Two: Ding-dong, ding-a-ling-dong

Seven Brides for Seven Snapes 2: Ding-dong, ding-a-ling-dong

In the end, it wasn't until the next day that they managed to tie the knot. True, they managed to sneak down the back stairs unobserved, but when Hermione nearly fell asleep in her pizza at lunch, Severus declared that he'd rather not marry the walking dead, and in any case, he could pass the intervening time quite pleasantly terrorising Kingsley into providing a licence and approving the immediate termination of her contract.

"It should really be me that does it – you make me look like a feeble Little Woman!" she grumbled.

"And how would that go, exactly? Describe the encounter," Severus ordered, leaning back and folding his arms as though he were waiting for a wrong answer in the classroom.

Hermione fiddled with the wax that had dripped from the candle onto the table top.

"Well," she said slowly, "Kingsley would get all reproachful, mention all the things I'm in the middle of doing, then do the pouty mouth and the big, sad puppydog eyes. Then he'd get Harry to come in and tell me how he couldn't possibly do without me..."

"And then?"

"And then I'd cave. Okay – you do it. Just for once it would be nice to have someone take care of me. I knew there was a reason for accepting you: my inner self is a Barbara Cartland heroine!" She grinned, not catching the moment when his gaze shifted.

"Do you really think I'd have proposed if that were the case? However, you are a pushover when it comes to people you like."

"Does that include saying 'yes' to you?" she responded tartly.

"That, Hermione, was a rare moment of perspicacity and self-preservation. And you just let slip that you like me, by the way." He looked exceedingly smug.

The situation was surreal, she thought, as she watched him sip his espresso. The dim light of the Muggle restaurant suited him, warming his sallow skin and adding to the fascination of his dark eyes. She'd never let herself think of him as anything other than someone she had enjoyed working with from time to time since the war ended, but if she were completely honest with herself, she wasn't indifferent to him, and found his looks striking rather than ugly. When it came down to it, she was completely fed up with the Weasleys, Harry, the Ministry, and everything; the thought of spending her time with just one companion – a companion who interested her on many levels – was enticing; and, frankly, she could do with a bit of being looked after. Whoever would have thought Severus Snape would be safe harbour for a battered spirit? She shrugged inwardly. Stranger things had happened.

They lingered over coffee, talking until Hermione could barely keep her eyes open. How nice it was to have a one-to-one conversation, especially one in which the other person actually gave the impression of interest in what she had to say. The future looked promising. She staggered home with the firm resolution to skive work that night, and the comforting reflection that Severus – mmmm, yes, he had become 'Severus' in the space of a few short hours – was undoubtedly what all her friends would call a Bad Influence.

At ten o'clock the next morning, wearing her prettiest dress, a touch of make-up, and a wide if rather nervous smile, Hermione met her fiance outside Kingsley's office door. Severus had clearly made an effort. Not only was his suit made of the finest wool with buttons of polished jet, but his hair had been trimmed and he seemed to be trying to look friendly. Or it might have been indigestion – the tiramisu had been on the heavy side.

"Shall we?" he said, and took her hand. The feel of his long fingers curling round hers and the warm, dry rub of his palm sent a jolt through her. She swallowed and nodded. They went in without knocking.

"Hermione, are you really sure about this?" Kingsley had had the gall to include Harry in the ceremony, just to pile on the emotional blackmail, and tried to draw her to one side for a kind, avuncular talking-to. All of which pissed her off and made her stick to Severus like a limpet. "He's not ... Well, he's not the sort of man I want to see taking charge of a girl I think of almost as my own family."

Hermione glanced up at Severus, who was doing a poor job of concealing his unholy amusement.

"Firstly, Minister, Severus is not 'taking charge' of me – we are getting married, which even in the wizarding world can sometimes be regarded as an equal partnership, however primeval the mores here are in general. Secondly, at twenty-two, I am not prepared to be talked down to as a little girl. Thirdly, I feel sorry for your family if you exploit them the way you have been exploiting me. Yes, I am sure."

"But Hermione," Harry said, his anguish probably genuine as her departure meant he would actually have to do his fair share of the work for a change, "he's not really a very nice person, you know. Sorry, Severus, but you're not."

Severus permitted himself a twitch of the lips as he settled his arm round Hermione's shoulders.

"Harry, Ron's a nice person, and I felt as though I was baby-sitting the whole time; Percy's a nice person, but I want to strangle him every time he opens his mouth; Neville's a nice person, but a complete bore; Dean's a nice person, but it's entirely too much fun making him feel intellectually inadequate. Shall I go on?" She sighed. "Did it never cross your mind that I might not be a very nice person, and that Severus and I might be ideally suited? When Severus walks into a room, I generally think 'Oh, good' – I don't get that awful sinking feeling that here's just one more person who wants me to do something for them."

She caught Harry and Kingsley giving her an incredulous stare. She missed the one on Severus' face.

"I can't help feeling that you're going to regret this, my dear," rumbled Kingsley mournfully.

"Let's just get on with it, shall we?" said Severus.

*

The next stop was Hermione's flat. She stuffed the few things that meant anything to her into the beaded bag, took a last cursory look round, then shut the door.

"Ready to put on a show, Mrs Snape?" said Severus, offering his arm.

"Ready when you are, Mr Snape," she replied, settling the hand with the plain gold band and the large emerald that marked their twenty-two hour engagement on his sleeve where it could not fail to be noticed.

