Chapters 61-70

Doves and Childhood Dreams

His wife looked ready to faint. The urge to vehemently clear his throat was quite overwhelming. Only months of Lois Petrel drilling him about good vocal hygiene prevented him. ‘Don’t whisper, that’s not good for you. Don’t cough, that’s even worse. And never ever clear your throat.’—Was he allowed to sigh? Right now Severus Snape didn’t remember and he didn’t care. He didn’t want a glass of water to ease his throat either.

What he wanted was an hour alone with Minerva’s collection of whiskies.

‘Hermione, I think they are waiting for us,’ he said softly, putting a hand under her elbow to steady her.

‘Oh. Yes.’

‘There will be journalists waiting for us out there. And photographers,’ he reminded her.

‘Yes. Right.’

Severus could feel how she inhaled, how her back straightened, head high, chin thrust forward. He didn’t need to read her mind to know what she was thinking: ‘Gryffindor courage.’ He was sorely tempted to whisper into her ear, ‘Care to share?’

But since whispering wasn’t good for his voice, he remained silent. A scowl wouldn’t be appropriate either. But he assumed that as a former Death Eater he was allowed to live up to his name even on his wedding day. His expression severe, he led Hermione towards the door, Potter and Ginevra Weasley hard on their heels. Out of the corner of his eye he saw how Potter’s right hovered over his wand holster. Did he expect an attack right here in the Ministry?

Outside Snape felt as if he had walked into a thunderstorm—lightning flashed from all sides, the noise of voices was deafening like thunder.

Suddenly Ginny prodded his arm. ‘You have to give them what they’ve been waiting for, Professor. Kiss Hermione, and make a good show of it. Harry will field the questions while we make our escape. But you have to give them something!’

Hermione had stopped dead, her fingers gripping his arm so hard that the sensitive scar tissue on the inside of his forearm twinged. He glanced at her, and suddenly his incredulous heart skipped a beat.

She married me.

She had married him to ensure his freedom. She had married him because she loved him with all her heart. In spite of the fact that he did not love her.

… yet, reminded him an echo of his own words and a strange feeling coiled and uncoiled inside him. Stronger than longing, different from desire.

And she wants me.

At that thought, desire did flare up in the pit of his stomach, sending fiery tendrils further down.

‘Hermione,’ he sighed.

She turned, her eyes huge. The moss-green ribbon in her hair and the glowing emeralds at her throat brought out sparks of green in her eyes that he had never seen before. She swallowed and quickly licked her lips with the tip of her tongue.

For a second he wondered what her tongue might feel like twined around his own—then he pressed his lips against hers.

She stiffened for a moment, surprised by his action, no doubt, before she softened in his arms. Her hips swayed against him, her small round breasts teased him even through all those layers of fabric that separated them.

And her lips…

…her lips tasted of summer.

oooOooo

The wedding reception was held in the Room of Requirement.

The Room had outdone itself and transformed into a beautiful hall with a soaring wooden ceiling that looked like an overturned hulk of a ship. Tapestries that displayed mythical garden scenes covered the walls in gentle colours of green and cream, with muted splashes of colours were roses and iris bloomed. High Gothic windows looked out on beautiful golden summer sunshine somewhere or somewhen. A long table decked out in white linens, precious porcelain and gleaming sterling cutlery took up the middle of the room, surrounded by many high-backed chairs that matched the tapestries.

At the centre of the dining table, a sprawling arrangement of leaves and flowers shone in greens, yellows and whites, filling the room with the fresh fragrance of perfect spring.

‘Wow,’ Hermione whispered, awestruck.

Severus and their guests were affected likewise, because as one after the other of their friends filed into the room, only the occasional murmur broke the silence.

‘What did you think of?’ she asked, turning an astonished gaze up at her husband.

Severus blinked, opened his mouth, then closed it again. He was just as speechless as she was.

‘Nothing,’ he admitted, his voice hoarser than it had been in weeks. ‘I—I probably should have, but…I was…’

He indicated the ring on her finger. The moment the enchanted dragon heartstring had touched their skin, it had transformed into matching golden wedding bands.

Hermione nodded. ‘I couldn’t come up with anything useful to concentrate on either.’

A smile bloomed on her face. ‘It’s absolutely magical.’

To her surprise, he smiled back. ‘Most certainly.
‘Does it remind you of anything? Something you might have unconsciously connected with…this occasion?’

Hermione creased her forehead. Yes, somehow she did seem to recall this room, or something about this room. But she knew she had never been here before. She tilted her head back, studying the honey-coloured beams above their heads. A flock of white doves was sitting on the beams below the high, vaulted ceiling.

Hopefully they are just as magical as the rest of the room, Hermione thought, and don’t defecate on our food, as she looked at the open window at the far end of the room. As golden god-rays slanted into the room, she recognised the scene.

‘Oh my,’ she breathed and blinked rapidly.

‘What is it?’

‘I remember now where I know this room from.’ She couldn’t prevent a certain wistfulness from creeping into her voice. ‘It’s quite silly. It’s from a book I had as a small child. You know, the kind of books people give to little girls so they can imagine their happy ending.’