29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

84

Saturday, Harry and Severus did indeed spend most of the day in bed. There was a lot of sex, yes, but there were also meals in bed, reading, napping, and just generally being home and together. Harry wanted to talk about what they had said last night but how exactly was he supposed to bring that up? "Hey, so we're engaged now? Maybe we should talk about that?" So whenever Harry wanted to ask about it, instead he'd kiss him, and that worked out well.

Neville came in for dinner, and Severus stayed, which was a first. Usually when he stopped by, or Harry's other friends, Severus would make himself scarce, but instead the three of them ate together in the living room, Harry on the couch, Severus on the armchair, and Neville on the floor in front of the coffee table. It was sort of awkward, but Harry was so happy that Severus was making an effort to get along with his friend that he carried the conversation. Neither he nor Severus brought up their engagement, though that was to be expected. Even if they had discussed it beforehand, Harry doubted he would want to make it known.

Severus was, however, the first to bring it up. The very moment Neville left, in fact, and in a way that not mentioning the subject made it clearer than if he had.

"Do you wish to tell your friends?"

Harry glanced at him, worried about what he would see. But Severus didn't seem upset or nervous, just considering. "Yes, eventually. I mean, we're not having a secret wedding, are we?"

"I would think not," Severus said, keeping a straight face except for the very corners of his lips, which twitched up in a smile.

"Then, er, what were you, um, asking?" Harry stammered.

Severus moved to the couch, sitting next to Harry. "How you wish to tell people," he said. "In person, I assume, but would my presence be beneficial? As for Minerva and the rest of the school, would you prefer I handle them? Have you given any thought to the press?"

He had, in fact, given thought to all of these things in the past twenty-four hours. It was hard not to, given that he was marrying Severus Snape. A more important question came to mind. "Do you want me to take your name?"

Severus' eyebrows shot up. "I—ah, I had not—what do you wish?"

Had Harry actually surprised him? Was the first question that came out of his mouth one that had never occurred to Severus? Harry had to suppress a wild giggle. "I don't know, just something to think about."

"Indeed," Severus said, sounding far away. He came back to himself. "You interrupted me. We were speaking of telling people."

"Right, sorry." Harry considered. "You hate talking, right? So it'd probably be better if I did it. I'll tell my friends not to spread it around, and the staff will be discreet if we ask. The Prophet…" He trailed off, troubled. "You're so private, and I don't want to spread your business everywhere, but they'll find out eventually, so it might be better just to get it over with?" He ran a hand through his hair. "I don't want to push you, though, or overwhelm you, or—"

Severus stopped him with a kiss. "I told you not to worry about that, did I not? We will do as I said; you will inform your friends, I will speak to the staff, and we will leave the press out of it for as long as possible."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, sounds good. Luna might know someone. I've sort of lost touch with her since she started travelling, but she publishes papers pretty regularly, even a few in the Prophet, and she'd have nothing to do with Rita Skeeter. So eventually, if we need to do something, I can owl her first."

Severus looked as though he had eaten something very sour. "If you insist."

"Would you rather Skeeter?" Harry asked, and Severus glared at him. "Can we wait to tell anyone here until I talk to Ron and Hermione? Next weekend maybe?"

"Take as much time as you need," Severus replied, and Harry thought he was grateful for the delay. He was being incredible about the whole thing, and so if Ron and Hermione would happen to be busy for the next few weeks, just coincidentally, that might be beneficial.

"I'll write them tomorrow and set up a time for a visit," Harry said. He paused, wondering how much they could talk. Did Severus just want to get this part out of the way and not intend on making any further plans until the time came, or would it be all right to ask? "So, um." Harry fidgeted, nervously tugging on the sleeves of his sweater. Severus', technically, but ever since he had accidentally borrowed it in February, it seemed to sneak into his side of the closet and onto his person with increasing frequency. "Did you have an idea of, er, when? Or how?"

After a moment, Severus asked, "For the wedding?" Harry nodded, blushing furiously. "No. Given our schedule, I would think early September and mid June to be unwise. And—" His eyes flicked away for a moment before returning to meet Harry's gaze. "I would like to avoid the fifteenth of August." Harry gave him a questioning look, and he winced, once again looking away. "My parents'," he said shortly. "Beyond that, you are far more concerned with tradition, sentimentality, and symbolism than I. The choice is yours."

