Thanks be to God forevermore for the constant friendship, support, and unflagging efforts of my betas, LariLee and Keladry Lupin, and my Brit-picker, MagicAlly. This story would never have seen the light of day without their encouragement and invaluable corrections and input. I owe you each a Wizard’s Life Debt.
These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 29
Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, “ no,
Nor honeysuckle; thou are not more fair
Than small white single poppies, “ I can bear
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist, “ with moonlight so.
Like him who day by day unto his draught
Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten,
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
I drink “ and live “ what has destroyed some men.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Hermione sat before the mirror at the dressing table in the bride’s changing room, staring at her own reflection in incredulity. The woman looking back at her seemed like a stranger in all of her wedding finery. At the request of the bridegroom, her hair was down, a profusion of dusky curls framing her face and cascading down her back. Nestled amongst the curls at the top of her head was her wedding wreath, an elegant combination of white silk flowers twining through a tiara studded with crystals and seed pearls. About her throat rested the pearl necklace Severus had presented her with the night before, as a wedding gift.
“It perfectly matches the bracelet Sophronia gave to me!” she had exclaimed, sweeping her hair to one side to permit him to fasten the strand about her throat.
“Does it?” he murmured noncommittally. “How fortunate.”
After nearly a month of close daily contact with him, Hermione was becoming quite adept at reading his tones of voice.
Hermione turned to face him. “You bought the bracelet?” she asked. “Why didn’t you give it to me?”
He dipped his head and kissed her, his tongue stroking the inside of her mouth with such sensual promise that she trembled in his embrace as he trailed scorching kisses from her lips to her ear. “I could not trust myself to be alone with you and speak with you until I was free to show you my feelings,” he growled. “Yet I longed to see you wear my gift to you, even if you did not know I saw it “ and you “ as belonging to me.”
She flushed, remembering his words. In a very short time, she would be alone with him in their room at the Estuary “ the room he had refused to allow her to see when she was there, insisting that it was not yet finished and that it had to be perfect before she would be allowed to see it. Tonight, there would be no interruptions, nothing to stop him from finishing what they had begun, over and over again in the last three weeks …
Sophronia came up to her, leaning down to put her face beside Hermione’s as they both looked into the mirror. “You make such a charming bride,” she said. “Are you all right?”
Hermione nodded, smiling. “I’m a little nervous, but otherwise, I’m fine.”
Sophronia straightened, smoothing her hands over the shoulders of the gown Hermione wore. “The fabric is holding up beautifully to the colour change,” she said.
Hermione stood, moving to stand upon the dais in the middle of the floor, and twirled before the bank of mirrors surrounding her from every angle. “It did turn out well, didn’t it?” she said, stopping to rub the fabric between her fingers.
It had been Severus’ idea. On the last night of her family’s visit to the Estuary, she and Severus had been meandering about the grounds, arms about one another, alternately discussing their wedding plans and idly speculating about life after marriage…
Pausing beneath a spreading oak tree, Severus held her pinned to the bark with insistent hands at her hips as he tantalised her with his kisses. Raising his face from hers, he murmured, “Do you have a clear idea of the type of wedding robes you prefer?”
His interest in all things to do with her had ceased to flabbergast her. The man she loved not only thought of such details as lovely jewels for her to wear, but he bent his mind to the question of her wardrobe, as well. He had already ordered one gown for her; his taste was good and his notion of what suited her was appealing. Her appointment with Madam Malkin’s was set for the next morning, and the seamstresses employed would be driven to distraction to make the deadline for their wedding, little more than two weeks away. It had been a scheme dreamed up between Carol Granger and Sophronia that they should purchase Muggle dresses and have them magically altered.
“Did you have a suggestion about it?” she inquired as she surreptitiously untucked his linen shirt from his trousers and began to run her hands up his bare back, adoring the feeling of his skin beneath her fingers.
