Nearly seventeen years.
Staring at the picture of the smiling and ridiculously happy couple on the fireplace mantle yet again, it hit him - it had been nearly seventeen years.
Nearly seventeen years.
No, that can't be right - Is it? Seventeen years since she left the first time. Or is that the second time? Which counts as the first? Now or the past? Is it twenty years? And which was real? Or was it all just one giant bad dream with a few time-outs for Voldemort's special brand of nasty entertainment? Where did she go - the -- well, the second time? Why can't he find her?
The man set down the glass of whiskey he had so recently drained with a thump. This line of thought was getting him nowhere and being half drunk wasn't helping.
"Gods," whispered Severus Snape as he viciously rubbed his raw eyes, "time travel gives me a headache."
A girlish giggle interrupted his musings on time, space and various theories of both.
He raised his eyes once again to the picture of a giggling and grinning bride and groom and couldn't decide if the day that picture had been taken had been the best day of his life - or the worst. The two nineteen-year- olds captured by a wizarding camera were resplendent in their wedding clothes, flowers and veil in her hair, new rings shining on their hands and huge smiles on their faces. If you looked closely, as Snape had done so many times over the nearly twenty years since the picture had been taken, you could see traces of Muggle wedding cake and frosting clinging to the bride's hair and veil and just a tad was smeared onto the groom's new robes.
***
She had talked him into it all those years ago. A hybrid wizard-Muggle wedding. She wanted the flowing white gown and veil that she had dreamed of since girlhood. His family would have insisted on nothing less than wizard vows. Truthfully, he would have preferred to find a way to just have Albus or someone, anyone, marry them quietly. A private ceremony for a very private act, he mused. How exactly did becoming one turn into a production on the scale of the Quidditch World Cup? But, as she had done with everything else in their relationship over the past year - she won. And when he saw her walking down the aisle in the Great Hall at Hogwarts on Flitwick's arm, absolutely angelic and radiant in her rather silly meringue of a wedding gown, he realized that she was right. Their wedding day was perfect and the rest of their lives would be too, if he had any say in it. He told her as much when he took her in his arms for a traditional Muggle first dance.
"Oh, wait, I forgot, I have no say," he chuckled as the whirled around the Great Hall to some Muggle tune. "I don't think I've been in charge since you cornered me last fall to help you with your potions NEWTS. Except for maybe the night we first made love, or you at least let me think it was my idea."
Brown eyes lit up at the memory.
"It was your idea, love. I am so glad that I found you when I got to Hogwarts, Severus," she said. "I was so lost, I never thought I could be happy again. I needed you to be my friend and instead, I found a lover and a husband."
"Found me? You hounded me! You practically stalked me in the library and the hallways!" Black eyes joined brown in the merriment. "I had no choice but to befriend you. I swear I'll never understand why you set your sights on me, my love. I think you're the only girl in our year that ever gave me a second glance. Well, except Mabelanne Goyle - and I'm not entirely convinced she isn't really a man!"
His bride laughed.
"Let's just say that when I - transferred to Hogwarts, and I met you, I felt like I had come home. As if - maybe as if we already knew each other. I can't explain it - "
"No more, I'm sure, than you can explain your mysterious past?" one eyebrow quirked to the ceiling at this thinly veiled jibe. He was joking, but they both knew her reluctance to talk about her life before her seventh year at Hogwarts was a sore spot in their otherwise trusting relationship.
"Severus, not today, please. I promise one day to tell you everything. I just need to wait. I've discussed this with Professor Dumbledore at length and we just feel -"
"Yes, yes, it's best to wait for now. Just promise me there is no jealous husband or horde of babies somewhere that have claim to you? I'd prefer to not have to explain it to my parents someday - or worse, our children," he sighed in resentment and resignation. "Hermione? I'll wait, but someday, you'll have a lot of explaining to do. Hopefully soon."
***
Back in the dungeons, the memories became too strong. And the man that could face down Voldemort without flinching crumpled to the floor, clutching the wedding photo in its frame.
"Dammit! Why didn't she tell me? I could have handled it better when she left. I could have been prepared for the feelings that hit me when she stepped onto the stage to be Sorted. I could have handled my emotions better when she sat in my class - my wife a mere child, for Merlin's sakes! How was I supposed to handle that?" he raged, staring into the fire.
Shifting his glance to the picture, his gaze and tone softened with regret.
