AN: the wedding, let me know what you think, oh, and the problem with unsigned reviews has been fixed, sorry abt that, I was in a hurry the day I signed up and I didn't realise. And, I have now broken up the paragraphs a little to make it easier to read (thanks Susanne for the suggestion).
AN2: also on Ashwinder
I can't handle this. I definitely cannot handle this. I feel like I have been lowered without my wand into a pit of highly venomous and potentially dangerous snakes. Hundreds of them, all desperate for blood. More specifically, my blood, or my balls, whichever they happen to get to first. Well, not exactly. I suppose it's more like I have been lowered into a pit of slightly disbelieving lions, without an exit in sight. And I suppose they're not really out for blood, they mostly seem to be desperate for an alarming mixture of hugs, kisses, excessive intakes of alcohol and the promise of babies in the near future. Though perhaps not all at once. But this doesn't stop them from being potentially dangerous. No, no, no. I feel like they're closing in on me, ready to scratch my eyes out, or at least kick me in the balls. Well, some of them anyway. Bloody Weasley, bastard always hated me. He definitely doesn't want hugs, kisses and promises of babies, I'm fairly certain he wants to consume excessive amounts of alcohol though. A smirk suddenly appears, through no fault of my own, as I begin to ponder the possibilities of a fully intoxicated Weasley. He probably wouldn't even notice if I hexed him. Hermione probably would, damn, and I don't think she'd find it half as amusing as I undoubtedly would. Speaking of, where is Hermione? She should definitely be here by now.
Oh Gods, why isn't she here? I certainly cannot be in charge of administering the hugs, kisses, alcohol and babies. Well, I'm sure I could handle the alcohol but I'm almost certain that I am incapable of handling the babies, not on my own anyway. Miss Granger, the lions are waiting. Bloody Gryffindors. I'm surrounded. I, too, would enjoy a mixture of hugs, kisses, alcohol and the promise of babies. Though perhaps not in that order and definitely not under the scrutiny of the entire Weasley clan, a few Snapes, a fellow professor or two, a smattering of Grangers and Harry bloody Potter. I do have some dignity. Granted, by standing in the middle of the Great Hall wearing a strange Muggle contraption masquerading as clothing in front of people I have spent a great deal of my time trying to avoid, humbly waiting for my impertinent Gryffindor fiancé to make her presence felt, I don't have a great deal of dignity left, but that is hardly the point.
Strange creatures these Muggles. What on earth did they have in mind when they created this? Oh, very well, it's nothing so extraordinary but it will lack the appropriate effect when I lose my temper and go storming off to find Hermione myself. For some unknown reason I am standing without robes over this Muggle attire and as such there will be a significant lack in billow when I do decide to fetch Hermione. Honestly, people still refuse to respect the need for realistic dramatics in life and I am a firm believer in dramatic entrances, exits, statements and gestures. This is turning out to be a disaster. Surrounded, completely bloody surrounded. Just stand still, no sudden gestures and don't make eye contact. Although, I would like to see the looks on all the guests' faces. Varying degrees of disbelief, disgust and disappointment. Another smirk, this one almost forming a smile.
I really must stop that, Albus is twinkling right at me. Normal people, when on the receiving end of one of the Headmaster's more 'twinkly' moments either smile nervously or look to the floor, apprehensive and suspicious or blissfully naïve over what he might have in mind. I on the other hand usually attempt to scowl as convincingly as possible without giving away my terror at why exactly he is twinkling. After all, a twinkling Albus is a terrifying Albus. Memories of ignorant students willingly accepting various missions, tasks or experiments from a madly twinkling Albus almost force a chuckle through my lips. Almost. Luckily clamping down on the insane urge before I embarrass myself further, I manage to limit myself to a fairly thin lipped smile. That can't be good, it appears I was smiling directly at Albus. Honestly, if Albus didn't know me so well he might well think I was trying to come onto him or something. Oh Gods, an image pops into my head of me attempting to seduce Albus by offering him large bags of lemon drops and blushingly inviting him to the next Ministry sponsored function. That train of thought is disturbing at best, I would never attend a Ministry sponsored function.
