Work Text:
Prompt:
“You’ll lose everything!”
“I already have! Don’t you see. You were my everything.”
(Bit grim. So, again…not)
“You’ll lose everything!”
“I already have! Don’t you see. You were—you are—my everything.”
The couple three tables over clasped hands above the bowl of pink sugar and their touch sparked magic. Their teapot steamed blue, but neither noticed. The cafe’s owner, a tiny goblin-mixed witch tutted—loudly—and a snap of magic jerked the pot away to safety.
“Some matters should be…dealt with,” she muttered, and her silver-bright eyes flicked over Hermione as she sat at her little table in the shadowed corner.
Hermione winced and hid behind her book.
She did not want to be caught listening in on some juicy wixen drama. Not in this place. Her own life was already full to the brim with it, thank you very much.
She looked to the crowded street beyond the large bow windows and thought she saw a flash of bright red hair…
Shit.
She huddled down in her chair and unconscious magic expanded her tome, The Magical Power of One Hundred and Thirty Seven, to block her from view. She closed her eyes.
Gods, she hated drama.
But it was to be expected.
What with her being her. And him, being…him.
A soft smile found her and it came as a surprise that the simple thought of him brought her comfort. Of course they hadn’t meant to bring the whole gossiping weight of the wizarding world down on themselves. And if they were sensible then…
No, she wasn’t going to even think that.
She didn’t want to be sensible. She was always the sensible one.
Always aiming to do or say the right thing. The proper and correct thing.
But…
When he had drawn his finger down her cheek in the lightest caress, the way her skin tingled and her heart flip-flopped. No one, man nor wizard had ever, with the simplest of touches, ever turned her into a complete puddle of unthinking goo.
It was bliss.
Then, he’d kissed her.
Hermione drew in a long breath and tried desperately not to wriggle in her seat.
Not that they had gone any further than kissing, despite what that scrofulous rag, The Prophet, implied. Severus Snape was an honourable man. A bit too honourable, at times, in her opinion, especially when it came to going beyond kissing. Far, far beyond kissing…
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and caught herself in a smile.
His gesture.
He was rubbing off on her.
Just not the way she wanted—
Gods, she was little more than a crup in heat.
She was Sinestra’s apprentice, had been for four months, it was how they fell into each other’s company again.
She’d tried the ministry for a whole two years after the war, and her few months to take her NEWTs. It was a mire. Either she was Harry’s hanger on and not worthy of her position—third hand in the Office of Beasts and Beings, not an…elevated role, at all. Or she was fresh meat to every foul wizard’s touch or suggestion. Or, or, horrifyingly, she was Ron’s fiancee…
She shuddered in her seat, put her book down and took a good mouthful of cleansing tea.
She had not tried Ron out. At all.
One kiss in extenuating circumstances did not a betrothal make.
He seemed to believe otherwise.
And had taken his beliefs to the papers when the rumours began to fly about her and Severus.
The wizarding world, naturally, took his word against all evidence and the very clear fact that they’d printed his…flings with every single quidditch groupie in his line of sight—
The jangle and clank of the doorbell broke into her thoughts. A tall shadow filled it…and a relieved smile broke from her.
Hermione sat straight as Severus found her in the dark corner. His mouth twitched upwards and he settled himself in the seat opposite.
The cafe’s owner bustled up. “Morning. What can I get you, Severus?”
“Maybelle.” He nodded his greeting, a shine of pleasure in his dark eyes. “Tea and my usual pastries, please.”
“More tea for you, Hermione?” Maybelle frowned. “And pastries. Something with jam. Cream. Perhaps chocolate. You need a good breakfast in you.”
And with that, she headed off to the kitchen behind the counter.
“I will roll out of here.”
Severus snorted. He gave a shrug. “She always feeds people she likes.”
The little cafe, The Silver Umbrella, tucked into the Second Ginnal off Horizont Alley, was their safe place beyond the walls of Hogwarts. Maybelle was the sister of one Severus’ former Potion Masters—he’d gone through a few, she couldn’t imagine why. Severus’ potions had saved the witch’s daughter…and Maybelle offered her place for them to meet in. No gossip. No trouble from other patrons or the press. A haven.