Severus watched her face with half-lidded eyes. His hopes had been more than amply met by her physical reactions to his overtures. She was a passionate young woman, whose ardour was easily aroused by his kisses, his hands, and his words. It had been difficult to withstand the temptation to take her to his bed, but he had meant what he said to her: he had no intention of allowing his woman to return to her father’s house once he had taken her for his own. It would be worth the wait.
For some pleasures, he had not been required to wait. All his school life, he had seen couples together, expressing physical affection in public. His young self had ached to be touched and acknowledged before others in that way. His pathetic adolescent desire to have a girlfriend who would hold his hand in the hallway and steal kisses in the Slytherin common room had, as his school career advanced, hardened into a sarcastic disdain for such relationships and the attendant activities. Later in his life, embittered and inured to ridicule and outright dislike from his contemporaries, he had adopted the vague notion that if he were to ever have a woman “ which seemed unlikely in the extreme “ he would never subject himself to the judgement of others by engaging in public displays of affection. Such demonstrations were like weapons given voluntarily into the hands of one’s enemies. He would have no part of it.
And then came Hermione. By the time he and Hermione had spent a few hours mauling one another in the backseat of a limousine, he felt no anxiety about touching her; Hermione’s response to him gave him all the confidence in the world that she welcomed, enjoyed, and quickly learnt to crave his caresses. The night of their engagement party, he had been dancing with her for half the night, never letting her out of his sight, always having a hand upon her arm, at her elbow, in the small of her back “ being unable to keep his hands from her body, just as she was unable to keep her hands from his body “ before he even realised what he had been doing. In some amusement, he determined that he felt proud that she demonstrated her desire for him in this way, and he felt indifferent to the reactions of the rest of the human race. He had his woman, they were comfortable with one another, and the rest of the world could piss off.
Cupping her chin in the palm of his hand, he said, “What would you think of the idea of being married in the faerie silk gown, if the colour of the fabric can be altered?”
She looked up into his face with shining eyes. “That’s brilliant!” she breathed, pulling his head down so she could brush her lips across his. “You’re such a romantic, Severus.”
His deep chuckle had rippled through her body as fire will lick along a line of gunpowder. “Yes, but a wife cannot be compelled to testify against her husband, so my secret is safe with you.”
Carol Granger appeared in the mirror behind her daughter, her smile misty. “I’m so glad we decided to have the dress dyed professionally,” she said. “I can scarcely believe that it used to be that dark coral colour before.”
Hermione stepped down from the dais and went to put her arms about her mother. “Well, it wasn’t dyed, Mum,” she said, her voice laced with affection and amusement. “It was charmed a different colour. But I agree with you “ Madam Malkin did a much better job of it than I could have done.”
The door from the next room opened and the Snape sisters entered, each dressed in their wedding finery. Skye, Shadow, and Stormy would stand with Hermione as her attendants as she made her vows to their brother. The two older girls were dressed in gowns of the very palest coral satin, carrying bouquets of sweetheart roses tinted to the exact same shade. Stormy’s dress was white, with satin ribbons at the hem and the waist in the icy coral tint of her sisters’ dresses. She carried a basket of fragrant rose petals of coral and white, charmed with an Ever-Fresh Spell. Each of the girls wore wreaths in their blond hair.
“Hermione!” Stormy squealed, launching herself at her soon-to-be sister. “You’re the prettiest bride ever!”
Hermione smiled and gave Stormy a brief hug. “And you’re the prettiest flower girl ever,” she responded. “And your sisters are the most beautiful bridesmaids I have ever seen.” She went forward to touch her cheek briefly to those of the older girls, being careful not to smear their makeup. “You’ll be brides before we know it,” she murmured to each of them in turn. She added, too softly for Stormy or the mothers to hear, “But Fleur would have been a better bride to go with you, colouring-wise.”
Shadow choked back a laugh, but Skye responded quite seriously, placing a comforting hand on Hermione’s back. “Oh, no! We blonds would have all appeared quite insipid together. You, on the other hand, with your dark hair and dark eyes, are a lovely contrast to our colouring. You will stand out, just as you should, on your wedding day.”
