Four: When You're in Love, cont.

Seven Brides For Seven Snapes 4: When You're in Love, cont.

Severus wasn't used to feeling in the wrong.

This might come as a surprise to most people, in the light of his personal history, but ever since he'd been stupid enough to take the Mark as a boy, he had gone to great pains to redress that error – for in his book, stupidity was probably a worse crime than many of the others that made all those old women on the Wizengamot shake their addled heads – and had, indeed, been proved right at every turn. Right about the Marauders being weak and irresponsible; right about Lily's mistake in marrying James; right about the Potter boy's nature; right about Quirrell, about Lupin, about everything Dumbledore was doing wrong; about ... well, about almost everything, really. But now ...

He watched his brothers continue to argue about this and that over dessert, and had to admit that the uncomfortable roiling sensation in his gut was that unwelcome old friend, guilt. The thing he thought he'd left behind years before, burnt out of him by the bitterness of being Dumbledore's most useful tool.

But in the space of a few short hours, he had seen Hermione move from happiness and enthusiasm to anger and hurt, and he had nobody to blame but himself.

Though looking at the situation rationally, a large part of the fault could be laid at her door, for building up castles in the air, he thought. She must know him well enough not to expect their married life to be a Disney paradise. It was just a slight case of disappointment, and she'd get over it soon enough – he'd never have chosen her if she hadn't been resilient.

His stomach started to feel a little better, and he took note of the speculative looks the boys were throwing at him. Neptune's nadgers, it was like being back at school, with everyone whispering and giggling about whether you'd snogged or were going to snog so-and-so behind the broom sheds. And that was just the staff.

He harrumphed and stood up, adopting his most forbidding air despite knowing full well that it had less than no effect on his family.

"You lot should get to bed," he ordered. "We have a great deal to do tomorrow."

"You must be tired yourself," answered Scribonius. He closed his eyes and spoke in a whispered monotone, "I foresee, however, that sleep will not claim you for many hours to come..."

Someone sniggered.

"Oh, grow up," snapped Severus. "And Scrib, if you can't think of anything useful to do with those vaunted divinatory powers you go on about so much, then I'll set you to helping Septimius muck out the stables. You may have balls of crystal, but I think even you might blanch at spending a day shovelling griffin guano."

"Playing for time, big brother?" Sejanus teased. "Perhaps Scrib could read the Tarot for you – let you know what's in store upstairs. You got your pack on you, Scrib?"

Severus left, maintaining family and personal tradition with a good, solid slam of the door.

He told himself he didn't hear the guffaw that broke out just before the wood met the frame.

It was ridiculous to feel this self-conscious, really. Here he was, a successful man on the brink of making the world his own (but in a good way), head of his family, a powerful wizard, Master of his chosen specialty, skilled in most other areas, and now husband of a young, talented, and pretty wife. This litany of virtues had brought him up the stairs and along the corridor to his own bedroom, where he expected Hermione – a sensible young woman – would have got over her temper tantrum and be waiting for him in his bed, wearing something flimsy, and welcoming him with open arms.

Her arms, as it turned out, were not open. They were firmly crossed over her regrettably fully-clothed chest. Neither were they in bed. Nor did they look conspicuously good tempered, considering that the hand at the end of one of them was gripping a wand that was spitting red sparks and seriously endangering Hermione's rampant, Gorgon-like hair.

He couldn't quite help a glance at the undisturbed bed.

"Oh, so you thought I'd be there all dollied up and smiling, did you?"

Severus had an uncomfortable flashback to some of the prime tellings-off he'd had to endure from authoritative females over the years. Any moment now – yes, the hands were on the hips.

"You thought I'd have 'got over it' by now?"

"Well –"

"Well, I haven't! And I probably won't. You got me here under false pretences, Severus Snape. You ... you liar!"

"But –"

"But me no buts! I'm here now, and I'll play my role and do my bit for your business – but I'll expect to be paid and well paid for my work, since that's what you got me here for, and there won't be any collateral benefits, so you can just forget about sharing this bed with me!" She turned her back on him.

"Hermione –" This really wasn't going at all well.

"How could you?" She gulped some air. Though her back was rigid, he could see she was trembling with rage. "How could you let me go on like that – talking about life together, and projects, and conversations, and just being with you? You must think I'm a prize idiot."

Ah.

"Hermione," he cajoled. He put his hands on her shoulders, only to have her wrench away. He took a deep breath. If he knew anything about women (and he didn't, really) then it looked as though he had just the one chance to rescue the situation. "Hermione, if you were an idiot, I would never have married you."

"Oh, yeah, I was forgetting – I have a useful brain."

"Stop sulking and listen to me, girl!"

"Ah, yes," she said, "there's the Snape we know and love! I wondered how long it would be before he came out to play."

By this time they were facing each other, her arms akimbo, his crossed, matching frowns in place.

"Don't be childish. Just listen, Hermione. It's true – I did marry you because you would be useful here. We have a great deal to accomplish, if I am to earn a place for my brothers and restoration of our name, and I needed someone at my side who would be able to help me do that. There is nobody as qualified as you, with your intelligence, and strength, and capacity for work ..."

Hermione glared.

