I'm back: )) I'll have a longer explanation up in my profile later, if anyone's interested.
AN: This story has taken a rather left turn (or three to four of them) from what I'd originally intended. As such, I'm not sure there will be any true lemons (there is still a possibility, though). Sorry if that disappoints.
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Chapter Twenty Six
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Hermione startled awake, launching herself upright, gasping until her mind woke enough to remember where she was. She frowned, glancing around the dimly lit predawn room. Nothing seemed different than when Professor McGonagall had brought her down here.
Except for the blanket, she realized suddenly. Puzzled, she glanced at the door she knew -- she'd snooped of course -- led to a bedchamber. Was Professor Snape in there? Was he the one that had covered her last night? She didn't remember falling asleep, certainly hadn't intended to, but even so, she couldn't picture the harsh Professor Snape, covering her up gently enough that she didn't wake up.
She snorted to herself. No, he was more likely to shake her awake and yell at her for her presumption. She glanced at the door again, this time nervously. What would he be like first thing in the morning? He didn't exactly seem to be the morning type, and his temper was uncertain at the best of times. It might be better, she thought, to simply be gone before he got up.
She frowned then, however, not knowing which would provoke a worse response from the potions master . . . being here or not being here. Should she wait until he arose before leaving? Biting her lip indecisively, she rose tentatively, folding the blanket neatly, and carefully laying it over the arm of the couch. If nothing else, she could at least get ready for the day. It wasn't until she was nearly to the private bathroom that she cast a glance at the clock. Only then did she realize how incredibly early it still was. 5am.
She glanced back at the couch, contemplating going back to sleep, but quickly vetoed the idea, as she was certain the short amount of sleep she would get between now and her normal rising time, would simply make her feel more tired than she already did. Giving up sleep as a lost cause, Hermione headed -- i quietly /i -- for the bathroom to ready herself for the day. She was still torn between being here or gone when Professor Snape woke up, but either way, at least she would be ready.
As ready as I can be, she thought nervously.
Carefully closing the door behind her, Hermione locked herself in the bathroom. A quiet 'lumos' later, had her jumping out of her skin as she found herself suddenly staring at her reflection. "Moron," she berated herself, hand on her chest as her heart beat rapidly. Rolling her eyes, she started to turn away, but stopped as a sudden thought hit her.
"I'm married," she whispered, her eyes wide and disbelieving. It didn't seem real. It had happened so fast, with so little true warning. The whole thing had been 'pretend' for all but two hours before the deed was done. It simply didn't seem possible.
She stepped closer to the mirror, eyeing herself closely. She didn't look any different. She certainly didn't feel any different. She frowned, her gaze never leaving her minute inspection. Shouldn't something be different about her? She snorted, scoffing at the inane thought and resolutely turning away from the now haunting relfection.
Difference, or no, she was still a married woman. She was no longer Hermione Granger. She was Hermione Snape. "Mrs. Snape," she whispered, the words barely audible. She giggled uneasily. It sounded in no way right, the name and title almost making her look over her shoulder to find the professor's mother. She was 'Mrs. Snape', not Hermione.
Even as she ruthlessly dismissed the strange thoughts from her mind, and began her morning routine, her thoughts stubbornly turned in yet another direction she didn't want them to go. By the time she stepped under the deliciously hot shower spray, she was reliving the space of twenty minutes that had irrevocably changed the path of her life.
"Relax, Hermione," Ginny chided. "You look divine."
Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend. She knew better. Sure, the dress was beyond gorgeous, was, in fact, a dress any woman in her right mind would love to wear. It certainly clung in all the 'right' places, highlighting some of her better attributes, but that did nothing to change unalterable facts. She, Hermione Granger, was plain. She knew it; everyone knew it. No dress was going to change that. "Thanks for trying, Ginny," she replied. "But don't. I know what I look like."
Ginny shook her head, snorting in obvious disbelief. "You really don't see it, do you?" she asked.
"See what?" Hermione asked, frowning in confused exasperation. "There's nothing to see!"
Ginny grabbed her arm, spinning her around until the faced each other. Hands on her hips, a mulish expression tightening her face, the younger Gryffindor glared. "Didn't you learn anything from the Yule ball, your fourth year?" she demanded angrily.
Hermione reared back, surprised by the attack. "What?" she asked, even more confused.
"Okay!" Ginny ranted, oblivious to Hermione's shock. "So you're not some blonde bombshell, with boobs bigger than her IQ, and a waist smaller than most women's thighs. So what if you're not some classic auburn haired, green eyed beauty that makes men faint to behold her loveliness. You're not a some goddess to be put on a pedestal and make men's hearts stop. Who would want to be?"
"I--"
"I'll tell you something else, Hermione Jane Granger! You've got something that women like that will never have. You, Miss I'm-a-bookworm Granger, are striking. You have good skin, cheekbones to kill for, and a facial structure that will age with grace -- unlike those mythical women I just mentioned, who will all probably look like hags by the time they're thirty!"
"I--"
"No. You will let me finish. When you take the time to tame that wild mop you call hair, and dress nice, and maybe add a touch of make-up, you are one of the prettiest girls in this school. Sometimes you make me so angry with your 'I'm so plain' spiel, because you're anything but plain. I wish I could look half as good!"
"But you're beautiful, Ginny!" Hermione protested, knowing she had wished -- on more than one occasion -- for the younger girl's hair.
