Eleven: Finale

Seven Brides for Seven Snapes 11: Finale

Severus landed running. He charged through the wards without breaking stride, re-erecting them with a hasty wave of his wand over his shoulder as he tore up to the house, scattering gravel from his flying boot-heels. The last curve of the drive ignored, he ploughed through the flower beds, up the steps, and threw the front door open with a crash.

There seemed to be a lot of people in the hall and rather more chairs than he had expected, some of which were blocking the direct route to the foot of the stairs. They were the ones that got blasted into kindling while the people lately occupying them scrambled shrieking out of the way. The only thing of which Severus was truly aware was the protracted moan that came from above and filled him with what, in a lesser man, might have been called 'panic'. He pounded up the stairs, dimly aware that someone may have been shouting at him, ran along the corridor and skidded to a halt in his bedroom doorway.

Heart pounding, chest heaving, he took in the scene: Hermione, his Hermione, was curled on her side, lying at an angle across the bed, the better to grasp the bed-post in a grip that turned her knuckles white and threatened to splinter the wood. Her eyes were shut and she was letting out the most protracted sound he had ever heard a human being produce. He was astonished she had that much air in her. And then, of a sudden, the sound was gone and she was panting, and another voice was soothing her. He noticed Secunda, then, her magic washing over Hermione as she smoothed the tangled hair away from his wife's flushed face.

"You took your time," said the elf sourly. She didn't look round. "Come and make yourself useful, boy. I'll tell you what I think of you later."

Severus edged into the room, his forward momentum having deserted him abruptly. Hermione seemed unaware of his presence, though her eyes were half open, fixed on her hands, which had loosed their desperate hold.

"What's wrong with her?" His voice was hoarse.

"She's concentrating. Let's just hope you haven't ruined it, crashing in here where you don't have any right to expect a welcome. There, there, now, Mistress."

Hermione's knuckles were going white again and she was drawing in deep breaths. Her eyes closed.

"OooooooOOOOOOOOOOOH," began the long groan again.

"Why's she mooing?" Severus whimpered.

"Whatever does the job." Secunda took pity on him. "Come here, Master Severus, sit behind her and stroke her hair back from her face. When she comes out of this one we'll see if she wants you to rub her back or anything. Don't panic. She's doing well."

Hermione's groan tailed off, and she pressed her head against his hand.

"Severus?" she murmured. "You came back! You utter swine. I've missed you so much ..." She licked her lips. "Water?"

Secunda passed him a wet flannel which he held to Hermione's lips. She sucked for a moment then irritably jerked her mouth away.

"Back rub," she managed to order before drawing her breath in again.

Secunda showed him where to press, but a second later it seemed irrelevant as Hermione went into another long moan. He had never felt so helpless.

"Secunda?"

But the elf's hands were hovering above Hermione's enormous belly, and she was concentrating hard. The groan ended with a curious sort of grunt, and Secunda smiled with satisfaction.

"There we are," she said. "Hermione, you might want to think about sitting up a bit, now. The young miss is ready."

Which was how, some indefinite period of time later, Severus found himself kneeling on the bed facing Hermione as she reclined half-propped against the headboard, her feet braced against his knees and her hands crushing his to a pulp as she pulled hard for purchase, and, with a full-throated scream, delivered their daughter practically straight into his lap.

Secunda reached between them and lifted the baby into Hermione's arms. Severus realised, seeing the tears streaming down his wife's face and somehow lighting her happy smile, that his own cheeks were wet.

"Is she ...? Is she ...? Hermione ...? Are you ...?" Some part of his brain informed him he was gibbering, and he shut up.

Hermione was gently touching the tiny, red, slimy, crumpled baby. "Isn't she beautiful?" she asked him, raising her shining eyes to his.

Ew, said that part of his brain.

"Gorgeous, in a hideous sort of way," said the rest of him, honestly. "Hermione ..." He took a deep breath. "Forgive me. I didn't know ..."

"Shhh. Later."

"What shall we call her?" he asked.

"Livia," replied Hermione firmly.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Definitely Livia. It keeps the Roman tradition alive, and, well, she's going to need all the cunning and strength of her namesake to make headway in this family."

"Livia," he said. He reached out and touched the tiny fingers, which wrapped around his own. He felt a sudden huge rush of something he couldn't immediately name.

"Why don't you let me get them cleaned up a bit, Severus?" said Secunda gently. She was looking a little teary herself.

He found it very hard to extract himself from his daughter's grip. His daughter.

"Hermione, I'd better take the girls back to their families."

"Be very careful, Severus," she whispered, fear and concern clearly written on her tired face.

*

A pack of disgruntled swains, some fathers and brothers, Ron Weasley, who was still usually to be found on Harry's coat tails, half the Auror section, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley, were all rather tired of searching the approximate location of Prince Hall. Old records had determined that the Princes hailed from the North, but since all that approximateness boiled down to half of Yorkshire, and Atlantis had nothing on the concealment charms that kept the Snapes' house Unplottable, most of the searchers had long ago come to the conclusion that fine beer and some prime male bonding were all that Yorkshire had to recommend it. Arthur would have added that there was also the cricket, but since it was winter and nobody else had heard of the game, he kept his trap shut.