"I assume you want something small," Harry said. He did, too, but if it seemed like he was letting Severus have it as a token of love, then maybe he would understand how much it meant to him that they were doing this. "Maybe just going to the Ministry? Is that how it works? I've only been to Bill and Fleur's wedding—Ron's older brother—and that was, um, festive. I was barely conscious for the part of Ron and Hermione's wedding I could go to, and that was only hugs and retellings of the actual ceremony. I don't know how these things are supposed to go."

Severus rolled his eyes. "Hopefully with neither excess festivity nor a visit to St. Mungo's. We could go to the Ministry, yes. If you desire a small ceremony beyond the signing of papers and the enactment of the bond, I would not object too strenuously."

"I want Ron, Hermione, and Neville there," Harry said firmly. "Other than that, I guess I don't really know."

Severus kissed his forehead, then his lips. "There is no need to rush. The answers will come when the time is right. I saw you eyeing the chessboard earlier, yes?" Harry smiled slightly and nodded. He loved how Severus noticed everything, at least until it made him want to permanently blind the man. "I have one last question, and then we shall play."

"Yeah?" Harry asked, assuming it was something inconsequential. If it were important, surely he wouldn't have asked about chess first.

Severus was suddenly holding a small black velvet box, and Harry's heart stopped. Apparently he would ask about chess first despite the importance of the question. Harry's eyes were glued to the box as the lid flipped open on its own, revealing a ring set into velvet. The band was white gold or platinum, breaking into what were no doubt supposed to be vines but could look like nothing other than serpents to Harry towards the center. The bottom two gems were emeralds and the top two rubies. Secured between the four stones was a diamond, sending off glints of reflected firelight.

"Do you like it?"

Severus sounded far away again, but Harry thought that was probably his fault this time. He reached out and brushed his fingers across the ring before daring to pick it up. Rationally he knew it was wizard jewelry and would take a goblin to break it, and a determined one at that, but it felt so delicate and fragile in his fingers. Of course he liked it, what a stupid question. It was bloody perfect, and Severus knew that full well. He started to slip it onto his finger when Severus smacked the top of his hand and took the ring from him.

"That is not for you to do," he said irritably, using the voice reserved for exceptionally stupid first years. "Answer my question. Is this the ring you want? Do you want a ring at all?"

"I want it," Harry answered, barely able to speak. "Yes."

"You wish for no changes?" Severus asked a little less crossly.

Harry shook his head. "No, it's perfect."

"All right, then," Severus said, huffy but pleased. He slid the ring onto Harry's finger, which Harry watched with a sort of awe. There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he saw the chess set arrive and start to set itself up.

"No," Harry said loudly, louder than he meant to. He lowered his voice, taking the box from Severus' hand and putting it on the table next to the board. "No, not chess, not yet."

Severus groaned quietly. "You desire to speak of feelings, yes?"

"No," Harry repeated, this time with a sly smile. He pushed closer to Severus, draping a leg over his and taking his hand, massaging the calloused palm. He could feel the weight of his ring the whole time. "I don't want to talk at all." He set Severus' hand on his zip, on his very obvious bulge. "You've got unfinished business."

Severus' eyes darkened and his expression turned predatory. "I can't have that, now can I?" He pulled Harry into his lap, and while they rid each other of all clothing as the minutes ticked by, Harry's ring remained on.

The chess game didn't start for nearly an hour.

85

Sunday after lunch, Harry "returned" to Hogwarts. He kept Severus at his side with a death grip on his hand and awkwardly smiled and accepted well-wishes as he walked from Minerva's office, where he officially Flooed into, and down to his quarters. She stayed for a cup of tea, as did Neville, while Harry furiously tapped his finger against his thigh and stared anxiously at the clock. A small team of herpetologists and Healers would be arriving at two, and for the first time since the attack, he was going to attempt to change. Severus, Minerva, and Neville were all doing a terrible job of distracting him, and so instead of participate in forced conversation he tapped and held Severus' hand and, with a small smile, thought about the small box in his sock drawer.

All thoughts of the small box flew out of his head as they started outside. They met with the team in the front hall, and Harry numbly shook hands attached to names he that went in one ear and out the other. There were three scientists and five Healers, plus Poppy, who joined them a moment later, explaining her lateness away with a tirade directed at Minerva regarding Bludger protocol. Then she seemed to see Harry for the first time, and offered him a rare sympathetic look before the group headed outside. It had been decided to perform the tests by the lake. The reasoning remained unspoken, but it was obvious enough. If Harry's burns hadn't healed at all and he was still smoking and charred, the cold water could offer relief.

