitalize the old garden in the back with herbs and plants for potions. It took months, and over time, between cleaning, drinking tea, and discussing books, they formed a sort of friendship.

"Why don't we go into Hogsmeade?" she had suggested one day, about a year into this. "It would be nice to get something at The Three Broomsticks, don't you think?"

"No," he said curtly. "I have no desire to see anyone."

"I could teach you my Disillusioning Charm," she had said.

"Miss Granger, if you think I don't already know how to do a Disillusioning spell—"

"No, mine , it's stronger than a typical one. There's no shimmer around the edges, and we'll be able to see each other if we cast them together."

He agreed, though sneering, and shouldn't have been surprised to learn that it was perfect.

That was how they began leaving the house. They never went anywhere far, or anywhere truly public, but they were able to take walks together.

That was his second mistake.

Being outside with her, breathing air outside the walls of his abode, seeing her animatedly discuss things like her passions and her family and her love for the winter season, he started to smile more. Just a touch more. And it seemed that smiling let cracks form in the solid fortress he had built around his heart.

He started noticing things like the way her curls bounced when she walked, the way her eyes lit up when she saw a cat, the way she scrunched her nose when he cooked with onions because she hated the smell.

He stopped using onions.

After another year of noticing things about her and coming to rely on their presence, he began to panic. When would she tire of this? Of him? Surely she could not enjoy spending so much time with someone who refused to be seen in public ever again. She would one day take her leave and he would be left even more bereft than before this had started. He was sure of it.

It made it all the more surprising when she kissed him.

He felt his brain whirling. She was kissing him and he was kissing her back and it was more than he ever could have dared to hope for.

Looking back in that nanosecond, perhaps there were signs, he thought. The way she often sought out small ways to touch him, the way she looked at him over her cup of tea, the fact that she always asked him to read aloud because she liked his voice.

But to be kissing him? How had he gotten so lucky?

Surely it could not last.

That thought alone was enough to send him spiraling, and he pulled back abruptly, pushing away from her, though there wasn't very far to go on his front step.

"Severus?"

"You have to go."

"Severus—"

He held his hand out, keeping her at a distance. "This was a mistake."

"No, I—" She tried to step forward.

"Leave."

"Stop it!" She stomped her foot in the snow. The crunch was too amusing to sound threatening; she was a kitten and he was a lion and she would get eaten alive in his world. He had to let her go.

"Hermione, I am sorry," and he truly was, "but nothing can happen here."

"Don't do this," she pleaded.

His voice was quiet, but his conviction didn't waver. "This would never work, Miss Granger. You need to go."

"Tell me you don't love me," she challenged. "Tell me you don't love me, and I'll leave you alone."

"You really wish to chain yourself to a man who will not reenter society? Who has no desire to ever see another living being again? Who is not capable of giving you what you want?"

"That's not true."

"It is true. The only person I ever see is you."

"Tell me you don't love me," she repeated.

"The only person I even want to see is you. The only person I want to drink tea with and go on walks with and garden with and let anywhere near my life, is you."

She stood her ground, looking him in the eye and steadily demanding, "Tell me you don't love me."

"That's not good enough for you. You deserve more." She was making him angry. Why couldn't she see this was for the best? That it was killing him to let her go?

"Tell me you don't love me!"

There was an unending pause.

"I don't love you."

More silence. She blinked. Took a step back and examined his face.

"I don't believe you."

He turned with a sigh that came from the depths of his very soul.

"Goodbye, Hermione."

That was his third and final mistake.

Severus raised his head, eyes bleary as he looked through the window. He had royally fucked up, and she never returned after that day. He had changed his wards after their kiss so she could not enter without permission, but she hadn't even tried.

He wasn't sure what he had expected.

Hermione sat at the vanity trying to breathe deeply. Looking back at the last six months, it all went by in a blur. She was so heartbroken when she showed up at Ron's door. She should have realized that her best friend was still in love with her, should have gone to Harry's instead, but she didn't want to interrupt his date night with Ginny. And perhaps some small part of her wanted the validation of someone who cared in the way Severus wouldn't allow himself to care. So when she showed up at Ron's flat crying and looking for comfort, it hadn't taken much to convince her that he could give her that.

She'd cried in his arms, but wouldn't discuss the particulars. Just told him that she and Severus had had a fight. Ron promised that he would never leave her again. Apologized for all the hurt from before and begged her for a second chance. Kissed her and she let him. And how could she use her best friend like that? A good man who loved her, who she knew loved her more than she could ever love him?

She let him hold her, touch her, have her, and all the while the betrayal burned through her white hot as she continued to feel loyalty to a man who had turned her away.

The guilt was half the reason she said yes.

Another knock.

This time it was Harry entering the bridal suite and taking Hermione from her morbid reverie.

She knew that one look at her and Harry could see the fear written all over her face.

"Hermione—"

"Harry, please, I'm already nervous enough. If you tell me I don't have to do this, I might actually leave."

He stood in the open doorway, his hands in his pockets, and watched her.

He didn't need to say anything, and she still cracked.

A choked sob escaped her throat and he rushed towards her, pulling a handkerchief embroidered with Best Man to the Bride from one of his pockets.