A few moments later, Maybelle appeared with a trays bobbing behind her. A large pot of tea and fresh cups, plates, knives and little forks…and a staggering selection of buns and flaky pastries with pots of jam and cream and dipping chocolate…
Maybelle grinned at them and trotted away.
“She’s going to have to take out the wall before I can leave,” Hermione murmured as she poured tea for both of them. “And the ceiling.”
“The stronger your magic the more fierce your metabolism.”
“Which is why you’re a rake.”
“Lithe, my dear. ”
Severus looked at her through his lashes as he broke apart layers of flaky pastry. The unexpected intensity of the action, of both actions, rocked her already overheated want for the man.
“I am lithe.”
His voice did not help. All smoke and velvet and the undiluted promise of pleasure.
Severus’ lip twitched.
And he knew it.
Git.
“I wanted to meet her for a reason.”
His face became serious and a curl of unease twisted in her chest. The couple a few tables over were still holding hands over the sugar, whispering and the witch broke a hand free to dab at a stream of tears.
Hermione’s unease grew.
Was he tired of the scuttling about, the subterfuge and now papers—day and night—with their faces plastered over it, and every bloody witch and wizard lining up to have their say—
“Hermione…”
His tone was soft, filled with the deep gentleness that was his unexpected core. She pressed her lips together and willed away the lump in her throat. Her eyes grew hot. Gods, he wasn’t ending them. He wasn’t.
With a quick curse, he pulled a box out from his frock coat and set it between them on the table.
A small, black velvet box with a deep lid.
“I want to do this right. You and I. No more hiding,” he glanced over the barrelled ceiling and soft lights of the cafe, “though this place is…nice.” A faint hint of red topped his high cheekbones at complimenting Maybelle’s decor. He drew in a long breath. “Marry me, Hermione Granger.”
He flicked open the box and an astonishingly sky blue stone was set in a golden ring. Spells guarded it from heat and light in gossamer thin layers and it simply oozed calm and peace and…and power.
“Marry me, because you are brilliant and sharp and can wipe the floor with anyone—witch or wizard—you raises their wand against you. And”—he pulled the ring free of its soft cushion. She was already offering her hand—“and because even though its only been thirty seven days, I love you. Will love you. Always.”
“Thirty seven is a sexy prime.”
Oh…oh gods, she had such a one track mind. It was mortifying.
“I love you, too.”
She blurted the words out and felt stupid and gauche in the face of his lovely—if slightly odd—proposal.
“And I want to marry you for all the same reasons.”
Severus grinned at her and his dark eyes shone. He eased the ring onto her finger and the power of it flowed deep into her flesh. A power born in the molten fires of the earth, freed and cooled and blessed by water.
Hermione let out a slow breath. Calm, she was calm and clear of thought—
“I do think about fucking you all the time.”
His grin slid into a smirk. “I am very fuckable.”
“Yes, yes you are.” She groaned in reply and sank her fingers into her hair. “Can you be right now? Please?”
Severus tilted his head, his dark eyes sharp. His mouth was in the perfect shape to be kissed. “Oh, I believe that can be…arranged, my witch.”
Maybelle appeared beside their table. “I will wrap this and you can have it…after.” Her silver-cut eyes were bright and wicked. “You’ll need your stamina with this one, Hermione.”
Hermione doubted her face could get any hotter.
With a few flicks of her wand, their breakfast was neatly boxed, shrank to pocket-size and presented to Severus.
“Thank you for protecting us, Maybelle,” he said and a flick of his wand paid for their food.
The tiny witch grinned up at him as he stood. “Couples in need always find me…and find their way.” She shrugged. “It’s my gift.”
Hermione and Severus wove their way through the tables to the door, but Severus stopped at the couple who shared the cafe with them.
“Marry him,” he murmured to the tear-streaked witch. “Ignore what people say. Marry him today. You are more together than alone.”
Hermione grinned at her wizard and took his hand, threading her fingers through his, her betrothal ring easing its soft and rich magic between them.
More together than alone.
Yes, they were.