Could.

He tightened his grip on Severus' hand, and he squeezed back reassuringly.

Minerva set up a perimeter when they reached the shore, preventing any students from watching. Harry had been too nervous to notice, but they had attracted a small following. All eyes were on him as he fumbled the familiar potions out of his pocket and downed his eye and pain preventatives. He had never stopped taking Vita Salvus, of course. He had asked Neville to come, but his friend looked even more nervous than he did, and he was really starting to regret the decision. Shaking, he turned to Severus, burying his face in his neck.

"I love you," Harry whispered. "Whatever happens—"

"Nothing is going to happen," Severus interrupted quietly. "The worst scenario is nothing more than a few scars."

They both knew that wasn't true, and Harry wondered if he knew that his lies were more disconcerting than the truth. He leaned up and kissed Severus, which was immediately returned despite the small audience.

Harry spoke in Parseltongue as he said, "If something happens and this kills me, I want to be buried with my ring."

"You would not be alive in this form if your other were dead," Severus replied firmly.

"Maybe," Harry said, and that was the truth. Nobody had been in his position before. As far as Animagi and werewolves went that was true, but a were-Basilisk? Realistically, Harry knew he probably wouldn't actually be dead, but if changing somehow suspended his wounds, or if he tore through his healed human skin and had to start the recovery process from the beginning… He could be nothing but a mass of unidentifiable scars and ash. "Probably. But whatever happens, I love you."

Severus kissed him again, fisting one hand in his hair and wrapping the other around his waist. "Be careful," he said softly.

Harry laughed hollowly. "Yeah, all right." The words sounding strange and foreign in his mouth, and remembering to speak in English so those who didn't speak Parseltongue would understand, he said, "I want to change."

His skin stretched the way it was supposed to, that was the first thing he noticed. In his human form it had been for a while now, but he hadn't exactly put the amount of strain on himself that changing into a Basilisk required. His bones creaked a little, and for a moment he was terrified that his ribs were breaking along the fracture lines, but when his skeleton settled down, it seemed everything was okay. He still had a few less ribs on his right side, but an experimental swish confirmed his spine was fully functional, and really, snakes had so many ribs as it was, he could stand to lose a handful. His muscles behaved the same as they always did. Nothing was immediately painful, he wasn't gushing blood, and he didn't smell burning. There were, however, places along his body that felt strange, the places where he had been blasted with fire, and he thought he might have a scar on the side of this head, too.

Now if only he could open his eyes to assess the damage.

Or if someone else would bloody say something, so he'd have some idea of what to expect. He couldn't ask, that would seem weak and foolish, but if someone else said something, that would really fucking help.

"You should have changed back sooner," one of the herpetologists said finally. "We could have helped."

That was enough. Harry's eyes flew open and he contorted so he could fully see himself. The scars that were small and faint on his human ribs were mottled grey lumps along his side and, presumably, his head. The places where he had been burned were scorched down to the skin, leaving whitish patches where scales should have been. It didn't hurt, and it seemed properly healed, but he felt incredibly vulnerable without his armor. The end of his tail was drastically thinner than it used to be, tapering off until the very tip of his bone stuck out. His vision started to swim, but he forced himself back with the knowledge that it didn't hurt, either, and he could move it and feel it and, despite looking like something out of a nightmare, was fine.

"May we touch?" a different herpetologist asked, and Harry hissed out a defeated yes that Severus translated. He lay still as careful hands felt along his wounds. He could barely feel the scar tissue at all, and the burned areas were overly sensitive. Would he still be able to go out in the Forest? Did he have enough protection for branches and rocks and whatever else was hidden beneath innocuous dead leaves? And what if he got attacked again? His weak spots couldn't be more obvious. Now that he thought about it, no doubt the entire forest and all creatures within knew about the attack. If they saw him now, like this, if it was clear that he could be seriously injured, would he still have a place there? His biggest defense was carefully deactivated before each change. What if the Forest's natural inhabitants decided they didn't want him bothering them anymore, and decided to drive him out? There wasn't anything he could do about it. They'd know not to get close enough to let him bite them, and all they'd have to do was target his bare skin.

