Part 2
Snape clinked his spoon around his cup sulkily.
"What do you think of the tea? One of my more scurrilous contacts in Madagascar was able to procure a few extra grams for me."
Snape listened to Lucius prattle on when all he really wanted was a good stiff drink and to go home.
"The Ministry has an embargo on it, which is just ridiculous, but when has that ever stopped me?"
Maybe Albus would let him go on sabbatical, no questions asked. Then he could quietly slip away and find someplace that was dark, empty and had a fully stocked bar.
"I saw that, Severus. Put the bottle down; you're not getting drunk tonight."
It seemed that tonight was to be a dry affair (perhaps the first such one in the history of Malfoy Manor). Once Snape had stopped choking, he had sculled the rest of his whiskey only to have Lucius promptly remove the glass from his hand and replace it with a teacup. To make matters worse, he was convinced Lucius had put wards on each and every bottle. Every time Snape had reached for one tonight, Lucius had been there to pry it out of his fingers.
"Now, Severus, your fiancée told us we had a lot to plan and she wanted you back tonight sober," Lucius had said.
All three of them had then leered at Snape in a way that made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. Whatever they were thinking about him, Hermione, and any number of perversions was completely untrue. Thank the Gods he couldn't perform wandless Legilimency; he had no desire to know what unnatural acts his friends were capable of envisioning.
He wasn't sure who he wanted to strangle more at that moment, Lucius or Hermione, but he was quite sure neither one of them was going to get a shag after this.
"But you only get engaged once-"
"-unless you're Darcy here-"
"-so we couldn't let it go without giving you a drink, isn't that right?"
A drink? He needed several. And what was that about planning?
"We'll have it here, of course. It's been so long since the manor had been put to any use. Well… good use," Lucius drawled.
Only his darling Hermione could have simultaneously sapped all the fun from his one hobby and deprived him of the alcohol which could have seen him through this dreadful evening.
"She's a mud– Muggle-born, eh? What are you going to do with her relations?"
Lucius' face contorted in disgust. Severus could just imagine the thoughts running through the blond head. Muggles roaming his house freely? How… unsavory.
"We'll make do, I suppose. I'll have to take down some of the nastier anti-Muggle wards. I'd rather avoid being hexed by the bride when half of the wedding party disappears."
Engaged? They were engaged? He couldn't quite comprehend the idea. Hermione never mentioned this to him before; he hadn't thought her the marrying type. Snape frowned. Even stranger, it would appear Lucius had appointed himself wedding planner.
Maybe the devious little minx was having him on.
Ah. There. His Slytherin survival instincts began to kick in.
"Did she mention how I proposed?"
Gather information; assess the severity of the situation; initiate counter-measures. Check.
His satisfaction faded when the question was met with three identical smirks. Snape paled. Certainly Hermione hadn't told them they had been er… intimate at the time, had she? This was simply too mortifying for words.
"Normally, something like that would have had us worried, Severus. After all, it was hardly your traditionally subtle approach."
"But then we remembered she was a Gryffindor, who aren't known for being the brightest bunch. The lot of them have all the subtlety of a swarm of rogue Bludgers."
"And Muggle-born," Lucius agreed. "If I had done that to Narcissa, her father would have had my balls."
Despite the relief Snape felt when he realised that they had, in fact, not been in bed when he was supposed to have proposed, nothing they were saying was doing anything to slow his steady dissolution into hysterics.
"And of course," Darcy snorted, "she could hardly say no to you while a great bleeding enchanted sign saying 'marry me' was hanging in the Great Hall." Snape, who had just taken a mouthful of tea, spluttered as Darcy once again clapped him on the back.
She just couldn't have. Gods, in the Great Hall. It meant everyone had seen.
Minerva was never going to let him live this down.
His friends look torn between amusement and exasperation.
"Who'd have thought, Sev, that you'd be the one to go arse over teakettle for a witch?"
"At least we can rest easy knowing you didn't knock her up – Potions master and all that."
"Quite. A pregnant bride is always such a distraction at weddings."
Sweet Merlin! Where was a Dark Lord when you needed one? Bloody inconvenient as he had been, Voldemort had at least provided the occasional excuse to flee embarrassing situations without question.
This certainly qualified as one of them.