The announcement of Fleur’s and Percy’s wedding had been published in the Daily Prophet one week after the Snape engagement party had been held at the Estuary. The Delacours had apparently been able to manage a fairly elaborate wedding on short notice; Fleur had been married from the Delacour estate, outside Paris, and she and Percy were reported to be honeymooning in Italy. Molly and Arthur had received such short notice that they scarcely had time to pack a bag and grab a Portkey in time to attend the ceremony. Ginny had reported the details of Molly’s indignation to Hermione and the Snape girls over ice cream sundaes at Fortescue’s during an afternoon of wedding shopping in Diagon Alley.
“Dad wouldn’t let Mum tell Percy what she really thought,” Ginny confided, “and Mum nearly burst a blood vessel. Dad said that Percy is a grown man and able to make his own decisions, but Mum thought she should try to talk some sense into him. ‘Why would any man in his right mind want to marry a woman who has burned through relationships with two other men in less than one year?’ she asked him. ‘And one of them his own brother!’”
Shadow snorted. “Fleur wanted to get Percy all wrapped up before he could think about it too much.”
Skye shook her head. “Bill says that Percy has no clue what kind of person Fleur really is because he hasn’t been around her long enough to see her lose her temper.”
“Well, he may not have understood a thing she said, but he certainly heard her final words with Severus,” Hermione told them, pausing with a spoonful of chocolate ice cream half-way to her lips. “Sirius and Sophronia were down in the kitchen, and they heard everything she said. Percy was just in the next room.”
Shadow added, “Ron told me that Percy was probably an easy target because he didn’t have a back-up plan. Percy was so sure that Hermione would jump at the chance to marry him, he had no notion of what he would do if she told him ‘no.’”
“And I told him ‘no’ loads of times,” Hermione said sourly. “He just wouldn’t listen to me.” She frowned at her empty sundae dish. “But how did he know about Severus and me? He left the country before our engagement party.”
Skye giggled. “I heard Mum say that Sirius was the one who filled Percy in on what was going on between you and Severus. She and Sirius packed Fleur and Percy into a taxi before they left your parents’ house that night, and Sirius told them both that you and Severus had left in a limousine and that he would be very surprised if you didn’t arrive back at Grimmauld Place ‘in a state of disarray and very, very engaged.’”
All the girls giggled at that. Hermione smirked. “That’s about right,” she said.
A knock fell upon the door and Sophronia went to open it, careful to shield view of the room with her body.
“Let us in!” Tonks said, and slipped past Sophronia into the room, closely followed by Luna, Pansy, and Ginny.
“Hermione, you look beautiful,” Ginny breathed, stopping short just inside the door.
“Thanks, Gin,” the bride answered with a sudden nostalgic twinge. “We used to talk about this a lot, didn’t we?”
Ginny nodded, coming forward to give Hermione a careful hug. Luna watched them with clinical interest. “You talked about Hermione marrying Professor Snape?” she asked.
Pansy snorted so hard that every eye in the room fell upon her. “Sorry,” she muttered, touching a handkerchief to her face. “A wee bit of dust up my nose.”
Tonks rolled her eyes and said, “If Hermione had sat up late nights at the Burrow on the hols planning her wedding to Professor Snape, we would have had her clapped up in St. Mungo’s.”
Hermione smiled widely, turning to hug Tonks. “I didn’t start planning my wedding to Professor Snape until last year around this time “ and I wasn’t talking to anyone about it, then.” Pulling away, she surveyed her friend critically. “You’re glowing, Tonks. Have you taken a pregnancy scan?”
Tonks flushed scarlet, protesting, then followed Hermione’s teasing glance to a blushing Sophronia.
“Sophie!” Tonks exclaimed, walking to the older witch with outstretched hands. “So soon?”
Sophronia nodded, taking Tonks’ hands in her own. “We’re not youngsters, you know,” she said softly. “We want to have a baby or two while it’s still feasible.”