"Ah! Look here!" one of the herpetologists suddenly exclaimed, and while Harry tried to crane his head so he could see, all three scientists and the two Healers who weren't by his tale were gathered around one of the burn marks, blocking his view. They were all talking very quickly and on top of each other, and even with his enhanced hearing, he couldn't tell what was going on. For a moment he was excited, and then he remembered how far centaurs could shoot arrows, and how little they liked to be disturbed. They might have saved him once, but that didn't guarantee him safe passage in the future.

"Mr. Potter, how big was the burned area immediately following the attack?" someone asked him. Now that the herpetologists and Healers were in the same place they were indistinguishable in identical white lab coats.

"I don't remember," Harry said. "Everywhere, I guess?"

Severus repeated his words, and then gave his own account in much more detail. Harry turned to Neville, only realizing now that his friend couldn't understand him, and had every reason to hate this form. He thought his presence would be comforting, but Harry couldn't even convey that he needed comfort. Neville was a ways back, behind Minerva, but when he saw Harry looking at him, he slowly came over.

"How're you doing?" Neville asked anxiously.

Harry wanted to cry. He shouldn't have put Neville through this, and the fact that it hadn't even occurred to him that it would be difficult was a testament to his never ending selfishness. He closed his eyes and turned away, wondering how long this would take and if Severus would let him have dinner in bed or insist he go down to the Great Hall. Maybe he'd just go over to the Forest and find some squirrels and see if he was still welcome. He'd definitely have to talk to the centaurs soon and thank them, especially Firenze.

Suddenly someone was pulling on one of his scales, trying to pry it up, and Harry let out an angry hiss and jerked away.

"What the hell? Don't think I've lost enough already?"

"Harry, that was over the burned area," Severus replied, though he did run a gentle hand over the scale to calm him. "It appeared that you would be unable to grow new scales, but you already have. We did not notice because they hid the rest of the scarred area. If you look closely, as Dr. Rousseau has, you can see there are almost unnoticeable budding scales along the edges of the exposed area."

Harry brightened considerably. "Yeah?"

"We cannot guarantee if the rest of the area will fill in, but this is very good news," one of the white lab coats said, and judging by her French accent, quite possibly Dr. Rousseau. "Even now, your skin is very thick and hardened. You are not as damaged as you appear."

Harry flicked his tongue in happiness. "What about my scars? And my tail?"

Severus relayed the questions, and Dr. Rousseau—if it was her—laughed lightly. "You look very dangerous."

Harry grinned. He decided he liked her. A lot. "Severus, I missed names. Is that Dr. Rousseau?"

"Yes," Severus said plainly, saving Harry the embarrassment.

"Thank her for me."

The rest of the examination was much better. Scales were growing back along the tip of his tail as well, and while they were smaller, they didn't appear any weaker. The tip of bone would always be there, as would the puncture scars, but Harry decided that as long as he already looked like a monster, he might as well look like a scarred monster, one who had battled a dragon and lived to fight another day.

He also had Severus tell Neville that he was sorry for making him be here and he should leave, which Neville vehemently protested. He said, rather bashfully, that he'd always wanted to see Harry like this but hadn't known how to ask, and as long as there were always matured Mandrakes in the greenhouses, he wasn't angry anymore.

After Harry was checked over, he was told to move around, to see how he felt. It was disconcerting to do so on the open grounds rather than the seclusion of the forest, but only for the first few seconds. He felt good. It was like stretching muscles after a long sleep. There was none of the atrophied weakness his human form had experienced, just the unbridled power he was used to. No pain, no limitations. It felt like home. Even better—it felt like spending months wracked with anxiety about your home burning down, only to discover it was waiting for you all along. When Harry returned to the group by the lake, he changed back into his human form and, still sitting in the grass, burst into tears. Severus, Dr. Rousseau, and Poppy were all at his side immediately, asking what was wrong, but it took several minutes for Harry to get his point across.

Nothing was wrong.

86

Ron and Hermione came out two weeks later, and Severus conveniently left so they could have dinner alone without having to go to Hogsmeade, which Severus refused to let Harry do without accompanying him. Neville came over as well, and they spent the meal catching up and, in Hermione's case, fussing over Harry and making sure he was okay, and in Harry's case bothering Hermione right back about when she and Ron were going to start having kids (which successfully got her to leave him alone), while Ron and Neville talked about Quidditch.

Harry came back from the kitchen with dessert and a nervously twisting stomach. Severus was telling the staff tonight, maybe even at this very minute, and his friends needed to find out from him, not from gossip. The house elves had sent up a small cake—Harry wasn't sure why, it didn't seem to be a special enough occasion—and he started talking while he was cutting it.