Of late, the 'search' had chiefly consisted of participants sitting in pairs in rainstorms (theoretically) or in hostelries (the de facto version), or – in the case of Longbottom and Zabini – a bijou tent for two, keeping a weather eye out for disturbances in the ambient magic. Places known to be devoid of anything ambient, much less magical, such as Leeds, were left off the surveillance list.

And yet, such as it was, the surveillance continued up to and including the day in late March when Longbottom stiffened suddenly and said, "Did you feel that?!" and Zabini opened his sultry eyes and replied "Did I ever!"

"No, you idiot!" shouted Longbottom. "Something really big just happened!"

"Thank you, darling."

"In the magical field." Longbottom was so cute when he tried to drip sarcasm.

They fired off a few Patronuses and pulled their clothes on while they waited for the rest of the party to gather. Whatever it was had been close by.

The Aurors set about combing the nearby lanes for the source of the disruption – a magical upheaval which was still causing ripples. When it turned out that not only was the phenomenon caused by a complex of wards so deeply paranoid they made MI6 look like Jemima Puddle Duck, but also that someone or something had made such a mess of passing through that the wards were showing intermittent signs of disintegration, there were only two conclusions to be drawn: one – this was the work of Severus Snape; and two – it was a trap.

After a few rounds of "You go first," and "No – after you!" Arthur Weasley, who simply wanted to ensure that Molly's clock was telling the somewhat surprising truth about his little girl, raised his wand and managed to wriggle his way through relatively unscathed. From inside, he was able to work to help widen the access, and soon the entire party was standing by a gate that had been undetectable from the country lane on the other side.

Kingsley adjusted his robes and his dignity and set about deploying his troops. It was a pest and a pain trying to explain in whispers to the non-Aurors the fine arts of crouching, sneaking, and not walking into things in the dark and saying "Ow!" loudly, but once he felt they had at least got the rudiments, it was a simple matter to begin dividing them into groups.

"Auror Potter, you take Finnigan, Malfoy..."

He was interrupted by a full-throated scream carrying clearly through the crisp night air.

"They're killing them!" shouted Potter.

At which point strategy was abandoned in favour of a charge that would have made Tennyson smile in his beard.

*

Severus tore himself away from Hermione with difficulty. It was hard to believe he had been foolish enough to deprive himself of her for so long – but then, until he had met her, his habit had been to regard self-deprivation as the moral high ground. What twaddle.

"Bugger off, Severus," said Hermione fondly as he lingered at the door. "Tell your brothers they're uncles before you have to tell them they can't be husbands just yet – that might avert a few of the hexes."

Livia squeaked as he shut the door behind him. It sounded just like "Dada". Clearly, and entirely expectedly, his child was precocious. He rolled his shirt sleeves down and cast a quick Cleansing Charm on his clothes, then marched to the head of the stairs where he looked down on the array of anxious and excited faces, both human and elvish.

"Hermione and the baby are doing well," he announced.

There was an immediate rush to pull him down the stairs, and much hugging and back-slapping. Severus found it distinctly odd, though not unpleasant, to be an apparent object of affection to various nubile young females, who pressed their lips to his cheek and embraced him. He ignored the flush he felt rising in his cheeks and accepted the glass of champagne that was pressed into his hand.

Seneca hushed the excited babble.

"We have to wet the baby's head. What's his name, Severus?"

"She is called Livia." He had a brief flash of inspiration. "Livia Circe Snape. So you louts had better watch your step around my daughter."

Everyone laughed. Seneca raised his glass.

"To Livia Circe Snape – may she never lack for uncles!"

"Or aunts," added Ginny, to which everyone gave a great whoop.

Severus looked around and something registered – he must truly be addled to have missed this. Each of his brothers seemed to be entwined with one of the young women, the very same young women who had so adamantly fought against being brought to Prince Hall in the first place.

"Am I to understand ...?" he asked grimly.

"Yes, brother," said Seneca, bridling.

Severus sighed.

"But we – I – have to take them back, Seneca."

"We won't go!" pouted Miss Brown. "We're happy here – aren't we, girls?"

"Yes, we are!" said Ginny. There was something about the angle of her jaw that reminded Severus uncomfortably of Molly. He remembered, too, that this was one of the hellcats that had taken on Bellatrix Lestrange at the age of sixteen. He thought of poor henpecked Arthur Weasley and decided he had to make some decent effort to save his brother.

"Miss Weasley – you must have been Confunded. You were brought here by force, kept here by force, and now you expect me to believe this is anything but Stockholm Syndrome? You expect your families and friends to believe it?" He looked around at all the girls.

"I suppose we have all been talking lately how your families must worry about you," added Septimius. He looked into Luna's eyes and encountered a curiously steely glint in them. "I think I have to stand with Severus," he added, backing away from her.

"You're all going back, with me, right now," Severus announced. "If after a decent period of separation, once your families are convinced of your mental and emotional stability, you still wish to associate with my brothers ..."