“How far along?” Tonks whispered, for Sophronia’s ear alone.
“About three weeks,” Sophronia answered, speaking softly as well. “Siri says I caught the first time we made love.”
Tonks gurgled a laugh and hugged Sophronia. “Maybe I had better take a scan,” she said.
Tonks and Lupin were married the Sunday afternoon after the party at the Estuary. The Blacks’ new home had not been large enough to hold the engagement ball there, but it was certainly large enough to host a fairly small wedding. The bride and groom stood before Professor Dumbledore, with Sophronia and Sirius serving as the matron of honour and best man. Hermione had persuaded Severus to attend with her, though he had expressed doubt that Lupin would care to have him present at his wedding.
“Lupin all but told me to get stuffed in our last conversation,” he had grumbled.
Hermione studied him through narrowed eyes. “What were you discussing?”
The corner of Severus’ mouth twitched. “I don’t recall.”
Hermione stood up from her place beside him on the loveseat in the main library, tossing her copy of Sense and Sensibility onto the coffee table. “If you aren’t going to be honest with me, I don’t see any point in discussing it,” she said.
Severus reached up rather lazily and snagged her by the back pocket of her denims, giving a pull which toppled her back into his lap. “I asked him what his intentions were towards you and he told me he’d see me in hell before he’d discuss his relationship with you. Satisfied?”
Lacing her fingers in his hair, she replied, “Not nearly,” before kissing him quite thoroughly.
Breaking the kiss, Severus nuzzled across her cheek before growling, “What was it he didn’t want to tell me? Did he have you?”
Hermione pulled back from him so she could look into his eyes. “What do you mean, did he have me?”
An ugly glower crossed his face. “It’s a simple enough question. I never saw him when he didn’t have his filthy paws all over you. Did he have you, Hermione?”
“No, Severus. I never had sex with Remus.”
His hand closed on the hair at the nape of her neck. “Who then?”
Hermione struggled, but he held her securely. “Let me go, Severus.”
He glared at her for a moment, then released his hold upon her. She shifted out of his lap and moved from the loveseat, sitting down in an armchair to his right.
“Are you sure you want to have this conversation?” she asked calmly.
Severus gripped the arm of the loveseat tightly and spoke through gritted teeth. “Why would I not wish to have a conversation about your previous sexual partners?”
“Because any question you ask me, I will in turn ask you.”
He sneered at her. “Do you think that it is fair to set up nineteen years of life against thirty-eight years of life?”
Hermione crossed her arms stubbornly. “Yes.”
Severus rose jerkily from the loveseat and began to pace. “That’s ludicrous.”
She shrugged. “You started it.”
He stopped and turned on her. “All right, we’ll make it a simple yes or no question,” he snarled. “Are you a virgin?”
Hermione shot back, “Are you?”
“No.”
She hesitated, balked by his blunt answer. “Define virgin.”
“Hermione,” he warned stalking to stand over her, his fists clenched by his sides. “Answer me.”
“Only if I get to ask the next question.”
He placed his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned until his nose was inches from hers. “Tell me.”
“I have never had sex before,” she told him, infuriated. “So what?”
He stood and turned from her to hide the relief in his expression. “You’re acting like a child,” he said dismissively.
“You’re acting like a jealous git!” she responded, standing and turning to flounce out of the room.
He was after her, his long strides catching her at the door, which he slammed closed before she could open it properly. He put his other arm on the opposite side of her body, trapping her against the door.
“I have the right to be jealous,” he purred, his head bent so that his words stirred the hair next to her ear. “I am to be your husband. I do not like to think of others touching what is mine.”
“Do you think I like thinking about the others who have touched what is mine?” she demanded furiously, ramming him with her shoulder and catching him off-guard, so that he staggered back and she was able to escape him. She flung to the other side of the room, angry and agitated. “Why did you have to start this? Who have you made love to, Severus? To people I know? To Fleur?”
He began to approach her cautiously. “No, Hermione. I was never intimate with Fleur.”
