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Hermione tucks herself in closer to Severus’ side as they make their way down the alley to Flourish and Blotts. The December wind is biting and normally she’d prefer to be home and snuggled up with a book, but tomorrow is the debut of her book and this is her opportunity to see it on display without fanfare. Her publisher had been rather put out that she refused any sort of press tour or book signing; even six years removed from it, the numerous interviews and general public scrutiny immediately following the war had really robbed her of any desire for such a thing.
She glances up at Severus. He’d been her unexpected rock in the aftermath of the war, the only one who never treated her like something breakable and yet never asked more of her than she could give. They’d exchanged books, then ideas, and then hopes and fears until one day a little over two years ago, he had looked her in the eyes said she drove him to madness and kissed her. The public reception to their relationship was another reason she’d refused a press tour. Hexing reporters for making disparaging remarks about her boyfriend would not improve her sales.
“You’re staring,” he murmurs.
“You’re handsome,” she says back, bumping against his side.
“Must be the golden hour.”
Hermione snorts. “Thank you for coming with me.”
“An unnecessary gratitude. I just want to see the fruits of my labor.”
“Your labor,” she repeats. “I don’t remember you getting finger cramps in the final hours of a deadline.”
“Perhaps you remember me proving tea and sandwiches, alongside shoulder rubs and a listening ear.”
“Mmm, that rings a bell. Although I also recall you hexing my parchment a time or two.”
“You know that I was deprived of attention as a boy, it makes me act out when I’m feeling neglected.”
“You are utterly ridiculous, Severus Sna—There it is.”
Flourish and Blotts is dark inside but enchanted candles burn in the window, illuminating her book display. She moves forward slowly, overwhelmed by the sight of rolls and rolls of parchment transformed into a leather-bound tome. The gold-embossing glints in the low light and her mouth drops open.
“Oh it’s so beautiful. Severus, look,” she exclaims, turning her gaze up to him. He’s staring at her, a soft smile on his face.
“It’s everything you deserve, duck,” he tells her as he wraps an arm around her. “Shall we have a closer look?”
Her brow furrows. “We are not celebrating my book release by breaking and entering.”
“No breaking. Only entering,” he says, pulling her towards the door. “I asked for a key and promised to be on my best behavior.”
“And Mr. Carmine believed you?” ‘
“I’m very persuasive.” He arches a brow. “Do you need a demonstration?”
“No, no, you win, let’s go.”
He feigns a noise of disappointment at the loss of opportunity before opening the door for her. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Severus arm slides around her and then the lights turn on.
“Surprise,” he murmurs against her ear.
Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and George are standing near her display beneath a gaudy balloon arch that could only be George’s creation. There’s a small cake on the stand beside them. She blinks rapidly.
“I said no party,” she says, no weight behind her words.
George tsks. “Someone has forgotten their head girl handbook. A party is ten or more individuals operating at a volume level greater than seven.”
“How do you know the handbook?”
“Rule-breaking is an artform, ‘Mione,” he says, coming over and wrapping his arms around her. He kisses her temple. “And if you thought Severus would leave you uncelebrated, you’re mad.”
She fights her smile a minute longer before giving in and wrapping her arms around her boyfriend. Then she hugs each friend in turn. Severus conjures enough seating for them all and they take turns teasing her with tales of her neurotic behavior over the past few months while enjoying the cake. She blushes, hiding her face in Severus’ cloak.
“Was I really that bad,” she groans into his chest.
“Oh, absolutely intolerable,” he informs her, smirking before he kisses the top of her head.
She pulls back to glare at him. “So supportive of you.”
“All that sass and he gets the honorable mention,” Harry says with playful indignation.
“Honorable mention,” Severus repeats. Hermione avoids his gaze. He looks to Harry. “What are you on about Potter?”
“Did you not see the dedication?”
He shakes his head slowly. “We received a final mock-up, but that page wasn’t included.”
“Hermione Jean,” George scolds, reaching over to grab a copy. “Go on and have a read.”
Severus opens the book cautiously. She knows him well enough to see his curiosity warring with his private nature. His fingers trail over the words Hermione agonized over far longer than some of the more detailed sections of the book itself. She’d wanted the words to be perfect.
History is written by the victors. It is hard to see myself as such in the face of so much loss. Yet I am still here and able to tell my story, a privilege denied to many.
I see it as my duty to tell their stories and to honor their sacrifices.
I also wish to give thanks to the living. There are too many heroes to list, names history will earnestly repeat, my own somehow among them and so instead I dedicate this history of the Second Wizarding War to its hero in the shadows, Severus Snape, by whose dirtied hands we secured our victory.
This war would not have been won without him. Nor would this book exist.
To Severus,
Thank you for standing by my side, for supporting me in all that I do, and most of all thank you for loving me when I still tasted of heartache and war.
He reaches for her hand, the tremble in his own apparent only to her. “You love to make me sound far better than I am.”
“I say nothing but the truth,” she protests while their friends good-naturedly agree with him.
They talk for a while longer before the small group whittles down to the two of them. Hermione plays with her fingers nervously as the door closes behind Harry. It had been a risk to praise Severus so openly, she knew it, but she couldn’t help herself. His history is complicated, she isn’t denying that, but she remains adamant that he deserves as much praise as the so-called Golden Trio she is a part of.
“Severus—”
Hermione slams into the bookshelf behind her, Severus’ hands cushioning both her head and back. He swallows her gasp, claiming her mouth with his own. Her hands fist in his cloak, pulling him closer. When they finally part, he rests his head on her forehead and their breath mingles together.
“Marry me.”
Severus takes one of his hands in hers as he steps back just enough to kneel. His dark eyes brim with unguarded emotion as he looks up at her. He conjures a ring box out of nowhere, popping it open to reveal a delicate band of gold with a shimmering diamond.
“This ring has gone everywhere with us the last six months,” he reveals with a small laugh of disbelief. “No plan ever seemed good enough, no moment poignant enough to justify my most selfish action to date. You are everything I’ve ever wanted and all that I’d been told I could never have. Thank you for reminding me, always, that I am not defined by my past. For insisting that I do deserve good things. And you, duck, our relationship… it is the greatest thing. I—” He swallows thickly. “It would be a privilege to stand by your side for the rest of our days. Please do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
“Yes,” she manages to say around the lump in her throat. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”