Arithmantic Dating Agency

Epilogue

It was the wedding of the year.

Severus knew this was true because it would say so on the front cover of the Quibbler tomorrow. Hermione had cut a deal with Loony Lovegood: they had final say on the pictures and text, and Hermione promised not to hex anyone at the paper.

He’d been surprised at the look of cupidity that had briefly crossed Luna’s face; apparently, she wasn’t that divorced from reality not to appreciate the financial rewards of obtaining the exclusive rights to the wedding pictures. Not to mention the sheer delight in beating Skeeter to the punch.

“How much do you want?” she’d asked vaguely.

Hermione had just looked amused. “I don’t want money, Luna, and you’re not Hello magazine; so you can drop the misty look. I didn’t believe it with Trelawney and I don’t believe it with you. You forget, I saw you hit Lucius Malfoy with a very nasty hex at the final battle.”

A brief look of irritation crossed Luna’s face; then she sat up and said more briskly, “If you don’t want money, what do you want. You’ll never get me to believe that you’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

“I believe it’s called editorial control.”

“You mean you want to make sure that the pictures show you in the best light, I think we can agree to that.” She began scrabbling around on her desk to find some parchment, presumably to begin sketching out the basic outline of the story.

“Not quite,” said Hermione. Luna’s sifting through the contents of her desk stopped and she looked up. “Or rather, that’s not all. Creevey’s doing the pictures; we’ll pick out the ones we like on the day and you can choose which ones you want to run.”

“And?” said Luna cautiously.

“And, I want your agreement that certain words and phrases won’t be used in the story.”

Enlightenment dawned. Luna looked at Severus with some amusement, which he found mildly irritating, and then back at Hermione. “So that’s nothing about being ‘very much in love’, nothing about being ‘sweet’, and definitely nothing that would suggest that Professor Snape here is getting soppy in his old age.”

“Exactly.”

He was most affronted when they both giggled; but mostly he was relieved that Hermione had found a way to put a stop to the excesses of the Skeeter woman, who had been running stories on their ‘romance’ ever since the story of their engagement had broken.

He had suggested to Hermione that they should fake a brawl at their wedding, just to make the headlines more interesting. She had considered it for a while, but apparently her mother had put her foot down and banned the idea.

Severus had never expected to get married.

Consequently, he had never turned his mind to thinking about what the ceremony would be like, in the way that teenaged girls everywhere were alleged to do. Not that he thought Hermione had spent much of her life thinking about what wedding dress to wear; she had certainly been as clueless as him when it came to organising the damned thing. Fortunately, Minerva and Pomona had stepped in to help, leaving the two of them to wander round Hogwarts in a daze of engagement happiness and only occasionally be called in to express a view on the colours of things.

On reflection, it might have been better to pay more attention. It seemed that Minerva and Pomona at least had spent their teenaged years arranging their weddings down to the last detail, and all that pent up creativity had been put into play on their wedding. Where compromise had been impossible, they had simply agreed to put all their ideas into effect at once. He had relied on Hermione’s mother to put a brake on things – she was a formidable woman in her own right – but she had never stood a chance, and had simply been steamrollered into submission.

At least he was wearing black robes.

The flowers were nice as well. He had to admit that Pomona had outdone herself in that department.

He’d had a Stag Night last night – some muggle term – which had been a very sedate affair, just a quiet drink in the staffroom with the male members of staff, Harry and Ron and Hermione’s father. He had tried to think of some way of excluding Albus, who had developed a very annoying habit of trying to take credit for the whole relationship despite Severus’s spluttering indignation. In the end, he had had to concede that you couldn’t have a party in the staffroom without inviting the Headmaster, but consoled himself with the thought that Minerva had talked the old goat into paying for the thing out of his own pocket and not Hogwarts’ slush fund.

The look of pain on the Headmaster’s face when he conceded the point almost made the whole thing worthwhile.

Hermione’s Hen night had, by all accounts, not been as sedate. He had been privileged to read about his wife-to-be’s behaviour in the Daily Prophet and the Quibbler this morning. For once the account in the Quibbler, although more lurid, was more accurate; the fact that Luna Lovegood had retained any memory of the evening at all, much less been able to write about it, was surprising in itself.

It had occasioned a great deal of ribald comment when Ginny Weasley had used the floo network to summon Harry, Ron and Snape from the Stag Night. It was a confused story she told - something to do with Hermione mistaking Aurors for male strippers and them not getting their clothes off fast enough and casting a charm to help them on their way – but what was clear was that Hermione had been arrested.

It was fortunate that Harry and Ron were able to pull strings to persuade the Aurors she had assaulted not to press charges, but he thought that his arrival at the Ministry to recover Hermione had also been persuasive.

What had tipped the balance in favour of freeing Hermione hadn’t been the dramatic way he had swept into the building, robes billowing, intent on rescuing his fair damsel in distress (as set out on pages 3,4,5, and 6 of the Quibbler); nor his reputation as scary Potions Master who’d taught everyone in the room; but rather that Hermione had stopped trying to hit the Auror attempting to confiscate her wand, had smiled at him in an entirely soppy way that he would never tire of seeing and announced to the world that she had missed him.