Unfortunately, Snape might have been able to convince Dumbledore that there was a new Dark Lord rising and that he was desperately needed elsewhere, but Snape doubted that three former Death Eaters would buy it. There was nothing for it, Snape supposed. He would have to swallow his pride and lie his way out.
He just hoped he wouldn't blush while he said it.
He set the teacup down and stood. Snape tugged awkwardly on the sleeves of his robe and ignored the inquisitive stares of his friends.
"I must be getting back," he said, disappointed in the stutter. If the Gods were on his side tonight, innuendo would be enough and he wouldn't actually have to mention The Sex.
He dared to glance up and instantly regretted it. Darcy leered at him. Rookwood snickered. Lucius, however, looked vaguely disappointed, which was very disconcerting, but Snape was in no fit state to speculate as to the reason why.
"Must you?"
"Let him go, Lucius. Can't you see the poor sod's eager to get home?"
"You know what they say about Gryffindors: what they lack in sense, they make up for in enthusiasm," Rookwood cackled at his own wit.
Snape knew he was blushing, not half because he agreed with the sentiment. Hermione was… was, well, nothing he was going to mention if he ever wanted hope of sleeping with her again.
He frowned. Which he didn't, because he was not going to give in to her wiles after this.
"But we have so much to plan." Lucius tried again, pouting.
"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen." Snape raised an eyebrow and gave a half bow to the room. He maintained his composure until he was in the hall and then fled – sod dignity – for the safety of Hogwarts, their laughter ringing in his ears.
But once he had Apparated and reached the main gates, he was flummoxed. He had never been a lucky man, so the chance of him getting across the grounds, through the corridors, and into his rooms without bumping into anyone – anyone, of course, being Hermione, Albus, and the entirety of the student body – was nil.
It was not going to happen. Especially given the likelihood that the whole school knew what Hermione had done and was lying in wait for him. He was loath to imagine the sort of gossip that was already spreading. There was a chance, however slim, that the nastiness of school children would not be nearly as awful as the snickering tittle-tattle of grown men.
Snape sighed. Maybe he could just curl up in the Dark Forest for the night. The thought of angry centaurs trampling him as he slept hardly seemed the worst of all evils. There was always the Three Broomsticks… Ah!
His memory was a little slow tonight, but it kicked in when it counted.
He patted down the pockets of his robes, but came up empty handed. Drat, he stopped carrying it once his tenure as a spy came to an end. Snape hadn't seen the need to have a way to get to and from his rooms in secret anymore and had foregone packing a Portkey along with his wand.
With a despondent groan, Snape thunked his forehead against the metal gates.
Snap out of it, old man. You've faced worse.
This was all too true. Bellatrix trying to cop a feel at Lucius' Christmas party in '79 had been much, much worse. But all that had been required to extricate himself from that situation was a quick Stupefy, and then to deposit her in Avery's lap as punishment.
The incident did go a long way to explaining their antagonism in later years.
"Fang! Yeh alrigh', Fang?"
Snape heard the not-so-distant sound of yelping.
"Yeh smell sommat out there, boy?"
That, if nothing else, prompted Snape to get a move on. Suddenly the thought being crushed by the half-giant in an overabundance of bonhomie was quite possibly the worst possible ending of an already miserable night.
Quite forgetting himself, Snape ran.
Upon reaching the side entrance, he impatiently flicked the hair out of his face and caught his breath. He glanced down the darkened hallway for any sign of life and warred with himself over his next move.
Turn left and he would be in the safety of his rooms – heavily warded – and within arm's reach of alcohol.
Turn right and he would be able to see the evidence of his beloved's scheming without witnesses.
Stay where he was and some rule-breaking student was bound to happen upon him.
He heard one of the sleeping portraits nearby stir.
Right he went.
The Great Hall was not quite on the other end of the school, but it was a close thing. He lurked in the shadows, darted across lit hallways, and felt his wand arm twitch each time he heard a noise.
By the time he had reached the large double doors, Snape had come to the conclusion that being affianced was even more perilous than being a spy had ever been.
He pushed the doors open – without his usual flare – and stopped dead in his tracks.
Sweet Circe, she actually did it.
Suspended fifteen feet above the High Table was a large, red and gold banner reading:
I love you. Marry me.
Severus.