Bloody Albus. And Lupin! Not only is he here (grudgingly by my invitation), he is currently standing right next to me in some strange, symbolic Muggle ritual. Hermione explained the entire concept to me along with a few other eccentricities usually associated with a traditional Muggle wedding. In addition, she had the foresight (and downright malevolence) to inform me of my Muggle related expectations while we were dining with her parents. Not only that, but it happened to be the first time I had ever met them and the first time they had heard of my relationship with Hermione, let alone our engagement. So to say they were surprised would be a bit more than an understatement, most likely they were covertly plotting my death while serving me roast beef and potatoes and attempting to converse with me about anything they could think of. Hermione at least found it fairly amusing. By the time dessert was served her mother had warped our story to make it seem like we were friends and nothing more, living in a blissful state of sugar coated denial, while her father looked like he was trying to figure out a way to remove my teeth through my armpit with some sort of blunt and rusty tool without alerting his wife or daughter to his activities. Now, there's a disturbing image.
So there I was, a solitary wizard in a house full of still pictures and electronic devices and I was being informed of my Muggle marital duty while trying to avoid her father's pointed looks and her mother's sickly sweet version of our relationship. Hermione was well aware of the promise I had foolishly made to her earlier in the day to be on my best behaviour. It was made during a fairly critical point in an extremely passionate bout of lovemaking and I had little choice but to comply. She knew what she was doing, she timed it perfectly and trapped me effectively. I swear, sometimes Hermione seems to possess a form of malicious cunning any Slytherin would be proud of, I certainly am. Well, I'm proud of her substantial Slytherin abilities when they're not directed at me personally, for that is when it rarely ends well for me and she can be dangerous. Hermione is well aware of her abilities and has fine tuned them in her subtle manipulation of me, so much so that I only realise I'm being manipulated when the deed is done and it's too late to refuse. Damn her! She knew I was sentenced to a night of utter civility to her parents and being on my best behaviour for the duration of the visit. That meant that there was to be no snarkiness, absolutely no derogatory/antagonistic/patronising/sarcastic comments directed at her parents and a bare minimum of discreet sneering. So of course, this is the moment that Hermione decides to tell me of the main traditions associated with a Muggle wedding. Something about having a close friend or male family member standing near you during the ceremony. I fail to see the purpose of this whole 'best man' tradition. I certainly do not require Lupin standing at my side when I marry Hermione. Ridiculous, that's what it is. Bloody ridiculous.
I can see him staring at me. He's been staring at me for at least a minute now, what on earth is he looking at? Has he never seen me completely blinded by panic before? Why the fuck isn't Hermione here yet? She's going to leave me. This whole thing is just an elaborate plot to get great big dollops of revenge for me leaving her all those months ago. Gods, don't be so stupid. Hermione would not stoop so low as to do something like that. But still, she isn't here yet. What the hell am I supposed to do if she doesn't show up? Well, I suppose, just for starters I would have to deal with the fact that I would most likely be completely, irrevocably crushed. Well, that shouldn't be too hard, I can handle that. Yes, but after the initial damage control I will have to attempt to control my expressions. Yes, I will be inwardly crushed and tormented while outwardly calm, focused and hell bent on the mass destruction of certain Gryffindors who definitely have it coming. Bloody Weasley. Ok, fine, good, I at least have a plan. It's been at least thirteen minutes. The walk from her rooms does not take that long. She's going to leave me. She's going to leave me here, surrounded by Gryffindors just waiting for a reason to get some sort of twisted revenge on me. Also, to add insult to injury, I am not even able to storm from the room in my traditional style of long stride, high speed with a highly effective and very satisfying mass of billowing robes behind me simply because I. Am. Not. Fucking. Wearing. Any.
"Patience, Severus. She'll be here soon."