“I saw you with her at Malfoy Manor, Severus! She was virtually naked “ she kissed you and said she woke up and you were gone! What were you doing with a bloody naked Veela in your bed if you were not being intimate with her?”
A look of tender amusement crept into his face. “Are you jealous, Hermione? Of me?” What a novelty! No woman “ other than Fleur, and she did not count “ had ever expressed any sort of jealousy over him.
“Of course I am, Severus, and don’t try to change the subject! You slept with her! I know you did!”
“No, I did not. She was very jealous of you and she did what she could to make it appear as if she had come from my bed “ but she did not. I never slept with Fleur.”
Hermione was crying now, tears of rage. She hated to cry when she was angry; she felt that it showed a weakness in her character. When Severus tried to take her in his arms, she repulsed him. “Tell me!” she insisted.
He heaved an inward sigh. “I will tell you, but only if you come and sit down,” he answered reasonably.
Hermione turned her face away from him, staring unseeing out the library window, into the sunny grounds. Severus poured a goblet of water from the carafe on the coffee table and placed it beside the armchair.
“Come,” he said gently, sitting down again on the loveseat.
Hermione seated herself in the armchair and accepted the handkerchief he offered her. When she had mopped her face and drunk some of the water, Severus spoke again.
“What would you like to know?”
“When did you last have a relationship?”
One eyebrow rose. “I won’t enrage you by asking for a definition of ‘relationship,’” he said with some self-mockery. “My encounters have been more in the nature of one-night-stands “ you are, perhaps, familiar with the term?”
Hermione nodded. “Do I know any of your partners?”
Severus shook his head. “I seriously doubt it.”
“When was the last one?”
“Two years ago, give or take. One night, no complications.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Do you mean prostitutes?”
“Some of them were. This lady was not.”
“Where did you meet her?”
Severus paused. “Hermione, I am not sure this is a productive conversation. You do not need to know these details. All you need to know is that you are the woman of my dreams and that I love only you.” He moved to take her hand and she permitted it.
“You opened this can of worms, Severus. I was willing to let it rest “ I thought you might have shared things with me once we were more comfortable together “ but you brought it up, and now I want to know.”
He held her hand, gently stroking it. “There are clubs where one can go in search of company,” he said. “I met the lady at a club.”
“The Muggles call them ‘meat markets,’” Hermione told him, feeling calmed by his gentle touch.
He smiled wryly. “It is an appropriate term,” he agreed.
“Did you not wish to see the lady again?”
“No. My position at the school and with the Dark Lord was precarious “ I could not afford any sort of entanglement.”
“Well, if you did not have to worry about that, would you have wanted to see her again?” she persisted, trying to fathom his reasoning.
“No. It was a one-time thing; we both understood that.”
“What was her name?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Severus!”
“Would you prefer I made one up for you?”
Hermione shook her head wordlessly, trying to imagine what it would be like to be driven to seek out strangers for anonymous coupling to assuage one’s loneliness. “Have you not had any relationships?”
“Not since my early twenties,” he told her, raising her hand to his lips and pressing a kiss there. “Not until now.”
She moved from her chair back into his arms, permitting him to cradle her in his lap. “Why did we fight?”
He laughed softly. “They are called lovers’ quarrels. When emotions are running high, rows are easily begun and easily resolved.”
She wrapped her arms about his neck and pressed her cheek to his. “There was nothing easy about getting so upset and shouting and crying,” she objected. “I don’t want to do it again.”
“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” he said with mock solemnity.
Shadow and Skye were the first to walk, with terrific decorum, down the aisle between the rows and rows of folding chairs holding those who had come to witness Hermione and Severus’ binding. Awaiting them at the end of the aisle was their brother and each of their fiancés, standing stalwartly, in his hour of need, with the man who would one day be their brother. Bill and Ron were stricken with the vision of their women walking toward them in satin and lace, but the groom spared little more than a tiny smile for each of his sisters. His eyes were riveted upon the doorway, through which his bride would come; he did not wish to miss a thing.