The shock – whether at the transformation from harridan to lovesick puppy, or at the fact that it was Snape who was the recipient of the soppiness, and without any sarcasm on his part either – made the Auror’s grasp slacken; Hermione tugged herself free and lurched into his arms.

Severus had long since accustomed himself to ‘hugging’ in public, although he did feel that the Ministry wasn’t the best place for displays of affection; still, it was acquiesce or let her fall over.

“Have the nasty Aurors been horrible to you, dear?” he asked, stroking her hair.

She nodded her head.

He could see out of the corner of his eye that the ‘nasty Aurors’ were grinning – as were Harry and Ron – at this display of affection. He was resigned to Harry and Ron being treated to the sight of the evil Potions Master wrapped round Hermione’s little finger, but there was no way he was going to allow the others to presume like that.

“Do you want me to hex them for you?”

Tmilemiles disappeared from their faces in a very satisfying manner.

He was exceedingly grateful that her reply – no, but she wanted to go home and play naughty Professors – wasn’t audible to the rest of the room. He was even more grateful that they didn’t realise that it was naughty Professors who were tied up and punished; he’d never be able to live that down.

He’d propped Hermione up against Potter, and slipped the Aurors a salve for their black eyes, and a couple of Galleons to ‘toast the happy couple’, before flooing back to their quarters. He was mildly disappointed when Hermione had promptly fallen asleep on the sofa, but it was almost certainly for the best; a drunken Hermione was probably not the most appropriate person to be casting complex charms on ropes.

She’d slipped out of bed this morning before he woke due to some silly muggle custom of not seeing each other on the wedding day. When he’d been told about this custom, he had made tentative suggestions about blindfolds but apparently she wasn’t supposed to see him either and they wouldn’t be able to do anything much if they were both blindfolded.

She’d obviously consumed the hangover potion he’d left out for her, and left a note couched in very affectionate terms promising to make up for his disappointment the previous evening; he was looking forward to the wedding night.

Hermione had been ensconced in a room with Ginny Weasley since 9am – a mere three hours being considered sufficient preparation time – so he had contented himself with a leisurely lie in, a hearty breakfast, a careful perusal of the morning papers, and a long bath.

He had no best man to harass him: when Hermione had explained that the best man was there to make sure the groom didn’t bolt, and was expected to take his place if the groom did bolt, he had refused to name one. This was a disappointment to both Filch and Dumbledore who had been dropping unsubtle hints from the moment the engagement had been announced. His view was that there was no danger of him bolting and he wasn’t prepared to take the chance of anyone else marrying Hermione.

So he was now sitting in a little room off the Great Hall, waiting to be summoned into the Great Hall for the ceremony. Pomona had been all in favour of having the ceremony outside; Hermione hadn’t. As she put it, it was June, it was Scotland, it was guaranteed to piss down, and even the combined talents of Hogwarts staff would not have been enough to prevent rain.

A tap on the door summoned him, and he was soon standing in front of a makeshift altar cobbled together at one end of the Hall. It was, as was so much else, covered in flowers.

Harry and Ron were seated in pride of place in the front row, next to the Grangers. He was surprised to see Ronald wink at him, and unbent enough to nod slightly at the young man. He supposed they thought that he might be nervous; he wasn’t.

And there she was.

She was walking the length of the Hall towards him, flanked by Ginny and Luna. He couldn’t describe her dress other than to say it was ‘sort of Grecian’ in style – elegant, simple, and providing a very good view of her cleavage – and her hair was piled on top of her head, with something going on with lots of pearls. She was clutching a bouquet of Madonna lilies, which she passed to Ginny once she reached Severus’s side.

They had decided to have a wizarding wedding and, as usual, they had written the vows themselves. He understood that Muggles had a form of words that they all used, which he considered to be very peculiar indeed; the Wizard way was much better. No vicar, just two people entering into a magical contract. Her mother had suggested using some of the muggle terms - something about loving, honouring and obeying - but had been dissuaded in the face of the paroxysms of laughter this had triggered.

“Mum,” she had said, once she had stop laughing, “the idea is to come up with vows that we can keep. It’s a magical contract you know, and there are dire consequences to breaking it.”

No one would believe Hermione would ever obey anyone. Not unless she felt like it.

Once they had understood what the contract entailed, her parents had made some very sensible suggestions. In the end, the vows they had written amounted to the same thing anyway: Mine. Now. Forever. Or you get a nasty case of boils. Or worse. He found it incredibly touching that Hermione had insisted he swear to be faithful, and a great relief when she agreed to do the same.

Later, curled up in bed together, Hermione had made some other suggestions. She promised never to interfere in matters of the wardrobe, nor to attempt conversation before his first cup of tea in the morning. In his turn he had made the ultimate sacrifice and promised not to snap at her on a Monday evening, no matter how bad double potions with the Gryffindors and Slytherins became provided she allowed him ten minutes to himself to calm down and a glass of Firewhiskey.

It was, he reflected, the little things in life that mattered the most.

He was resigned to the fact that these elements of their vows would cause amusement, and sure enough, as he promised not to snap at his wife on Monday evenings there was a smattering of laughter from the crowd.