Oh Gods, was it absolutely necessary for Lupin to say that? And he had the nerve to say it with a sort of smug calm in his voice. Perfect, just fucking perfect. If a bloody Gryffindor can pick up on my panic then I must be showing more feeling than I'm comfortable with. For Merlin's sake, Snape, get a grip. This is your wedding. It is certainly not a time for recklessly displaying your emotions. Ok, breathe. Just breathe. You're going to get through this. Yes, that's right. Keep telling yourself that. I will only be able to get through this if Hermione decides to show up. Damn her! Where is she?
Bloody Gryffindors! Stupid, meddling, interfering, dangerous Gryffindors! Albus, Lupin, Minerva, all coming in to check on me this morning to make sure that I was in the appropriate attire and that I was suitably prepared for the day and the inevitable events of the evening. First they came individually and then, upon receiving less than favourable responses from me, returned en masse. A test of my patience if ever there was one, although I did receive minor amusement when informing the Head of Gryffindor that I had been sleeping with her favourite ex-student for close to four years and, as such, had no apprehension about the forthcoming wedding night. The look on her face was absolutely priceless. A momentary respite only, but still, better than nothing.
However, the most alarming of these visits happened at around midnight last night, when Potter dropped in for a chat. It was, of course, all the direct result of another Muggle tradition. Something about segregating the sexes for some form of animal gatherings. I, naturally, having decided to forego a suitable male celebration was sitting in my office brooding (though some misguided individuals may describe my activities as sulking, I was definitely brooding, Severus Snape does not sulk!) over the fact that Hermione was having a female animal gathering, or something. I was given to understand that there would be males in attendance in a more or less professional capacity. I did not approve. So, the night before my wedding found me brooding in my office while pretending to grade essays that I could scarcely care less about. I expected a fairly dull evening, a few bouts of rage and jealousy and a visit from Albus. However, what I was not expecting was a visit from Mr. Potter.
He simply strolled into my office a few minutes before midnight, didn't bother to knock or anything. I suppose common courtesy is lost on most of these foolish Gryffindors. Well, fine, he strolled into my office via the fireplace so he didn't exactly have the opportunity to knock but still, it was bloody rude. Having been temporarily shocked into my customary sneering silence, I only watched as he approached my desk and placed a large, unopened bottle of Firewhisky and two large glasses in front of me.
"What do you think you are doing, Potter?"
I did my best to infuse as much venom into my words as was humanly possible. I was pleased to note that my voice also offered a not so subtle warning. Effort was for nothing, bastard just ignored me and opened the bottle, pouring healthy amounts of the liquid into each glass. He raised his eyes to my face and picked up one of the glasses, sliding the other in my direction. I glared, sneered, narrowed my eyes, opened my mouth to protest thought better of it and then closed my fingers around the glass. I really did want a drink. He smiled in something akin to triumph and I eyed the liquid suspiciously. The bottle didn't seem to be tampered with, though I wouldn't have put it past him. I went over the possibility of a last minute sabotage of the wedding with an elaborate cover story of me falling over a rampaging Hippogriff while completely pissed and running off in terror, or perhaps something that made even a smidgen of sense. However, I began to doubt that Potter possessed the intellect required to perform such an act unaided. By unaided, I mean without the input and close supervision of one Hermione Granger. I raised the glass and sniffed it tentatively, Potter had the nerve to smirk at me so I glared at him. A vicious staring competition ensued, until he rolled his eyes, giving up. Ha! He gave up! I revelled in the brief moment of triumph I felt over the golden child of the wizarding world. I admit that the exchange may have been slightly childish but honestly, it wasn't my fault, he started it! Finally, satisfied that the drink was in fact genuine and undiluted (or poisoned) Firewhisky, I raised an eyebrow in question. Unable to even mutter a single witty barb or well aimed insult before the brat began speaking.
"Here's to the future Mr and Mrs Snape." he said quietly, raising his glass with his words.