"Ron, remember when you proposed to Hermione?" he said carefully, handing Ron a slice.

"You mean when George did it for me?" Ron replied. "That's not the sort of thing you forget."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, hitting the side of his head.

"I wouldn't have forgotten if I'd done it myself!" Ron said hurriedly. "I mean the whole thing! Proposing at all, it's memorable! George just makes things—more memorable."

Harry quickly handed Hermione her own piece of cake, which was sufficiently distracting. "What do you want to know?" she asked. "You were there, surely you remember as well."

"Aren't you more interested in why he wants to know?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"I'd think that's obvious," Hermione replied. "Go on, Harry. Ask away."

"I wasn't there," Neville said morosely, poking his cake with his fork. "I'm never there."

Harry patted his friend on his shoulder as he addressed Ron. "Well, er, how were you planning on, um…?" He trailed off, knowing they would misinterpret the question but not brave enough to correct it.

"You know," Ron said, still managing to sound confused around a mouthful of cake. "I was going to ask her on New Year's Eve. Resolving to be hers forever and all."

Hermione looked at him with the sort of expression Harry hated. "You never told me that. Ron, that's so sweet." Ron flushed while Harry rolled his eyes.

"Someone's turned cynical," Neville commented.

"Shove off," Harry replied. "And Ron, that's not what I meant."

"What, do you want to know if I was going to go down on one knee?" Ron asked. "Do all the traditional stuff? Because Snape's not exactly traditional, and he hates talking, so if you've really thought it through and have decided this is how you want to end your life, I'd just spit it out in as few words as possible. 'Marry me', something like that."

Harry kept his face neutral despite the fact that those were the exact words Severus had used. "No, er, that's not it, either."

"Then what?" Ron asked, exasperated.

"Harry, wait," Neville interrupted. "You know how we've talked about being stupid? I think this is being stupid. Not you-should-go-for-it stupid, but actual stupid."

"You guys are so nice," Harry snapped. "You really think I couldn't get married?"

"No, of course not!" Hermione said. "You're very desirable!"

"So it's Severus," Harry countered. "Just Severus who wouldn't want me."

"Harry, that's not it at all," Hermione replied. "It's just he's—"

"Difficult," Neville supplied. "And different. Private, too."

"Could you not call him desirable?" Ron said suddenly. "No offense, Harry, but 'Mione, really?"

She shook him off with a wave of her hand. "You know what we mean."

Harry silently summoned the box from its place in his sock drawer and sent it onto the table, opening the lid. "I wanted to know how you were going to tell your family," he said. "That you were engaged. Hermione, you especially, since Ron had already talked to me about how to propose so I knew. George too, obviously, and a few others. But the people who didn't know, especially your closest friends, how you're supposed to tell them that you're getting married."

The room was silent, and Harry calmed down a little.

"I didn't believe him at first either, to be obvious," he said. "We got into a huge fight, like all good proposals. But he loves me, even if you don't believe it. He'll never act like he does around me around you, but if you could just be a little happy for me, I'd really appreciate it."

"I'm happy," Neville said immediately. "Confused, but happy. I know how happy he makes you and how good he is to you. He might be private, but I see you two together. If you're sure, and I know you and you don't do things when you aren't, especially when it comes to him, then I'm thrilled."

"Yeah, Harry, I just thought he'd never agree," Ron added, sounding sort of awed. "He'd never compromise, probably doesn't know the definition of the word, so if he said yes, go for it. Be happy."

Hermione picked up the box and was looking at the ring in amazement. "Harry didn't ask," she said quietly. "Severus did. He was prepared, and he had this ring made. It's beautiful, by the way, and incredibly romantic. How did he ask? And when? I assume you waited to tell us until we were together, and we haven't seen you in a while."

"The night I got home from St. Mungo's," Harry replied. "He said—" He stammered. He didn't know how much of what Severus had said he'd want known, other than as little as possible. The things he had said were so sweet and romantic and, yes, private. But they were Harry's best friends, and he wanted to tell them. To defend Severus. "He said he missed me, and he doesn't want to lose me. He told me that he'd been thinking about it for a long time. He loves me. And he asked me to marry him."

"What was the fight about?" she asked.

"Did he get down on one knee?" Ron added, not looking particularly like he wanted to know.