They walked through the shop with insouciance, pretending not to notice the storm of gossip breaking in their wake. Hermione didn't look back.

"Severus? How about a picnic before we go home?" was the last thing anybody heard.

"Are you serious? You want me to sit on the ground somewhere and eat sandwiches?"

Hermione fiddled with her rings.

"It's rather a juvenile way to get fed."

"I like picnics," she protested. "It's nice to be in the fresh air and eat simple things!"

"And drink lashings of ginger beer, I suppose," he added sourly.

"Well, I..."

"Don't you think a decent restaurant would be more appropriate?"

"Honestly?" She spread her hands in exasperation. "None of this feels 'appropriate' – it's all completely surreal. Right now, a restaurant would just make me fidget. I ... I've just got married, we're going 'home', and I have no idea what that even means other than some very vague notions extracted from the few romantic novels I've had the misfortune to read. Can't we ... can't we just buy some sandwiches and strawberries and maybe a nice bottle of wine and get used to the idea?"

He was hard to read at the best of times, but he didn't seem to have that constipated look that usually presaged a set-down. Hermione didn't know how to do 'appealing', as such, but had confidence that her expression could at least be read as hopeful. And in truth, she really did need some time before finding herself inside four walls with him. Severus Snape was in many respects an unknown quantity, and things unknown tended to leave her tongue-tied until she had at least a smidgeon of information upon which to base a theory. Ah – the merest twitch of the lips!

One lightning stop at Harrods for a hamper – it was their wedding day, after all – one Apparition, and they found themselves on a hilltop, surrounded by alien wind-carved rocks under the light breeze and sunshine of a perfect Yorkshire summer's day.

"This is beautiful!" exclaimed Hermione, reaching up to tie her hair back from her face. "I never would have taken you for a romantic, Severus!"

"Don't do that," he said, catching her hands. "Just turn your face to the breeze."

She blushed and looked away.

"Where shall we sit, then?" she asked after a moment.

In the end, a small dell lined with sheep-cropped grass and shy moorland herbs provided them with the seclusion they sought. Hermione covered her awkwardness by setting out the picnic, fussing over getting the arrangement absolutely perfect. She looked up at last to find an uncommonly relaxed-looking Snape, jacket discarded and shirt sleeves rolled up, lounging with his back against a mossy rock. He seemed more approachable than she had ever known him, and as he was clearly making an effort, she asked, "What's your home like? I'd like to know what to expect before I go in and start rearranging your life!"

He focused his attention on opening the wine before answering.

"I moved into my mother's family home after my grandfather died – did you know that?"

"No! I had no idea. You've managed to keep away from press attention very effectively."

He smirked.

"Having shady connections doesn't hurt, once in a while," he replied.

Hermione laughed.

"Well, then, tell me what it's like."

He described a Jacobean manor house in the Dales, equipped with an ancient herb garden, networks of cellars, attics and outbuildings which lent themselves to conversion as work rooms, extensive grounds in which he was trying to establish populations of some of the less offensive magical fauna ... At some point, he took out his wand and used it to sketch plans, which hung in the air for many minutes before fading on the wind. Hermione listened, fascinated as much by his gestures and the mobility of his features as he talked about things which interested him as by the idyll he was building in her imagination.

"It must be wonderful to have such a rich family heritage," she commented. "I barely know anything beyond the names of my grandparents; Mum and Dad weren't interested in all that sort of thing – very forward-looking and progressive. We never talked about where we came from as a family. Perhaps that's why I've always clung so much to this ..." Rummaging in her bag, she pulled out her battered old copy of Hogwarts: A History. "I sort of co-opted the school's history as my own."

She gave him a tentative smile.

"I'm looking forward to being a part of all that, I think. To be able to work together, you and me, to build a new business from those ancient foundations, using what you've already done .... You know," she said, jumping suddenly to her feet, "in fact, I have a pretty good feeling about all of this! Crazy as anyone I know would find it, I think marrying you might be the most sensible thing I've ever done!" She spun on her toes, giddy with delight in the day, her daring, and the champagne she had drunk, then ran to pick a small bunch of flowers from the clumps nestling in the rocks. "Here you go, Severus, a posy for the groom on his wedding day!"

She was surprised when he accepted the gift with a good grace, retrieving his jacket so he could tuck the nosegay of wild thyme into the top buttonhole.

"With so much energy and commitment, Hermione, you convince me that I, too, made a wise decision in marrying you. There is just one thing more, however..."

He dropped his jacket again and held his hand out to her, holding her regard with a neutral but expectant look in his eyes. She placed her fingers, cold suddenly, in his, and allowed him to draw her close. She wanted to prompt him to go on, but found that her voice had once more deserted her when it might have been useful to have around. Finding his free hand with hers and holding tight would have to do. Indeed, it seemed encouragement enough.

He cleared his throat – was it possible that he was finding this moment equally awkward? – before speaking.

"I don't intend this to be a marriage in name only."

Hermione felt herself reddening. What could she say? That she'd been trying desperately to avoid looking at the Erumpent in the room? That, despite her efforts, ever since accepting him, she'd embarrassed herself with dwelling on his eyes, his hands, his nose, and what might be hiding behind all those buttons? That she was deeply flattered to be desired for everything she had to offer? That she was rather shocked at herself for reacting so strongly, physically and emotionally, to a man she felt she hardly knew?

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the lips. It was quite gratifying to draw back and note a definite flush along his cheekbones. Perhaps he would blush even more, later.

"Home, then?" she said.