"Potter-"
"Oh, my apologies. The future Professor and Mrs Snape." he replied with a hint of sarcasm. He looked me in the eye and raised a challenging eyebrow.
"Very funny, Mr Potter. I think you will find that no matter how much you seem to enjoy the sound of your own voice I do not have time for your insufferable lack of neither wit nor intelligence. It was very lovely to see you and I hope you have a pleasant enough evening, however, kindly remove yourself from my office before I find even more reason to do it for you."
"Now, Professor, is that any way to treat a person trying to celebrate your upcoming nuptials?" by now his voice was practically dripping sarcasm on my floor and his eyes held a great deal of amusement within them.
"I highly doubt that you would ever celebrate anything that directly involves me, Potter. Unless of course it was my death, that would indeed be a cause for celebration, wouldn't you agree?"
I intended my words to be filled with a lot more sarcasm and a lot less bitterness. After all, the purpose was to drive him away, ranting and raving about me and conveniently forgetting his bottle of alcohol. Unfortunately, it appeared that my voice was against me. I carefully shuttered my emotions and looked again to the boy I've always hated. He didn't storm out, he didn't yell and scream about my upcoming marriage, he didn't even insult me. The silence deepened as we calmly regarded each other. Eventually, he smiled and shook his head, lowering his glass and plonking (there is no other word to describe his movements, the bastard plonked) himself in the chair in front of my desk.
"Is that what you really think, Professor?" the arrogant prat sounded almost as if he pitied me. Bloody cheek!
"I assure you Potter, I am not now, nor will I ever be seeking your pity."
"Probably a good thing, as I am not offering it."
"Then what, pray tell, are you offering?"
"At present, I am offering you a drink, and as a side effect, my congratulations."
"A side effect, Mr Potter?"
"Of course, I doubt either of us would ever take me seriously if I offered my congratulations while completely sober and in control of all my faculties. Do you?"
"Perhaps not."
"Well then, again, to the future Professor and Mrs Snape." again he raised his glass and, sighing in a bitter sense of resignation, I followed with my own. There was something that looked suspiciously like a smile on his face as we tipped our glasses back and let the liquid burn down our throats.
"So, I assume this is the part where you tell me I'm making a mistake, Hermione shouldn't be with me, I should leave her alone and wait patiently while you fetch the authorities with the power to kill me?"
"The power to kill you? I assure you, if you hurt Hermione the authorities will just have to get in line. And, no, I am not going to try and tell you that. Though if that's what you want to hear I'm sure I could locate Ron for you…don't look so surprised. After I got over the initial shock and constant nausea that your dating Hermione caused, I actually thought you two made a relatively good couple." he paused long enough for a look of pure disgust to cross his face, "Ugh, I can't believe I said that."
"You actually want me to marry Hermione?"
"Ah, well, I don't know if I'd go so far as to want you to marry her, but it's not as if I'm particularly against it either."
"Why?"
"When we were at school, everything was fairly black and white. Good and evil, light and dark, Dumbledore and Voldemort, friends and enemies. Ok, not the best of examples but still, it was all clearly defined. We were all placed in categories and judged accordingly. Ok, it's like Gryffindors and Slytherins, a lot of the time we are as different as black and white. But as we got older, things got complicated. Nothing was simple, it wasn't just about house rivalry, kids arguing, insulting. Instead of life getting clearer as we got more perspective it just got more and more murky."
"Do you have a point?" I said it with every appearance of boredom I could muster but in truth I was actually wondering what the hell he was going on about. Honestly, a Harry Potter with maturity and perspective? I wasn't aware that such a creature existed.