"Don't glare at me," he snapped, glaring down his nose out of habit. "If it happens that the finest colleague I could have chosen is also a vivacious and beautiful young woman whose presence gives me good grounds for being smug, you can't blame me for ..."

"Yes, I can blame you, Severus!" To his consternation, there were tears rolling down her cheeks. "You got me here under false pretences. Why – why – did you let me go on like that about our life together? It's mortifying!"

He flushed and hemmed. "It ... It was a good dream. One that was good to share for a little while."

He reached for her hand, but she jerked away again.

"A shared fantasy doesn't make a marriage, Severus," said Hermione miserably. "I'm not sleeping with you."

"Fine."

He closed the door silently behind him in what he hoped would be read as a gesture of deepest sarcasm and returned to the kitchen nursing his anger and hurt pride, forgetting that the others would still be there. The cards were out, though it was a normal pack, and Knuts were changing hands across the table, but the moment he entered, all activity ceased. He faced his brothers, completely nonplussed until he remarked the sly grin spreading over their faces.

"That was quick, old man," said Sidney. "Used you up and thrown you out already, has she?"

"She wants a drink, you pillock," said Severus. He looked around desperately, then grabbed the first bottle that came to hand – luckily, it was wine.

Hermione shrieked and tried vainly to cover her underwear with her hands when Severus burst back into the room. He barely noticed.

"Here," he grunted, thrusting the bottle at her.

He shouldered the bathroom door open and proceeded to take off his jacket and shoes.

"What are you doing?" squeaked Hermione when his hands went to the fastening of his trousers.

"Sleeping in the bath, since I can't have my own bed and there are no others free in the house."

"But ... But ... what if I need to have a pee in the night?"

"Piss in a pot. If it was good enough for my grandfather, it's good enough for my wife." And with that he shut the door.

A bath really was not a suitable place for a grown man to sleep, he decided. If his legs were straight, he was practically sitting up. If he let his legs relax, he ended up sliding down with his shoulders and neck twisted into a sailor's knot. When he stuck his feet right out of the bath so he could lie down with a straight back, the backs of his knees hurt. He was in this position, staring mournfully at the ceiling, when Hermione opened the door and peeked round it. The sight of his feet and hairy legs poking over the end of the bath was evidently rather amusing.

"What are you doing, Severus?"

"Sleeping."

"It doesn't look very comfortable."

He drew his feet back one at a time and pushed until his eyes appeared over the side of the bath. As did, he was uncomfortably aware, his bony knees.

"It isn't."

"I don't suppose it occurred to you to Transfigure the bath?"

He did not feel that the question merited an answer. Nevertheless, Hermione elicited one from him in the form of a startled yell – honestly, did the girl have no respect for his dignity? – when she abruptly transformed the tub into a flat surface on which his head landed with a clang.

"Oh, do excuse me," she said insincerely, making the surface soft.

Severus felt martyred. He fixed his eyes on the ceiling and tried to pretend he was not splayed on his back wearing nothing but a half-buttoned shirt and a pair of underpants, under the unforgiving bright lights of his bathroom, while a young woman wearing – he risked a sidelong peek – a black negligee (hmm, promising ...) smirked at his predicament.

"Why don't you just leave me to sleep? What do you want, Miss Granger?"

A negligent wave of her wand dimmed the lights to a soft glow, but other than leaning her shoulder against the doorpost, she didn't move.

"Severus, it cannot have escaped you that I am somewhat disenchanted with the way this day has turned out, and with the way you have behaved towards me."

"Your girlish fantasies are your own responsibility."

"Indeed they are."

She waited until he turned on his side and propped his head on his hand to look at her directly. The negligee was really very sheer and clingy. It was unfair of her to flaunt herself so. He surreptitiously adjusted his shirt to cover the parts of him that were expressing enthusiasm at the sight.

"You must be aware that I have a great many questions for you, and that you owe me a rather lengthy explanation or three ..."

He winced.

"You always have questions, Miss Granger," he growled, attempting not to look at her cleavage, outlined in black silk, which was hard, because she seemed to be sticking it out. "I'm surprised your hand isn't waving in the air."

"... but those can wait until the morning, I think."

She sat on the edge of the Transfigured bath.

"What are you doing, Miss Granger?"

"Seeing that some part of my girlish fantasy does actually get fulfilled, Professor Snape," she said a little breathlessly. "You see, even though you do actually deserve a thorough hexing for today's charade, I do, actually, rather like you. And ..."

She spelled open his shirt to expose a torso whose muscularity did, he had to admit, give him the odd frisson of justified vanity during his morning ablutions.

"... after due consideration, I believe I am not willing to forgo the pleasures of my wedding night for the sake of an argument that can keep."

Severus decided to ignore that last bit. A Slytherin worth the name could always ensure that an argument had an indefinite shelf life.

He bounded smoothly to his feet and pulled her to stand close against him, her curves pressed to his body in a manner he found most satisfactory. A little gasp and a lewd squirm told him that his wife was well pleased by his body's interest in her charms.

"Very well, Mrs Snape, to bed, then," he said, scooping her up and making rapid strides across the bedroom.

"No! No!"

She struggled wildly.

"What now?"

"Your brothers have booby-trapped the bed, of course."

"I'll kill them."