Ginny scoffed instantly. "Yeah, in a flashy, round faced, you're so cute kind of way; I know. Unfortunately, my kind of looks will go the way of those women I just mentioned. By the time I'm thirty, my figure will be fast headed toward my mother's. You, on the other hand, will just be hitting your stride."
Frowning, Hermione turned to face the mirror and she truly tried to see what her friend said she did. Moments later, she shook her head. "I don't see it, Ginny. I truly don't."
Ginny huffed, chuckling immediately after. "Of course you don't," she admitted, sighing. "For someone supposedly brilliant, you truly have the self-confidence of a lemming. You know that, right?"
Before she could respond to Ginny's outrageous statement, Serapha hurried into the room. "It's time ladies," she announced, nearly bouncing in her excitement.
Hermione just wished the occasion was such that she could be excited about it. Sighing, she smiled slightly at the woman who would be her mother-in-law in a few very short minutes. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be," she said stepping toward the door.
The only thing she would truly remember about the short walk to the great hall was heart clenching panic. Nothing else registered. She didn't know which side either of the two walking with her took. She was completely unaware of whether or not either of them spoke or remained as silent as she. For that matter, she could have held an entire conversation with both of them, and not known it. All that mattered was keeping herself from running. It was what every ounce of self-preservation told her to do and it took every minute portion of her self-control and sense of honor to disregard the overpowering urge.
She did absently note when Ginny handed her a small bouquet of white orchids. She froze when Serapha opened the doors to the great hall, ushering the two of them inside. Her self-absorption ended abruptly as those doors closed behind her.
The great hall wasn't that much different from it's usual state; though, the dining tables had been removed and a profusion of flowers had been added. That's not what shocked her out of her overblown panic. No, it was the sight of her . . . groom. She had to blink twice, just to make sure she was seeing correctly.
In fact, she glanced to her left and discovered the Ginny was wearing a rather gobsmacked expression that nicely fit what Hermione, herself, was feeling. So, evidently, she wasn't the only one to notice. While the professor would never be what most would call handsome, he could apparently be quite striking himself when -- to borrow Ginny's phrase -- he made a little effort.
As Ginny began her walk toward the dias, Serapha hooked her arm with Hermione's and subtly tugged her forward. Hermione's movement was done on autopilot, as her mind was focused solely on her groom.
The robes he wore were similar to the ones he'd worn for that disastrous dueling class in her second year, a design that suited the professor very well. More important than that, however, was the fact that the professor had obviously taken extra time on his appearance. His hair, which normally lay lank and heavy with potion fumes, was light and full.
She squinted slightly. Does his hair curl at the ends!
Just then music began, and she was startled to note it was the muggle wedding march. She truly hadn't expected that, and was touched by that extra effort on the headmaster's part. Professor Snape turned then and their eyes locked. Everyone else faded from Hermione's awareness. All she could see were those dark, bottomless eyes locked on hers and staring with raw intensity. She wasn't sure what she saw there, but it made her a little uneasy.
She took a shallow -- though she was trying for deep -- shaky breath and before she knew it, she was standing next to the dark haired man that would be her husband.
HUSBAND!
She was going to faint. She just knew it.
Serapha released her arm and placed her left hand in Professor Snape's. After that, nothing much truly registered -- again -- that touch her sole connection to reality. The only thing she really heard throughout the ceremony was the lack of any promises of love. That lack really pressing home that she was actually doing it. She was really marrying a man she didn't love, and didn't -- would never -- love her back.
She swallowed heavily, trying to keep a stomach that suddenly decided now would be a good time to revolt from actually doing so, and was startled when she felt a ring pressed into her free hand. She glanced down at it automatically, blinking in confusion as she looked up at the headmaster for the first time since entering the room.
"Place the ring on his left hand," the headmaster said gently and repeat after me.
Shakily, she managed to slip the ring onto the proper finger -- not without a bit of fumbling that had her blushing, however.
"I place this ring on your finger as a visible sign of the covenant we invoke here today."
With barely audible words, Hermione repeated the phrase.
"Severus Snape, please bear this ring with the knowledge and certainty that I give it to you today in full awareness of its meaning."
Again, Hermione repeated the headmaster's words, this time, her voice a little stronger; though, she did stutter slightly trying to use the professor's given name.
"Let it symbolise the basis of the past, the promise of today, and the hope of the future."
As Hermione spoke once again, she wondered, is there any hope?
"As this ring is a circle that never ends, let it also be a reminder of my promise to always honor and respect you, to listen and be the helpmate you need."
This time, Hermione's words were strong and clear as she made the final vow.
She trembled as Professor Snape repeated the vows she had just spoken. And listening to the strong clear voice of the man repeating them, she began to believe that, yes, maybe there was hope. If the both of them truly meant the vows as spoken, they might actually find a way to make this work.
Hermione sighed as she dried herself off and dressed for the day. She hesitated briefly over her school robes, not really wanting to remind the professor -- her husband! -- of her status as a student. Not that he actually needed reminding. Hermione was dead certain he was more than acutely aware of that tiny little facet of this farce.
That was it, she decided. Decision made. Her courage had run out on her. She whipped on her robes, and though she wanted to hurry, quietly made her way through the still unfamiliar chambers, and out into the hall, stopping only briefly at the small table. Thankful, as she closed the door behind her, that the hallway was empty, she quickly made her way back to Gryffindor tower to fetch her school things.
She may have gotten married yesterday, but school stopped for no-one, not even for Gryffindor students who married Slytherin professors.
TBC
Kiristeen
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