Hermione dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "I'm being so silly."

"No, you're not."

"He's one of my best friends, Harry. Why am I panicking?"

Harry shrugged, taking the handkerchief and dabbing under her eyes for her so she didn't smudge the mascara. "This isn't what you thought it would be."

"It's...not."

He sighed. "You don't have to do this Hermione."

A chill ran down her spine and she looked around the room, feeling…something. She brushed it off. "No, it'll—it'll be fine. It's just...it's just nerves. And to be honest," she glanced over her shoulder into the mirror and looked back at him with an apologetic smile, "I hate my dress."

Harry laughed. "It does look a bit like a cupcake. Why did you let Molly talk you into wearing hers anyway?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and laughed without mirth. "It was the compromise for her to stop bringing up her future grandchildren every five minutes."

Harry's eyes went wide. "You're not—"

" No , and I have no intention to be. I mean, at least not—not for a—a long while. Eventually, of course." She winced. She hadn't meant for her fears about ever having children with Ron to be on display.

Harry looked at her knowingly. "Right."

Hermione smoothed the pastry-like dress out and tried to smile. "I just miss my mum and dad. I wish they could be here, that's all. I'm fine."

A soft noise from the corner drew her attention.

"Did you hear that?"

Harry turned to look. "Hear what?"

There was nothing there. Hermione shook her head. "Nothing, I guess. Are you ready?"

Harry laughed, holding out his arm in a very gentlemanly manner. "I think I'm supposed to be asking you that."

"I'm fine. Or I will be, eventually. Let's get this over with." She placed her hand on his outstretched arm.

"Just what every bride is supposed to say on her wedding day."

"Harry James Potter, I will hex you."

He laughed, leading her from the room.

Severus cursed Potter for ruining his plan.

How was he supposed to talk to her now that she was on her way into the church?

She'd looked right at him when he'd stubbed his toe in his distraction. He hadn't had her gaze on him in six months.

She was beautiful and he was a fool.

He sat in the chair she had previously occupied in front of the vanity and placed his elbows on the table, dropping his head into his hands. His heart was racing and he felt sick to his stomach, thoughts coming at lightning speed as he ruminated on his mistakes. He shouldn't have waited until this day. He should have sought her out. Should have begged her forgiveness. Shouldn't have been such a coward.

He had missed his chance. She was surely halfway down the aisle by now in that atrocious dress. It was horrific, but to him, she looked just as stunning as ever. And the last memory he would have of her was her eyes roving over the seemingly empty bit of air where he stood.

No.

No.

That wasn't good enough. Not for him. Not for her. She didn't look happy, hadn't been sure. And she was going to bind herself to that idiot anyway.

He had to stop her. He had to try.

Hermione floated down the aisle, rose petals charmed to fall behind her as she walked. She hardly felt her feet moving her along; the organ music felt like a death march.

All eyes were on her, and she could hear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's soft sobs, joined by Minerva's and just about every other woman of a certain age in the converted barn.

Hermione's heart raced and her hands shook. She was glad for the oversized bouquet to hide them in.

At the front of the church, Ron looked at her like he had just won the lottery. Before she knew it, she was somehow standing next to him.

"Wow, Mione, you look bloody gorgeous."

"Thanks, Ron." And then she realized she should return the compliment. "You look very nice as well."

He shrugged. It was not a very becoming gesture in formal robes.

The preacher—she had insisted on a Muggleborn preacher in tribute to her parents; someone who had chosen to take up that station after Hogwarts, but could still perform a formal binding—looked between them. He must have been at least a hundred years old.

"We are gathered here today…"

Hermione barely heard the words of the blended ceremony. Her heart was in her throat and she focused on not expelling her meager breakfast at her fiancé's feet.

Every cell in her body was urging her to run, but it was too late.

Severus stood at the back of the church, still disillusioned, breathing rapidly as his heart hammered against his ribcage.

She could not go through with this. He couldn't let her. Had to tell her. Had to have a chance. Just one more chance.

But she was already standing in front of the church, holding Ron's hands in front of her as the preacher recited the first part of the ceremony.

Severus watched in agony as he got closer to losing her forever by the moment. How could he get to her now? It was too late.

And then, his saving grace.

The preacher looked out over the crowd and spoke in an old, crackly voice. "If anyone should have reason to believe that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony and their magic bound for all eternity, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."

A deathly silence fell over the hall and Severus saw Hermione turn her head slightly, looking out over the sea of people as if begging someone, anyone, to save her from her mistake.

He stepped forward, hands shaking as he cancelled the Disillusionment Charm and appeared in front of the first crowd he had seen, let alone been in, in years.

"I have something to say."

A collective gasp went through the audience as all eyes took in the Potions Master no one had seen for three years. Expressions ranged from shock to confusion to pure horror as he walked hurriedly down the aisle.

But he could only look at her.

And she was staring right back at him.

"What's he doing here?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Hermione," Severus began quietly, addressing her directly.

"Severus." It was a whisper. Disbelief. He could see the tears starting in her eyes.

He spoke only to her. "Hermione, please, I need—I need to speak to you."

