Ah, the wedding night…no doubt you are wondering about that. Perhaps you’d better imagine it yourself. Certainly you’ve got enough to go on from Severus and Jane’s previous encounters.

Hrm…you’re still there? Well, the truth is that you won't find an accounting of that sort of thing in this chapter, unfortunately. May I say that you could not be any less disappointed about that than Snape himself.

Because Severus Snape was prevented from immediately and without further interruption taking his new wife to bed, and fucking the living daylights out of her. He was prevented from this by Minerva McGonagall. First flushed with shock and now a growing glee, she absolutely insisted on squiring the wedding party to the Three Broomsticks for a congratulatory drink.

Snape initially declined, but Minerva pressed the issue. “One drink, on me,” she said, “and I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer…”

“No!” Snape intoned, glaring at her.

At this, Minerva crossed her arms in front of her chest and asked him, pointedly, what on earth could be more important than spending half an hour sharing a drink with his well-meaning friends, to celebrate the occasion of his marriage?

Minerva knew exactly what could be more important, of course, for though she could be something of a prude, she was not a fool. And in her defense, she had in fact been oblivious to their relationship until the very night they wed, oblivious to the intensity of their passion, and oblivious as well as to the fact that they had barely touched each other in months. She would not have been so determined, if she had known.

What Minerva McGonagall did know, however, was the precise placement of all of Snape’s buttons, as she had been pushing them for nearly thirty years. She knew his weak spots, all of his vulnerabilities, some of which vexed her no end. She knew Snape would rather go to Hogsmeade than admit he wished to fuck his wife. And though she loved Severus Snape, she was not above teasing him, or putting a well-placed (if relatively harmless) thorn in his side. As he was not above putting a well-placed thorn in hers.

And then as well, she was genuinely, overwhelmingly happy for him. She did not want the celebration to end.

Snape, however, absolutely did not think he could wait half an hour. Looking at his new wife (whose awe at so suddenly becoming Mrs. Severus Snape had turned her shy), he did not think he could wait half a minute. He was, in fact, beginning to quite regret not fucking her on the hospital bed, which would have taken the edge off at least. As Minerva stared him down, Snape saw Jane avert her eyes. Saw the blush creeping across her cheeks. And at that moment he wished for nothing more than to ravish her roughly and without restraint. And then, of course, ravish her more gently and with finesse. Yes, Severus Snape had plans for that evening, plans that did not include slogging to Hogsmeade.

But Snape was still Snape enough to wish to hide his impatience from Minerva. Minerva would never have let him forget his eagerness for Jane, he knew. Never. Every time she asked him for a drink, or to take time out to do anything whatsoever, she would no doubt say something smug that mocked his weakness. “Are you sure you don’t need to spend some time with your wife first?” she would doubtless prod him, archly. Or say something equally or even more annoying.

Snape realized that after enough of this he would be forced to kill the Transfigurations professor, and that would have brought Ministry personnel with unfortunate questions, whom he’d be forced to kill as well. In the end he decided that such a bloodbath was best to avoid.

Thus, he would have to wait for Jane, at least until after that drink.

“Oh, very well,” he conceded (rather crossly), “but only one.”

They met at the great front door of Hogwarts five minutes after that, long enough for Minerva to not only slide on her robes but tag other faculty and staff to come along, including Madame Pince and Sybill Trelawney, and, once they reached the great outdoors (to Snape’s great horror), Hagrid. Each person that attached themselves to the bridal party had to be informed of the reason for celebration, of course, and Minerva and Remus and the ghost of Albus Dumbledore took great pleasure in telling them, and observing their stunned reactions. Of course, part of their surprise might have been due to the fact that the Headmaster was mostly prattling about knitting, but most of it surely was the result of the unthinkable fact that the Potions professor had indeed taken a wife.

Sybill announced portentously that she had seen it all not three weeks before in her crystal ball, which annoyed Snape no end. Worse still was Hagrid, who did nothing but stammer in great, moist sputters for a minute or more, until Snape, now livid, took Jane’s hand and shook it, clasped in his own, as he ranted at him, ranted at them all.