"No, we were in bed," Harry said. "We fought because I didn't say yes right away. I was—I was scared, because of what you guys said, and because I love him. Because after everything we've been together, I couldn't stand the idea of losing him if he changed his mind."

"But you did say yes," Ron clarified.

"Of course," Harry replied. "We, um." He laughed nervously. "We love each other." Hermione handed him the box, and he put the ring on. He was overwhelmed with the same sort of rush from their first kiss, when Harry had kissed him in celebration over Vita Salvus. Of course. A breath of fresh air for his soul.

Another round of awkward silence before Ron blurted out, "So when's the big day?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't know yet. He said I could decide. I don't even know what we're doing yet. But you three will be there, right?"

"Of course," Neville said, and Ron and Hermione chorused agreements.

"Should we not tell anyone?" Hermione asked.

"It's fine," Harry replied. "Severus is telling the staff now. I assume the entire wizarding world will not within the hour."

"He's volunteering personal information?" Ron asked dubiously.

"Yeah, um, he is," Harry said awkwardly. "But only to get out in front of it and tell less. He figured it'd be easier to just say it outright than rumors and stuff."

"Probably wise," Hermione mused. "You said you don't know what you're doing? I can't imagine Snape being one for a big wedding."

"Yeah, definitely something small," Harry said. "We might just go to the Ministry, I really don't know. But I promise I'll tell you when I know."

"Just don't let Mum get wind of a small ceremony," Ron said. "You know what she did to our wedding." He gave Hermione a horrified glance, realizing what he had said. "I didn't—it was perfect, I just—"

She laughed. "I know. I don't think Snape would like a Weasley wedding."

Harry smiled. "No, probably not. Your mum picked the date, right?"

"We had some say," Ron replied defensively. "We picked the season."

Harry paused for a moment, debating whether or not to ask about his idea. It seemed grossly saccharine even in his head, let alone out loud. "I was thinking February?"

His friends exchanged a look.

"The fourteenth?" Neville asked apprehensively.

"Why—what, no, of course not!" Harry exclaimed. "Merlin, I'm not pathetic. Why does everyone think I'm pathetic? The twenty-second. It's the day we decided we were whatever we were. The first time we fooled around. And, um. It was the first time he said he loved me. Also it's a Saturday next year, so that works."

"That's really romantic," Hermione said, looking a little misty eyed. "Have you mentioned it to him?"

Harry shook his head. "I dunno. Talking to him about this sort of thing is, uh—not that easy."

"I'll be the only one who's single," Neville sighed. "Invite a cute girl, Harry? For me? It's fine if it's a small wedding, you've only got to ask one, as long as it's the right one."

"I would if I knew any," Harry said apologetically.

"Come to our Christmas party," Hermione said. "I'll ask Fleur to invite a few of her cousins."

Neville perked up at that, and conversation turned to the mundane.

87

The blizzard on the twenty-second of February turned out to be a blessing. The combination of the weather and the weekend meant the Ministry was nearly empty, and the small group of well-dressed wizards walking through the halls was largely ignored. The only strange look they got was from a goblin, and that was more of annoyance at the entire elevator being taken up by wizards. Hermione directed them to the right floor and then down a maze of hallways, surprising nobody with her encyclopedic knowledge of the Ministry.

Severus knocked on the door, and held Harry's hand as they were led into a waiting room. Harry fidgeted nervously, pulling on the cuff of his dress robes, and Severus slapped his hand away, telling him he looked fine. Minerva arranged herself carefully in one of the seats. Ron made loud comments about how good a friend he was for being here for Harry when Harry had missed their wedding and was shushed by Hermione, and protested that he was joking because Harry was clearly nervous and needed to relax. Neville had a hand in his pocket, worrying a small box.

The door on the other side of the room opened, and Harry held Severus back, letting his friends go ahead. Severus' brows knit together.

"Is everything all right?"

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Harry asked quickly, words stumbling together. "I know you've said things, but you've said other things, and I don't know—"

Severus silenced him with a kiss. "I am sure."

Harry's heart was slamming around in his chest and he wasn't sure his feet were connecting with the ground. "You're sure?"

"Are you?" Severus asked. "Either you are refusing to listen and forcing me to repeat myself, purposefully irritating me on today of all days, or you are transferring."

Harry's eyes widened. "No! There's nothing that would make me happier. As long as you're sure."