Then it was over, they had signed the magical contract, and they were Professor Snape and Ms, no longer Miss, Granger. (The children would be Granger-Snape, clause 2.5(ii) of the contract).

Harry called out, “You may kiss the bride!”

So he did. It was yeotheother Muggle custom, and the only one he had approved of so far, although he was anticipating the final event of the day with some amusement. He knew how Hermione’s mind worked; the tossing of the bouquet was going to be interesting.

First, there was the reception to get through. His own view – that as the wedding had been arranged largely for the benefit of other people, there was no need to stay long at the reception – had been cavalierly been rejected by the love of his life. She said that they were only getting married once, and that he could surely manage to be polite to people for a couple of hours.

No one had warned him that this would include Neville Longbottom.

He had placed himself at the edge of the Hall. He cast a couple of cushioning charms on the chair; there was no need to be uncomfortable while he waited. NeviNeville came and sat next to him; he was drunk.

“You don’t deserve her, you know,” he slurred.

“I know,” he replied simply. Ordinarily Severus would have hexed him for that, regardless of the truth of the statement, but he was feeling full of the milk of human kindness at that moment. He hoped the feeling would fade soon; it always got him into trouble.

Severus’s calm acceptance managed to penetrate even Neville’s advanced state of inebriation. He peered at Severus suspiciously, and then added, “You’d better make her happy.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Neville nodded wisely. “That’s all you can do,” he said, “your best.”

Severus was sure there was some sort of hidden message there, but he declined to think about it. Hermione was bearing down on him, come to rescue him from Longbottom, and take him away to his new life of happiness which would hopefully begin with a night of unparalleled debauchery. He patted his pocket; it had taken him six weeks to brew the potion in the little blue bottle, but the effects should be worth it. He wasn’t sure that he would survive a night with an even-friskier-than-normal Hermione but he had decided to be brave and find out.

“Are you ready to leave then?” she asked.

“I was ready to leave an hour ago,” he replied dryly.

He followed in her wake as she headed for the door. She recovered the bouquet from Ginny, and ordered the female guests to go outside and stand at the foot of the steps. The Muggleborns knew what was coming, of course, and were busily explaining the custom to the few purebloods that were attending.

The girls were lined up, jostling for position, when Harry cheerfully threaded his way to the front of the crowd. “It’s not fair if it’s just for girls,” he said. “That would be sexist, and you wouldn’t want to be sexist, would you Ms Granger?”

Severus winced at the title; as far as he was concerned, she was Mrs Snape. A concession he ined ted to wring out of her at a vulnerable moment later this evening.

“Good point, Harry.” She looked round at the men behind her, and grinned. “Come on then. All the single men get down there and prepare to catch the bouquet.”

The girls were not pleased with the added competition, and Severus was amused to see Ginny elbowing Ron quite sharply in the ribs. “Oy!” he said. “That’s not fair – no pushing.”

Severus felt the tingle of magic; Hermione had cast some spell on the bouquet. He had a feeling that the winner of the competition had already been decided.

Sure enough, when Hermione tossed the bouquet towards the waiting crowd, it hovered for a moment above them and then, as if tired of teasing them, it shot up the steps and landed in the arms of Filch.

Pomona was nearly in tears, she was laughing so hard. Minerva was looking thoroughly disgruntled, and Filch was blushing like a beetroot. With a slight bow, Argus handed the flowers to Minerva; it was her turn to blush.

Severus smirked. Soon it would be their turn to go through this circus, and he was determined to be as helpful as possible when it came to the wedding. After all, it was only fair that he should pay Minerva back for all her kindness to him.

Hermione took his hand. “Ready?” she asked.

He nodded, and they walked through the crowd who parted before them. Harry drew his wand and made sparks fly from the end. Soon the others joined in, and the Snapes walked to the apparition point through the kind of firework display that hadn’t been seen since the defeat of Voldemort.

“You never did say where we were going for our Honeymoon,” she said.

“No, I didn’t. It’s a surprise.”

“I like surprises.”

He smiled, then bent, and kissed her – much to the appreciation of the crowd – and then they apparated away.

“Where do you think he’s taken her?” asked Minerva.

“Paris, I think,” replied Pomona. “I don’t suppose it matters much, it’s not like they’ll do much sightseeing.” They sniggered.

Then they headed back into the Hall with the rest of the guests; there was still plenty of drink and cake left. No point letting the party end now, just because the guests of honour had left.


A/N I hope you liked the new improved version - I felt in the earlier version they ended up in bed too early and it had to be corrected, and there were various criticisms that people made that I have taken on board even down to the comment about Minerva being able to transfigure the mugs into glasses. Not to mention putting in the Minerva / Filch backstory - I hope the library scene wasn\'t too gratuitous!!!

I do think that this is the end - I don\'t feel like writing the honeymoon lemon. Severus and Hermione would like some privacy at that special time. However, I may do another chapter or two at a much later date post Honeymoon as Ginny has promised to allow Hermione to run her name through the equation. I wonder who it will suggest?

In the meantime I aim to crack on with A snape and all the others.......