The long and winding road to love

Chapter 7: Wedding days always make me cry





Hello, my dear friends, I just wanted
to thank you all for your amazing reviews.

I must be grateful for Lily Malfoy’s help. A special kiss to Casi
and Kairi my amazing BIFF’s! AND…

…Well… here it is….chapter 7; enjoy!

 

Chapter 7: Wedding days always make me
cry

 

Nearly two hours had passed since the little talk
Hermione, Ginny, Ron and Harry had shared. She was deeply hurt, but something about
the separation felt like a refreshing breeze. She was no longer in debt; she
was as guilty as they were.

 

So far, the only friendly face she had seen was
Ginny’s who had proven her true devotion.

 

Hermione was wearing a black robe, but not Hogwarts
style. She was wearing a black robe with at least 30 buttons that started 2
inches under her belly-button and ended where her neck started. It was also
long enough for her to step on it, but the movement her skirt provided made it
less probable. It was the kind of robe Snape usually wore and she thought it
would suit perfectly with her mood.

 

Black for death, misery and
marriage.

 

“Excuse me, dear,” Minerva McGonagall said, gently
knocking on the door. Hermione was getting ready in Green House number 3, as
the wedding would take place in an alley not far from Hermione’s current
location. No student should be allowed, except those who had the express
consent of Dumbledore. He was the couple’s secret keeper, after all. “I was
wondering if I could sew this white ribbon to your robes,” she requested,
showing her the needle, the string, and of course the ribbon.

 

“Yes, Professor McGonagall,” she answered without
hesitation. Little did she know what the white ribbon represented.
She asked no questions. She would trust her Head of House with her life.

 

“Oh, Dear, are you nervous?” Professor McGonagall
asked while sewing the white piece of cloth on Hermione’s chest.

 

“Oh, no, Professor McGonagall, I see no reason to be
nervous,” she simply replied while trying several charms on her hair.

 

“Well, Hermione, darling, you do realize you are
getting married to Professor Snape in less than 45 minutes? You do realize that
this is forever, don’t you?” a hesitant McGonagall asked. She had finished her
needlepoint for the day and she was now concentrating fully on Hermione’s cool
answers.

 

“Of course, Professor McGonagall,” she plainly
replied, faking a smile. Reality was she hadn’t given too much thought to the
“forever” part of the agreement. Would she accept an eternity of morning’s
waking up in the same chambers that her moody professor? She wasn’t sure.

 

“Adultery, in the Wizard World, is punished with
death,” McGonagall commented, as if looking for a kind of reaction from
Hermione’s part. But she remained stiff and still, not even daring to blink,
“You do not need to worry, Hermione. You are doing this out of love, aren’t
you?” She asked, trying to make her confess. Albus hadn’t said a word about
Hermione and Severus’s immediate urge to marry. She was no fool. She knew he
was hiding something.

 

“Yes, I am. I love, Severus. How can… I mean, how can I not
love him?” she asked, more to herself. She needed all the confidence she could
get. Getting married to the darkest of Professor’s wasn’t easy.

 

“Yes, dear, I am sure you have your motives,” she
simply said, opening the glass door that lead to the grounds. It was winter and
the snow outside had transformed the green land into pure white, “I wish you
good luck, my child. I wish for you nothing but the best,” she finally said,
kindly shutting the door behind her.

 

“Ready?” Ginny asked, 20 minutes later. It was time.
She couldn’t escape. Not now. Not ever. Hogwarts was at risk. She couldn’t run
away; it was in the stars. She needed to do it. For
everyone’s sake.

 

“Nearly ready,” she said, her voice filled with pain.

 

“It’s time,” Ginny whispered from the door frame,
dressed in a lilac dress robe. Her head was filled with curls and she looked
beautiful, despite her worries.

 

“I know,” she said, running her left hand through her
untidy hair.

 

Gathering all the strength she possessed, she went
through the glass door of Green House number three and into the alleyre hre her
ceremony was supposed to be held.

 

It did not resemble her dreams, but she was satisfied
with the decorations all the same. The wooden chairs had been neatly arranged
in order for everyone to circle the altar. She caught a glimpse of her mother
and father in the first row and of Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall at the
very end of the altar. No Ron, No Harry. Ron had promised, but sure enough
Harry had persuaded him not to come.

 

She could hear Ginny’s accelerated breathing from
behind as she was following her best friend’s steps from a safe distance.

 

But it took time for Hermione to realize that the man
dressed in plain, black robes was Severus Snape. Not because he looked in any
way different, but because she hadn’t paid too matteattention to the man
standing in front of the altar; her future husband.

 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are gathered here today to
celebrate the union of Severus Snape and Hermione Granger in matrimony. As you
may know, Mrs. and Mr. Granger are muggles and they fail to understand ouraditaditions. I will explain the magic way in which rds rds and Witches get
married. Despite common belief, we neither sacrifice animals nor drink blood.
Hermione and Severus are suppose write their intentions for the marriage,
whatever they may be, in these separate pieces of parchment and then they are
suppose to hand said intentions to me. I will perform a simple charm, the
scroll will seal itself forever and the groom will kiss the bride. It’s as
simple and as brief as that,” Dumbledore explain with a smile on his face.

 

Everyone in the room nodded, especially Mr. and Mrs.
Granger who looked disappointed about the whole thing. Can you really blame
them, though?

 

A golden quill appeared on Hermione’s hand. Her hand
automatically flew to the parchment. She knew what she had to write. And so she
did.

 

“I wish, to my future husband and
myself, all the happiness in this world”

 

And as soon as she was finished, the piece of
parchment folded itself and the golden quill disappeared from her hand.

 

It was Severus’s turn now. And he looked nervous; his
pale face even paler, his left hand- once unshakable- was trembling
uncontablyably. He was going to marry Hermione Granger, and eventhough he had
enjoyed the pleasure she had given him, he did not love her.

 

A silver quill appeared in his hand and his hand flew
automatically to the parchment. He knew what he had to write. And so he did:

 

“I wish, to my future wife and myself,
nothing but the most prosperous of futures. I can only ask for happiness”

 

And as soon as he was finished, the piece of parchment
folded itself and the silver quill disappeared from his hand.

 

It was over. The folded parchments had found the way
to Dumbledore’s hands and within seconds, the two papers had transformed into
one single scroll, sealed in gold.

 

“I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Dumbledore
said, lowering his hands to where they were, “Severus, old boy, you may kiss
the bride, of course.”

 

“Oh, no!” he thought to himself, a worried expression
on his face.

 

“It has to be believable,” was all the managed to
think about.

 

And so, they stepped closer, their identical robes
almost touching. His hand was now touching her face and she was fondly rubbing
her cheek on his hand. Those hands she had fantasized so much about were hers;
forever.

 

Leaning closer, he took her jaw in his hands, and
claimed her mouth. Slowly, but passionate enough, their lips met. His mouth was
devouring hers, being two times as big. And she liked the feeling of being
wrapped by his arms; his strong arms. She figured that as long as he would remain
her husband, she would feel protected.

 

When they broke apart, after several uncomfortable
coughs, they were unable to hide the smiles on their faces. He took her hand in
his and walking gracefully through the crowd of people greeting them, he
dragged her to his chambers.

 

They needed to talk. Even if she
didn’t want to listen. About everything; about what had really happened
that night when under the influence of the “deseous potionis” they had almost
made love, about the kiss they had just shared and about how in the name of
Merlin they were going to make their fake marriage work.

 

But Hermione had suddenly realized, while being pushed
by her husband through the strange faces, that the future seemed not as
uncertain now as it had been only 5 minutes ago. And she liked that feeling.
She liked it a lot.