Epilogue

EPILOGUE

A mangled piece of fabric hit the floor. It crackled with magic, cleaning and folding itself, before levitating back onto the bed. Growling under his breath, Severus Snape attempted to pleat the folds of his great-kilt one more time. He gave his wife a dirty look as she sat at her vanity table, pinning her curls up in a chignon. They were still decidedly unruly when left loose, but the softly rolled style suited her face rather well, these days.

Another growl presaged the black-and-grey tartan being tossed to the floor once more...and another flick of Hermione's wand fixed it and returned it to the bed. Sighing roughly, her husband sat on the bed next to it, rumpling his hands over his hair. "Why the bloody hell did I ever agree to do this job?"

"Because you're the best man for the position, my love," Hermione encouraged him. A light application of perfume, and she rose from her seat and crossed to him.

Stooping slightly, she kissed his brow, then pleated his kilt with her own hands. Silently bidding him to stand, she wrapped and held the folds in place while he belted them over his undershorts, then arranged the throw of the rest to go up over his black dress-jacket. He wasn't Scottish, but he still looked fabulous in a kilt. It had taken her quite a lot of bartering to get him to wear it for his big day, here at the start of a new term at Hogwarts, the renowned British School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"I should have said 'No' to Minerva," Severus muttered as he adjusted the hang of the silver-fitted, black-furred sporran she had given him for their anniversary. "We could still be on a beach in Cancun, if I had only stood my ground against her!"

"Where you'd still be complaining about the sand, the sun, the saltiness of the surf, and how bad the Muggle beer tastes, even if you squeeze a lime over it, first," Hermione retorted as she pinned the throw over his shoulder with a brooch. "I know you all too well," she added, adjusting a final fold before lifting into her toes to kiss his cheek. "You love to complain and pretend you're a curmudgeon...but you haven't fooled anyone for a long time, now."

She moved to kiss his cheek again, and he turned his head in time to capture her lips with his own. For a few moments, their minds lingered on the soft, hungry taste of each other's mouth, his flavoured with cinnamon toothpaste, hers with a mint gargle. But time was fleeing, and he released her with a regretful sigh.

"...I would love to turn you over the foot of our bed, and share a few minutes of bliss with you," Severus murmured, catching her hand in his so that he could press a kiss to her palm. "But we haven't the time. Don't forget the scroll of new students' names."

Just as disappointed, Hermione sighed and picked up the scroll. Arm in arm--she was clad in a midnight blue that complimented his black robes--she walked with him out of their quarters. Already, they could hear the arriving students, brought by thestral-pulled carriages from the railway station down on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. The first-years would be arriving in a little bit by boat, punted there by Charlie Weasley, who had taken over Hagrid's job after Hagrid had decided to join Olympe Maxime at Beauxbatons. For now, the broad corridor leading from the front entrance to the Great Hall was filled with the chattering voices of second- through seventh-year students.

"I could've gone back into Potions research this year," Severus muttered as they walked down a side-hall towards the teachers' entrance into the dining chamber. "I could be doing a dozen more interesting things, than this."

"Minerva didn't want anyone else for the job," Hermione reminded him, patting his arm before she opened the side-door for him. "Suffer, for being the best at what you do."

If he snorted, the sound was lost in the din of students finding their House tables and settling onto the benches. Hermione smiled at Harry, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, as she passed his place next to the head chair. He'd spent a few years as an Auror, after marrying Ginny but before deciding he wanted to teach. And of course, she herself had replaced Filius as Charms Professor, though another professor had taken over the duties of the Head of Ravenclaw.

Harry leaned across Severus, ignoring the wry look the older wizard was giving him. "Pssst! Did you remember the Sorting Hat?"

Hermione closed her eyes in disgust at herself. "Oh, bother!--I'll be right back. I was hoping to have a bit of fruit before they got here. I'll have to meet the first-years on the steps, as soon as I get back--save me an apple, will you?"

"Sure."

It didn't take her long to go up to the portrait-lined study, nor long to fetch down the Sorting Hat again. It grumbled to itself as she dusted it with a flick of her wand, but settled down as she approached the stairs to begin the speech she had first heard as a tremulous young girl, all those years ago. A spot of red hair in the crowd made her smile and think of Ron; he'd all but abandoned wizarding life for a while, immersing himself in the Muggle chess masters' world. He was back, though, and settled with a woman he loved far more than he'd ever liked her. She was happy for him.

"May I have your attention?" Hermione called out in a firm but welcoming voice as she smiled down at the students. Two of them pushed each other, glaring, but a quelling look from her and the boys settled down. "You are about to embark on a seven-year course of intense study in what it will take to become competent wizards and witches. You will not go through these Trials alone, however. Instead, you will be Sorted into one of the Four Houses of Hogwarts.

"They are Gryffindor, known for those who are athletic and brave; Ravenclaw, renowned for their intelligence and creativity; Slytherin, filled with those who are ambitious and cunning; and Hufflepuff, home to those who are loyal and true. You will eat with your House, sleep in your House, and win or lose points for your House, based on your good behaviour...or your misconduct," she added, staring pointedly at the two squabblers from earlier. "At the end of the year, the total calculated points from merits, demerits, and Quidditch match totals, will determine which House gets the honor of holding the House Cup for the next year. Are there any questions, so far...?"

There were a couple, easily answered. When they were ready, Hermione directed them into the Great Hall, where they filed with wide-eyes past the tables of students, until they stood before the Sorting Stool. Reading from her scroll, Hermione dropped the Sorting Hat onto each head, smiling at those sorted into her own House, Gryffindor, and nodding politely in encouragement to all the others. When it was through, she tucked the stool and the Sorting Hat to one side, and resumed her seat at her husband's side. He waited politely until she was settled, then rose.

"Welcome to another year of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. As the older students may remember," he intoned, his rich, dark voice filling the chamber, mesmerizing the students seated at the four long tables stretching out before him, "I have been selected to be your new Headmaster; for the new students who may not know me, I am Professor Severus Snape. Professor Draco Malfoy will be taking over my duties this year as your Potions Master, and Madam Hermione Snape shall be my Deputy Headmistress. The Forbidden Forest is forbidden, just as its name implies, and visits to Hogsmeade are restricted to third-years and older, presuming your parents or guardians have signed your permission slips.

"If you have any questions...this is a feast, not an interview. Save them for tomorrow, when my office will be open every week-day for the two hours between the end of your last class of the day, and half an hour before the start of supper."

A pause as he let his dark eyes rake over the crowd, his demeanor just stern enough to quell fidgeting bodies from becoming unruly. Hermione smiled indulgently. After nearly twenty-six years of marriage, he was still intimidating from a distance, and had been a positive dictator in his class, though he had softened outside of class-time. And it never hurt to have the students just a little bit fearful of him, to ensure that they respected and heeded his authority.

Still, it was a relief to see his mouth curving in the same indulgent smile he had once reserved for their children, and now usually gave to their grandchildren. He had every right to be happy, and proud of his standing as a husband, a hero, a father, and the second-ever--and frankly, far more popular than the previous--Slytherin Headmaster.

"...Let the Welcoming Feast begin!"

The End