Severus looked at him like he wasn't sure if he wanted to yell or—or yell, really. There was love, a lot of love, but still annoyance. "Do not ask me to repeat myself," he said lowly. "If you truly question my sincerity, we are leaving now. I will do nothing if you are unsure."

"I'm sure," Harry insisted. He looked down at his left hand, twisting his engagement ring around and around. "You know I'm going to be in your life forever, right? Even when you hate me, even when I touch your things, or blow up your favorite cauldron by mistake? I'm not—I love you. I'm not leaving."

Severus smiled, gently stroking Harry's cheek. "That is the point, Harry." His eyes turned playful. "If you touch my favorite cauldron, however, there will be a problem."

Harry smiled back, leaning into his touch. "Okay, let's go."

There was a lot of paperwork. Harry and Severus both had to present identification, which Harry thought was a little ridiculous, given how he was. They were checked for any indication of magic, in case of force, coercion, or identity fraud. Minerva and Ron, who were signing as witnesses, went through the same procedure. Then Harry and Severus were presented with the official papers, and Harry found he wasn't nervous at all. His quill was a few millimeters away from the parchment when Severus laid a hand on his, stopping him. Harry turned to him, terrified. He was changing his mind, he didn't mean it, he—

"You promise not to touch my cauldron?" Severus asked quietly.

Harry laughed in relief. "Promise."

"I will hold you to that," Severus said, letting go of his hand. They both signed, Ron and Minerva added their signatures, and the Ministry official asked for Harry and Severus' hands. The magic was in Latin that Harry didn't understand, but that was fine. Instead he watched as golden threads of magic flowed along their hands, twining in the space between their hands. The gold suddenly glowed brighter, and a fantastic tingling spread through him, originating from the filaments and growing as it went.

Slowly the light faded, and then Neville and Hermione stepped forward, each with a small box. Harry took the one from Neville as Severus took Hermione's, and Harry took Severus' hand first, sliding his ring on with a dreamy fascination. Severus put Harry's ring on, the platinum band expanding to fit over his engagement ring before shrinking down to fit his finger. Severus cupped Harry's face and gently kissed him.

"I love you," Severus said softly.

Harry stepped closer, making sure there wasn't so much as a single molecule between them. "I love you, too."

"Are you ready to leave?" Severus asked, trailing his hands down to Harry's arms in preparation of apparation.

"Mhm," Harry sighed, melting against him.

Severus lowered his voice, brushing his lips against Harry's ear. "You did add the Ghost Orchid petals to the Luxuriosa spiritum before we left, yes?"

Harry jerked, eyes flying open. "I, er…"

Severus let out a quiet groan and dropped his hands. "I ask you to do one thing, one simple thing, and you cannot manage. We have—" He glanced at the clock on the wall. "—forty-seven minutes in which to add the petals before the potion becomes unusable. The decision is yours; return to Hogwarts and attempt to save the potion you have spent three months cultivating, or arrive at the hotel on time, ensuring you do not anger the staff into subpar treatment."

Harry tapped his finger anxiously, looking at the clock and then Severus. "Uh…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Goddammit, I want to fix the bloody thing. I don't even care about it; so what if I can plate metal with opalescence? Who cares?"

"Then abandon the potion," Severus countered.

Harry glared at him. "You know I can't. Come on, let's just get this over with."

Severus kissed his temple. "Longbottom's predictions have finally come true. You are indeed turning into me, choosing a potion over our honeymoon."

"Never mind," Harry said immediately. "We're going now." He grabbed Severus' arm, and with a loud crack, they apparated to the hotel. He glanced around, then looked at Severus sheepishly. "So, er, I couldn't let Neville see that, but I'm just going to run back to Hogwarts really quick and take care of the Luxuriosa, okay? Do you mind checking us in and getting everything ready?"

Severus laughed, a deep, rich sound Harry loved. "Go."

Harry squeezed his hand. "Thanks. I'll be back in a few."

"Make sure to return in time for our reservations," Severus cautioned. "L'Ambroisie at six."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You think we're leaving the hotel room tonight?"

Severus' eyes flashed. "We have been on the books for months."

Harry smiled roguishly. "I thought you might enjoy room service."

"Not for dinner," Severus said firmly.

Harry groaned. "Uptight stuck up prick. Fine. I'll be back by six. Goodbye."

Severus stole a quick kiss before he left. "My impertinent brat, bound to me forever. What a joy."

"Love you too, Sev."

"Do not call me that!"

The end.