Next came Stormy, with her basket of rose petals, carrying herself with an assurance learned at her mother’s knee; she walked slowly through the crowd, her hand artfully scattering rose petals in her wake, her eyes demurely cast to watch the petals as they fell from her fingers. When she reached the front of the room, where stood her brother and sisters, she beamed at them with a look of such pride at having successfully accomplished her first public duty that the girls smiled back at her. Severus, however, appeared entirely spellbound, and soon every eye in the room had turned to watch the bride.
Hermione came into the room full of her friends and the people who had known Severus’ family for generations, with her heart swelling to such volume that she felt as if it would burst from her chest. Her mother and father flanked her, each of them tenderly holding to her upper arms. They were dressed in wizarding robes; Carol’s were the echo of the bridesmaids’ dresses, a slightly darker version of the pastel coral; Mike wore formal black, as was traditional for the father of the bride. As they walked with their daughter, they looked at her face, flushed with a rapt joy that was almost painful to witness.
Hermione pushed aside the fluttering of nervousness at being the cynosure of so many eyes. From across the room, Severus’ black eyes were fixated on her and the look upon his face, of savage triumph, drew her to him as the moth is drawn irrevocably to the flame which will forever absorb its life force. The stately pace which had been maintained so successfully by the Snape girls was beyond the ability of the eager bride. The girl in the faerie silk gown, adorned with a wedding wreath, her feet bare as she trod upon the rose petals laid down for her, did not tarry on the path to her bridegroom.
Severus stood tall, his back straight, his shoulders level, adorned in the simple white silk shirt and white trousers he had chosen to wear on this day, his feet also bare upon the soft white cloth covering the flagged stones of the wedding hall. He and Hermione had chosen a traditional binding ceremony; the cord which would be used lay upon the great stone table behind Dumbledore, who stood upon the dais behind Severus.
As he looked at Hermione, luminous in her joy, Severus fought to restrain his impulse to crow aloud in exultation that she would presently and unalterably become his before all these witnesses. Even so, his triumph warred with his inherent melancholy. The moment was frangible; having come this far, he desperately wished to rush to the conclusion of the ritual; there was a thought buried in the substratum of his consciousness screaming to him that it was a dream, that he would waken, and once again be alone “ he did not believe that he could bear for that to be so.
Hermione all but flew to him, moving with such speed through the crowd that the onlookers smiled to see her impatience. When Dumbledore asked the question, the Grangers responded in one voice that Hermione was given in marriage with the blessing of her family, then they fell back to take seats beside Sophronia and Sirius; Sophronia took Carol’s hand and passed to her a fine lawn handkerchief for the tears standing in her eyes, ready to fall.
Dumbledore did not ramble on regarding the institution of marriage, as he was wont to do at weddings. In respect for the dangerous irritability of his Potions master, Dumbledore spoke simply and directly to Severus and Hermione, so that the friends and family of the couple felt as if they had stumbled into a private conversation.
“Hermione, Severus, please join hands and listen to that which I am about to say.
“Above you are the stars, below you are the stones; as time passes, remember: Like a stone, your love should be solid; like a star, your love should be constant. Let the powers of the mind and of the intellect guide you in your marriage; let the strength of your wills bind you together; let the power of love and desire make you happy; and the strength of your dedication make you inseparable. Be close, but not too close. Possess one another, yet be understanding. Have patience with one another, for storms will come, though they will pass again. Be free in giving affection and warmth. Have no fear and let not the ways of the world give you unease, for your love for one another is with you always.”
Dumbledore focussed then on Severus, placing his hands upon the younger man’s shoulders as he spoke.
“Severus, I have not the right to bind you to Hermione. Only you have that right. If it be your wish, say so at this time and place your ring in her hand.”
Severus glanced at Bill, who placed the surprisingly plain ring in Severus’ hand. Dumbledore released Severus, who then placed the flat platinum band, shot around the center with a strip of yellow gold, into Hermione’s small hand.