"My love, if I had only known I could see you again, as a child or a woman," he whispered to the photo of the smiling bride, "I would have never listened to Voldemort. Never become a Death Eater. Never ruined my li-"
Severus Snape abruptly stood and carefully placed the photo on the mantel once again. He stalked back to his worktable, picked up the abandoned bottle of whiskey and poured another glass. He threw back one glassful. Then two. Then three. There. That was enough to keep the memories away for the night.
Snape strode to his bedroom and opened the wardrobe, searching for a snug pair of pajamas to wear. Something comforting and cozy, if he couldn't share his bed with his wife any longer, at least he could be warm, he mused. Since she left, he had developed a liking for Muggle pajamas and electric blankets. It was amazing how many blankets he had shorted out in the last seventeen years by attempting to enchant them to work on magic and not electricity. Not to mention the fits his students would have if they knew about evil Professor Snape's sleepwear, he thought with a wry grin.
Drunkenly searching for the silly, but fuzzily welcoming pair with animated, pacing red lions on them - a gag gift from Minerva - he dug through the bottom of the cupboard and pulled out a gown of crimson silk instead.
"Apparently, I'm not supposed to sleep tonight, am I?" he slurred. "Leave me alone, Hermione. I can't fix this and I can't seem to bring you back. Quit haunting me. You'd be disappointed in me anyway - and -- Go AWAY!"
The silk gown went sailing through the air and landed square on Snape's four-poster bed. Figures, he groused. It figures. Images of the first time she'd worn the gown, at the Halloween ball of their seventh year came unbidden to his mind. Images of how she looked when he had taken that gown off a month later in Binns'classroom after curfew followed soon after. He shook his head to clear it, grabbed a pair of flannel pajamas with flying snitches on them - another gag gift, this time from Albus.
Shucking his stiff formal clothing and shrugging into the nightwear, he headed to the bed. The thought occurred to him to throw the silk of her gown to the floor, to deal with in the morning. Instead, he allowed the whiskey to take over and instead drew the cool silk to his cheek. He thought he could almost still smell her perfume.
Tbc
Wow, thanks for the reviews. I have been chewing on this for months now and finally decided to give fiction a whirl, but I didn't expect any positive reviews or suggestions. Thanks so much!
Staring at the picture of the smiling and ridiculously happy couple on the fireplace mantle yet again, it hit him - it had been nearly seventeen years.
Nearly seventeen years.
No, that can't be right - Is it? Seventeen years since she left the first time. Or is that the second time? Which counts as the first? Now or the past? Is it twenty years? And which was real? Or was it all just one giant bad dream with a few time-outs for Voldemort's special brand of nasty entertainment? Where did she go - the -- well, the second time? Why can't he find her?
The man set down the glass of whiskey he had so recently drained with a thump. This line of thought was getting him nowhere and being half drunk wasn't helping.
"Gods," whispered Severus Snape as he viciously rubbed his raw eyes, "time travel gives me a headache."
A girlish giggle interrupted his musings on time, space and various theories of both.
He raised his eyes once again to the picture of a giggling and grinning bride and groom and couldn't decide if the day that picture had been taken had been the best day of his life - or the worst. The two nineteen-year- olds captured by a wizarding camera were resplendent in their wedding clothes, flowers and veil in her hair, new rings shining on their hands and huge smiles on their faces. If you looked closely, as Snape had done so many times over the nearly twenty years since the picture had been taken, you could see traces of Muggle wedding cake and frosting clinging to the bride's hair and veil and just a tad was smeared onto the groom's new robes.
***
She had talked him into it all those years ago. A hybrid wizard-Muggle wedding. She wanted the flowing white gown and veil that she had dreamed of since girlhood. His family would have insisted on nothing less than wizard vows. Truthfully, he would have preferred to find a way to just have Albus or someone, anyone, marry them quietly. A private ceremony for a very private act, he mused. How exactly did becoming one turn into a production on the scale of the Quidditch World Cup? But, as she had done with everything else in their relationship over the past year - she won. And when he saw her walking down the aisle in the Great Hall at Hogwarts on Flitwick's arm, absolutely angelic and radiant in her rather silly meringue of a wedding gown, he realized that she was right. Their wedding day was perfect and the rest of their lives would be too, if he had any say in it. He told her as much when he took her in his arms for a traditional Muggle first dance.