"My point, Professor, is that life isn't about black and white. Life is more than that, it isn't just about sticking to what you know, sticking to your own kind, it's about compromise and all that other rubbish that comes with mixing species, like lions and snakes, for example." he said withdrawing his wand from his robes, I was briefly worried about a cold blooded murder instead of the Hippogriff theory, but he only flicked it at the bottle to make it pour two fresh glasses. "My point, Professor, is that in life, there is black and white, but it's in the shades of grey that we all live. We don't really have a choice. I mean, honestly, a Gryffindor marrying a Slytherin? I don't think you can get much greyer than that." he concluded, picking up his glass and sipping slowly.
"Well, providing I have successfully translated your ramblings into words that can be recognised as the English language, I must conclude that you make a fairly good, if glaringly obvious point, Mr. Potter."
"Well, it may seem obvious but I'm afraid that's about as insightful as I'm likely to get when in your presence, Professor. Especially while drinking."
"Indeed. I thought you were completely incapable of insight, or was your entire time at Hogwarts a very well executed plan to gain-"
"Shut up! I really don't care what you have to say about my school days. I am going to tell you something that you probably don't know."
"What makes you think that anything you could know would be unknown to me?" I sneered at him.
"The mere fact that you are a complete bastard who often has no idea of the realities of the people around you is what makes me think that. Don't kid yourself Snape, you almost destroyed Hermione last time you left. She dated complete, well, for lack of a better word, she dated complete dunderheads. Complete assholes, all of them. She blamed herself for what happened between the two of you and closed herself off from everything. I have never seen her so defeated." he paused long enough to take a large gulp of his drink and refill his glass. He turned angry eyes on me and I felt guilt stirring within me again.
"Potter, you surprise me. I figured you and Weasley would have been jumping for joy, arranging dates and planning weddings once she was free of me."
"You are a fucking idiot! Do you have any idea what you put her through? Hermione and I had to physically restrain Ron from coming up here to hex you into oblivion! Not because he thought she should be with someone else but because he saw how miserable you made her! What the fuck is the matter with you? Did you even give her an option? And did you really think that we would put our feelings about you before her happiness?"
"You're right." I said quietly, he raised his eyebrows in surprise, "She deserves more. I shouldn't be with her…"
"That is not what I said you twerp! I said she was absolutely miserable without you, you great greasy git! Ugh, honestly, when did you get so bloody stupid? Or have you always been this dim witted?"
"Watch yourself, Mr Potter. May I remind you who you are talking to…"
"No, allow me. I am talking to a raving imbecile who one of my best friends is desperately in love with. Though the gods only know why. I am talking to someone who doesn't seem to understand that he should not be so bloody stupid when it comes to what, or more specifically who, Hermione wants in her life. I am talking to a man who is going to suffer from serious loss of limbs if he ever tries to pull another 'it's better this way' trick. I am talking to a man that I have never liked, usually leaning towards a passionate hatred instead, but a man I have grown to respect, despite appearances. I am talking to a man who I will attempt to be more civil to for the sake of Hermione, and I hope that he will return the gesture. I am talking to a man who is going to marry my best friend tomorrow, and he better bloody realise how lucky he is. Because, let's face it, I am talking to a man who is a git, first and forever."
Quite frankly, I was astounded at the matter-of-fact tone he used when delivering his little speech. If he had shouted it, complete with foot stomping and finger pointing I could have dismissed it as the foolish temper tantrum of an immature creature of filth. But he said it completely calmly, remaining in his seat and swirling his drink in one hand, his eyes never leaving my face with a strange intensity about them. It made me uncomfortably aware that he was actually telling the truth. I know it probably cost him a lot of pride to say that he respected me, although he did make it clear often enough that he hates me. Bloody cheek.
"I do realise what I have, thank you Mr. Potter."
"Then see that you keep it that way, Professor." he said forcefully, downing the rest of his drink and slamming the glass onto the desk. He got up from his chair and made his way semi-steadily to the fireplace. I picked up my own glass and swirled the liquid thoughtfully.
"You're not going to wish me luck then?"
"Luck, Professor?"
"Yes, Potter, luck. Or perhaps you had best go and wish Hermione luck, she may need it more than I do. She's having some sort of female animal party…I'm sure you could find her."