“It is my wish,” he said, the conviction in the deeply spoken words carrying clearly to every corner of the room.
Dumbledore said, “Hermione, if it is your wish for Severus to be bound to you, place the ring on his finger.”
Devoutly glad that they had practiced this all one rainy afternoon in the back sitting room of the Grangers’ home, whilst Mike and Carol looked on with tolerant affection, Hermione slipped the wedding ring Severus had chosen onto the third finger of his left hand.
“Hermione,” Dumbledore continued, turning now to take her free hand in his own, “I have not the right to bind you to Severus. Only you have that right. If it be your wish, say so at this time and place your ring in his hand.”
Dumbledore released her and Hermione looked over to Skye, who placed the bejewelled gold band in Hermione’s hand; she passed it to Severus with a tremulous smile.
“It is my wish,” she said, her voice sounding very young and somewhat quavering.
Dumbledore said, “Severus, if it is your wish for Hermione to be bound to you, place the ring on her finger.”
Severus looked deeply into Hermione’s eyes, his fingers sure as he slipped the band, set with rubies and diamonds, onto her finger. As if they were alone in the great room, he lifted her hand then to his lips and kissed the ring.
“Severus,” Dumbledore said, his ancient voice betraying some small degree of the emotion he felt, “please repeat after me.”
Severus took both of Hermione’s hands, his eyes softening with such tenderness that she scarcely felt able to breathe. She had thought to feel awkward in the presence of all these people, but she was finding it difficult to remember that they were even present.
Severus began to speak, and the rich liquid tones to which Hermione had become accustomed held the onlookers astounded, for they had never heard such tender accents from the fierce-eyed Potions master, and undoubtedly would never do so again. “I, Severus Stephan, in the name of the Spirit that resides within us all, by the life that courses within my blood and the love that resides within my heart, take you, Hermione, to my hand, my heart, and my spirit, to be my chosen one, to desire you and be desired by you, to possess you, and be possessed by you, without sin or shame, for naught can exist in the purity of my love for you. I promise to love you wholly and completely, without restraint, in sickness and in health, in plenty and in poverty, in life and beyond, where we shall meet, remember, and love again. I shall not seek to change you in any way. I shall respect you, your beliefs, your people, and your ways as I respect myself.”
“Hermione,” Dumbledore said, his voice strengthening again, “please repeat after me.”
Hermione scarcely heard Dumbledore, so enrapt was she in Severus’ fathomless black eyes, but she was fully ready to speak her own vows.
“I, Hermione Jane,” she said, and her voice steadied and became more sure as she gazed into her beloved’s eyes and repeated to him the same vows he had made to her.
Dumbledore picked up the binding cord from the stone table at his back and laid the silken rope over their bound hands, weaving the cord about their wrists and tying it in a knot as he spoke. “With this binding, I tie you, heart to heart, together, as one. With this, know you are joined in sacred union; the knots of this binding are not formed by this cord, but instead by your vows. May your lives ever be joined together in love.
“Severus and Hermione, before this company you have taken the vows and performed the rites that unite your lives. I therefore pronounce you as husband and wife.” The old man removed the binding cord from their hands and smiled at them, his blue eyes twinkling. “You may kiss one another before these witnesses as testament to your binding.”
Severus raised his hands and framed Hermione’s face; the two of them stood, now husband and wife, and looked with unmitigated wonder into each other’s faces. At last, he lowered his face and gathered her to him, kissing her tenderly and possessively for all to see. As he released her, he whispered in her ear, “Mine.”
Bill and Skye stepped forward then and walked a few feet back down the aisle from Severus and Hermione, where they placed upon the ground an ancient broom.
“Jump the broom!” Dumbledore said, his voice ringing gleefully through the room.
“Jump the broom!” the onlookers said, taking up the chant. “Jump the broom!”
Grinning at one another like children, Severus and Hermione joined hands, took a running start, and leapt over the broom, amidst the cheers and clapping of the English wizarding world.
Please go immediately to read Part B.