*

The sounds of brawling, punctuated by incoherent female screams, were truly appalling. Every chivalrous instinct awoke in the hearts of the rescuers. What must the girls have had to endure? What kind of beasts were these Snapes? What scenes of brutality and rapine awaited within?

They crashed through the doors and beheld ...

A pitched battle between the women and the men, jinxes and hexes flying, splintered furniture littering the floor, and Severus Snape, his back to the doorway, shouting, "Oh for Merlin's sake, just stop it!!!"

They shouldered him aside and crashed bravely into a barrage of Tickling Charms, Jelly-Legs hexes, Giggling Curses, Cross-Eyed Jinxes and, as Minister Shacklebolt discovered, Ginny Weasley's infamous Bat-Bogey Hex.

Arthur strolled in and offered Severus his hand.

"I take it the girls are planning to stay here, then?" he asked mildly.

"It looks that way," Severus replied. "They were a little annoyed when my brothers agreed that they ought to go back."

"Hmm," nodded Arthur, thinking of Molly's clock, on which the station "In Love" had appeared, and where Ginny's hand had been fixed for several months. The fighting had stopped, and now the girls were shouting angrily at their variously incapacitated would-be heroes. "I'd say they can hold their own against you lot. Oh – am I right in thinking that congratulations are in order?"

Severus blushed.

"You are."

"I thought I recognised the scream. Well, then – congratulations!" Arthur slapped him on the back. "Girl or boy?"

"Girl."

"Wonderful!"

"Tea?"

"Mmmm. I think we'll leave the ladies to sort this mess out, don't you? Why don't you take me up to see Hermione and the baby so I can tell Molly all about it?"

*

The next morning, Hermione and Severus brought Livia down to witness the marriage of her six doting uncles to her six far more practically-minded aunts. Minister Shacklebolt presided, with a bad grace.

After a brief and intense whispered discussion, followed by consultation of Hermione's extensively revised Hogwarts: A History, Minister Shacklebolt also presided over the marriage of Neville Longbottom and Blaise Zabini – with an even worse grace. He then departed for London, vowing to have his minions hunt through the bowels of the Ministry for every piece of obsolete legislation that could be found before the blasted Granger chit turned wizarding Britain inside out.

Neville and Blaise Longbini were informed that the rooms above the stables were theirs for the taking, and they were more than welcome to stay. After all, every girl ought to have a set of gay step-uncles to advise her on fashion and the like, especially with a disaster like Granger for a mother.

Hermione's gift to the newlyweds was her completed plan for the family business – the 'Daydream Edition', as she called it, wherein all the girls' various skills and expertise were factored in as vital elements.

Severus' gift was the somewhat sour promise to have the Dower House and the hamlet reconstructed as soon as possible. He declared that his sisters-in-law were entirely too thrilled by the baby, and the house wasn't big enough.

Hermione waited until she was well-recovered from the birth before entrusting Livia to Secunda's care for an afternoon and summoning Severus to the snug for a frank discussion of the events of the past year. The reasons for her delay were twofold, as far as he could tell – she was entirely too besotted with her baby, her husband, and the restoration of her family to work up a good head of steam; and it gave everyone else, from the lowliest of the elves to the oldest of her brothers, an opportunity to get theirs in first. She apparently believed that this approach built a satisfying crescendo of guilt.

Severus arrived at the snug doorway knowing that he ought really to be feeling chastened. But such reproaches as he had received from his family were like algae off a squid's tentacle – the little that stuck was easily chewed off. He was, after all, the head of the family, and as such was not obliged to listen to reproaches. Besides which, the elves had always grouched at him, and most of the humans simply used the opportunity to shower him with thanks for his perfidy. Hermione, however, was a different matter.

He had never bothered himself overmuch with concern for the feelings of others – or not since his youth had taught him it was a waste of time – but the place Hermione had carved for herself in his life raised her wellbeing to a matter of vital concern. And if that wellbeing was dependent on giving him a thorough telling-off, then he was prepared to submit. This time, anyway.

She was waiting for him on the sofa, wearing a pretty dress and a stern expression.

"Sit down, Severus," she said, indicating the place next to her.

He was mildly horrified. This looked worse than telling off. This looked like a serious relationship talk. He'd known men flee the country after these.

"Please, Severus."

Second use of his name in two sentences. He swallowed and sat, facing her serious gaze.

"You know you did wrong, Severus, and I think we need to talk over exactly why you..."

He let her go on for forty minutes before he interrupted.

"You've had a lot of time to prepare this, haven't you, Hermione?" he enquired.

"Well, yes – you know very well I have!" she said testily.

"And you consulted a lot of books."

"Hmph."

"And you have a whole sheaf of notes somewhere to hand, don't you?"

She failed to prevent herself from looking at the drawer in the coffee table.

"I love you, Hermione!" Even he was surprised by that.

"Well, honestly!" she huffed. "If you think I'm going to let you get away with all that you've done, simply by saying 'I love you', then ..."

She paused and gazed at him.

He held his breath.

She laughed and threw herself into his arms.

"... then you're completely right!"

*