He laughed out loud and turned back to face me. "I'm fairly sure that you will need more luck than Hermione, Professor. She does not appreciate being mistreated and will let you know it. Just make sure you never give her reason to hex your balls off, and you'll exist in something vaguely resembling harmony."
"So you're not going to wish me luck?"
"No sir. Luck is not always necessary for success. Instead, I will wish you happiness, and a long and prosperous life. Gods, we all know the two of you have earned it."
"Well, this has got to be a first. The famous Harry Potter willingly conversing in a civilised manner with the great black bat of the Hogwarts dungeons. Interesting, whatever will your fans think?"
"Make no mistake, I will forevermore deny coming here and forcibly remove your tongue if you ever try to contradict me."
"Of course."
"Have a good night, Professor." he turned away as he said this and disappeared into the temporarily green flames.
In retrospect, I suppose it was a relatively decent gesture from the Potter brat. It doesn't mean I like him, and I hold nothing but contempt for the arrogant little shit. Still, although I loathe to admit it, Potter gave me perspective. Potter, of all bloody people. Now I have all these uncomfortable feelings that should be resentment and pure, unadulterated hatred, but no, it feels like the terrifying sensation of gratitude to the dunderhead. This is not good, I am feeling grateful to Potter, accepting of Lupin, impatient for my Gryffindor fiancé, I almost feel as if I could break into a grin except for the minor detail that I feel as if I have been petrified and therefore unable to move, also it would be the final degradation. Again, in situations such as these, what little scraps remain of my dignity should be treasured. Honestly, I'm in Muggle clothing for fucks sake.
Music, oh Gods, enchanted instruments playing a strangely depressing tune. Here she comes. I want to turn around and bellow at her that it was about bloody time but don't have the guts. I'm sure she'd be more than willing to bellow back something about me being an impatient so and so, or words to that effect. Breathe. Just breathe. She hasn't left you, you're both here. And judging by the peaceful nature of her entrance she isn't rushing in to tell you that the wedding is off, so far so good. Look straight ahead, she's almost here now. Do not look at Albus. Interfering old badger. Most important, avoid Lupin. Smug bastard, I can see him grinning. This is no laughing matter. Don't think about your past, the future is on the way. Ugh, that statement is just bursting with shit. Screw the future, forget the past, just get through the present, and go from there. Also, I'm not sure I want to look at Hermione. I'm a little afraid of what my reaction will be, expressing emotions is not an option. I'm afraid that if I look at her and know that she is dressed like that for me, at our wedding, hopefully smiling and radiant, I would have the insane urge to either cry out my happiness on her shoulder of shove her skirt out of the way and shag her silly on the altar, witnesses be damned. Somehow I don't think that that would be in entirely good taste. I may lack certain social graces but if I remember correctly it is usually deemed unacceptable to shag one's fiancé immediately before one marries her with the act witnessed by all of her friends and family. It is not an activity usually encouraged in civilised society. Especially not with these lions on the prowl.
Hermione grasps my hand and turns her face slightly toward mine. I glance briefly at her and raise her hand to my lips, kissing the back of her palm a small smile on my lips. The only civilised way to express my passion, my gratitude and my emotion. Gods she's magnificent. I turn my face back to Albus and nod at him to begin the ceremony. Hermione clings to my hand and I make no move to let her go, Albus is twinkling like a man possessed (honestly, do possessed men twinkle?) but begins nonetheless. I look again to Hermione's happy face and realise that maybe I can handle this after all, even with a cavalcade of Gryffindors watching, waiting impatiently for the bumbling old fool to complete the requirements of the ceremony, the possible humiliation of the celebration following and the fact that Harry Potter was giving me relationship advice/insults. After all, Hermione isn't that good an actress. She is genuinely happy, and after all the 'festivities', and I use the term with a maximum, my absolute best sneer, she will be my reward. That I can handle, even if I am wearing Muggle clothing.
AN: Please review.