"Oi, we're in the middle of a wedding here," Ron said in exasperation, gesturing around.

"Yes, I'm aware of that, Mr. Weasley," Severus said without taking his eyes off Hermione.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I made a mistake. I came to fix it."

Her eyes went wide, eyebrows raising high on her forehead. "On my wedding day?"

Had he misjudged? It didn't seem like she wanted to be marrying the youngest Weasley boy but maybe he'd been mistaken. Maybe she didn't still love him. Maybe this was not a welcome apology.

"No matter what day this turns out to be," he began, "I need you to know. I was wrong to turn you away like that. I lied to you."

A watery smile pulled at half her face. "I know."

"Please, Hermione. You are not the kind of witch to be marrying the wrong man."

"What is all this about!" Mrs. Weasley shouted.

To his credit, her son hushed her. "Quiet, mum." He turned to his fiancée.

"Hermione?"

Hermione was still staring at Severus like she was trying to solve a puzzle. "Why are you doing this?"

"The—the man said to speak," he grinned apologetically, "and, I—I couldn't let you go through with it. Not without telling you."

The preacher interrupted at that moment. "I'm not sure what is going on right now," he said gently, "but time is running out. Do you wish to continue with the vows?"

Severus panicked, reaching out for her before pulling his hand back, placing them out in front of him, palms facing her pleadingly. "Please. Don't say yes."

"There's a crowd."

"I know, but that's not a good enough—"

She shook her head. "No, there's a crowd. And you're standing here."

He swallowed, holding his breath. "I am."

"Why?"

He took in her face, looking at him with honesty, asking for the same back.

"Because I love you, Hermione."

He heard her suck in a breath through her nose as her eyes closed and the tears finally fell.

"You have terrible timing, Severus."

He licked his bottom lip, biting it nervously. "I know."

She opened her eyes, and he was relieved to see a small smile tug at her lips. "I'm gonna need a moment," she whispered just loud enough for Ron and Severus' ears.

Was he—was she—would they—

"Of course. I'll meet you by the back door?"

She nodded as the whole church waited silently. Severus turned on his heel and walked quickly down the aisle and outside.

Hermione's heart was ready to burst with joy, but there was one thing she had to do first.

She turned to him. "Ron—"

He held up his hand. "Do you love him?"

She looked at the man who had been there for so much of her life. Who had comforted her, protected her, loved her. She saw it all—and she didn't want him. She wanted to spare him the pain of her answer, but she wouldn't lie to him.

"Yes."

Ron took in a shaky breath and exhaled. "I just want you to be happy, Mione. And I think that could be with me. But if you know it won't be, then I think you should do us both a favor and go."

Her eyes watered. "Ron, I'm sorry—"

He shrugged, trying to smile through his own tears that were forming. "It was too good to be true. Go ahead." He gestured with his head towards the doors at the back of the church. "But you'd damn well better invite me if you marry the bat."

She laughed and threw her arms around her best friend's neck; he pulled her in close.

"I love you too, Ron."

"I know," he murmured. "Just not the same." He gave her a squeeze and slapped her on the bum. "Now get going."

Hermione looked at him gratefully before picking up the edge of her dress and running down the aisle, back towards the doors.

She heard Harry and Ginny quick on her heels.

Severus waited around the edge of the barn, pacing nervously and wringing his hands.

What if she changed her mind? What if she felt too guilty and went through with it? What if she was married right now? His heart couldn't take it.

Then he heard her. She rounded the barn and threw herself into his arms. He held her to him despite his surprise. Her touch, her scent, her affection—the last of his fortress fell as he held her back, feeling safe for the first time he could remember.

"Merlin, witch, I was afraid you'd changed your mind."

She pulled back to look at him. She wore Muggle attire and Severus thought she'd never looked more beautiful than she did in ordinary clothing. "No, I just needed to get out of that dress first. Harry and Ginny helped me; they'll take care of everything here."

He raised an eyebrow. "They…are in favor of this?"

She looked down, not meeting his gaze. "They saw how sad I was after we…after we stopped talking. I think they figured it out."

"Hermione, I am sorry. I never should have turned you away like that. I never should have told you I didn't care for you."

"I know, Severus." She looked down at her feet. "It's all right."

He took her hand, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "It isn't. But I'll work very hard to make things so."

A smile tugged at her lips. "I believe you."

He regarded her wardrobe. "I find I like this ensemble on you far more."

She wrinkled her nose, as if she were smelling onions in his breakfast stir fry. "I know. I looked like a pavlova."

"I think Potter's assessment was closer. It was indeed like a cupcake."

Her mouth dropped open. "You—you were there! I knew I felt something."

He laughed, guiding her along to the apparition spot. "Yes, your spell came in handy. I had meant to speak to you privately." He looked at her seriously as they stood where they would turn in a moment. "But telling you what you mean to me was worth facing the world for."

Her eyes watered. "I love you, Severus."

He leaned forward, catching her lips with his, as he should have been doing all along. He pulled back only to look into her warm honey eyes and smile. "I love you, Hermione."

And they spun away, back towards the house at the end of the lane that she had landed at all those years ago, saving him from his solitude.

But this time, they arrived together.