"Oh, wait, I forgot, I have no say," he chuckled as the whirled around the Great Hall to some Muggle tune. "I don't think I've been in charge since you cornered me last fall to help you with your potions NEWTS. Except for maybe the night we first made love, or you at least let me think it was my idea."
Brown eyes lit up at the memory.
"It was your idea, love. I am so glad that I found you when I got to Hogwarts, Severus," she said. "I was so lost, I never thought I could be happy again. I needed you to be my friend and instead, I found a lover and a husband."
"Found me? You hounded me! You practically stalked me in the library and the hallways!" Black eyes joined brown in the merriment. "I had no choice but to befriend you. I swear I'll never understand why you set your sights on me, my love. I think you're the only girl in our year that ever gave me a second glance. Well, except Mabelanne Goyle - and I'm not entirely convinced she isn't really a man!"
His bride laughed.
"Let's just say that when I - transferred to Hogwarts, and I met you, I felt like I had come home. As if - maybe as if we already knew each other. I can't explain it - "
"No more, I'm sure, than you can explain your mysterious past?" one eyebrow quirked to the ceiling at this thinly veiled jibe. He was joking, but they both knew her reluctance to talk about her life before her seventh year at Hogwarts was a sore spot in their otherwise trusting relationship.
"Severus, not today, please. I promise one day to tell you everything. I just need to wait. I've discussed this with Professor Dumbledore at length and we just feel -"
"Yes, yes, it's best to wait for now. Just promise me there is no jealous husband or horde of babies somewhere that have claim to you? I'd prefer to not have to explain it to my parents someday - or worse, our children," he sighed in resentment and resignation. "Hermione? I'll wait, but someday, you'll have a lot of explaining to do. Hopefully soon."
***
Back in the dungeons, the memories became too strong. And the man that could face down Voldemort without flinching crumpled to the floor, clutching the wedding photo in its frame.
"Dammit! Why didn't she tell me? I could have handled it better when she left. I could have been prepared for the feelings that hit me when she stepped onto the stage to be Sorted. I could have handled my emotions better when she sat in my class - my wife a mere child, for Merlin's sakes! How was I supposed to handle that?" he raged, staring into the fire.
Shifting his glance to the picture, his gaze and tone softened with regret.
"My love, if I had only known I could see you again, as a child or a woman," he whispered to the photo of the smiling bride, "I would have never listened to Voldemort. Never become a Death Eater. Never ruined my li-"
Severus Snape abruptly stood and carefully placed the photo on the mantel once again. He stalked back to his worktable, picked up the abandoned bottle of whiskey and poured another glass. He threw back one glassful. Then two. Then three. There. That was enough to keep the memories away for the night.
Snape strode to his bedroom and opened the wardrobe, searching for a snug pair of pajamas to wear. Something comforting and cozy, if he couldn't share his bed with his wife any longer, at least he could be warm, he mused. Since she left, he had developed a liking for Muggle pajamas and electric blankets. It was amazing how many blankets he had shorted out in the last seventeen years by attempting to enchant them to work on magic and not electricity. Not to mention the fits his students would have if they knew about evil Professor Snape's sleepwear, he thought with a wry grin.
Drunkenly searching for the silly, but fuzzily welcoming pair with animated, pacing red lions on them - a gag gift from Minerva - he dug through the bottom of the cupboard and pulled out a gown of crimson silk instead.
"Apparently, I'm not supposed to sleep tonight, am I?" he slurred. "Leave me alone, Hermione. I can't fix this and I can't seem to bring you back. Quit haunting me. You'd be disappointed in me anyway - and -- Go AWAY!"
The silk gown went sailing through the air and landed square on Snape's four-poster bed. Figures, he groused. It figures. Images of the first time she'd worn the gown, at the Halloween ball of their seventh year came unbidden to his mind. Images of how she looked when he had taken that gown off a month later in Binns'classroom after curfew followed soon after. He shook his head to clear it, grabbed a pair of flannel pajamas with flying snitches on them - another gag gift, this time from Albus.
Shucking his stiff formal clothing and shrugging into the nightwear, he headed to the bed. The thought occurred to him to throw the silk of her gown to the floor, to deal with in the morning. Instead, he allowed the whiskey to take over and instead drew the cool silk to his cheek. He thought he could almost still smell her perfume.
Tbc
Wow, thanks for the reviews. I have been chewing on this for months now and finally decided to give fiction a whirl, but I didn't expect any positive reviews or suggestions. Thanks so much!