“Yes, yes! We’re bloody married! Man! And! Wife! Until death do us part! It can’t possibly seem any odder to all of you than it does to me, I assure you! Now, are you going to keep staring at us like a crowd of befuddled basilisks or are you going to allow Minerva to buy us all a drink?”

There was a stunned silence, and then the crowd progressed towards Hogsmeade without further incident, unless one can call a gaggle of angry, amused, aroused, elated, and confused professors (one of whom was half-giant, and another, a ghost) meandering across the Hogwarts grounds an “incident”.

“Couldn’t you just tell her we wanted to fuck?” Jane teased, whispering to her new husband as he veritably yanked her towards Hogsmeade.

Snape said nothing, beginning to wish that he had done exactly that. He grunted and pulled his wife harder, making sure there was at least thirty feet between them and the rest of the faculty.

“Anxious, innee?” Hagrid leaned in as they walked, prodding Lupin. “Prolly nervous about the weddin’ night…”

Lupin smothered a chuckle. “I don’t think ‘nervous’ is quite the right word.”

They arrived at the Three Broomsticks, and Snape furiously pushed his way through the door, still yanking Jane behind him…

Only to find, to his utter dismay, that the pub crowded with students, who, one and all, turned to stare at their enraged Potions professor as he swept into the room.

Now, the sight of Severus Snape angrily striding into a room was not a new one for any of them, but the sight of him angrily striding into a room with his hand entwined possessively around the hand of a woman was a different thing entirely.

Snape stopped, and stood there, frozen. Then he shook Jane’s hand off as if it were hot. For a moment, he was at a loss as to what to do. Then, he realized that there was only one thing to do.

Yell at someone, of course. But who? His eyes swept the room. There was Rosmerta, who until his dramatic entrance had been chatting up Dean Thomas at the other end of the bar (whilst he, no doubt, was chatting up her breasts). And there was Winslow Oxbox, installed at the bar by the taps, buffing beer mugs (who raised an eyebrow at Snape, curious).

But as Snape turned, his eye came to rest upon a small party sharing the table by the door. A party consisting of Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, and Harry Bloody Potter.

Bingo.

Snape loomed suddenly over the young man. “And what are you doing here, Potter? What about your curfew?”

Ron Weasley flinched, but to Harry’s credit he only blinked at the Potions professor innocently. He boldly dared a brief, slightly confused glance at the Runes professor (who had quietly taken a seat at the bar beside Remus Lupin, who had just arrived), then said “School’s over, Professor Snape. There is no more ‘curfew’. At least for seventh-years. And I’m of age.”

This was, of course, all maddeningly true of everyone at the table save for Luna Lovegood, who had suddenly become quite interested in the dimensions of her teabag.

“She’s not of age!” Snape said threateningly, pointing at her.

And at this Harry’s hand moved to Luna’s arm and he frowned. “Leaving Feast is tomorrow and exams are over...Professor McGonagall hasn’t said anything about it.”

(Indeed she hadn’t. She had gone over to the bar with Remus and Jane.)

Suddenly Luna lost interest in her teabag, and the girl looked up at Professor Snape with her large grey eyes. “Good evening, Professor Snape,” she smiled. “How are you? You’re looking much better than you have been in the past few weeks. You’d lost all the color in your face there for awhile.”

Snape’s lip curled. Her insight was infuriating. “How I am is absolutely none of your affair, Miss Lovegood,” he sniffed, “and I would kindly ask you stop speculating on the color of my face.”

She shrugged, calmly. “You do seem a bit flustered, though. Would you like to have some tea with us? It might calm you down…”

Harry and Ron looked mortified, and Hermione nervously bit her lip and looked away.

Snape was about to open his mouth and tell her he knew not what (something withering, no doubt, had he ever been able to voice it), when Hagrid came up behind him behind him.

“Professor Snape’s flustered ‘cos it’s his wedding night! A man’s s’posta be flustered on his wedding night!”

And then he clapped Severus Snape on the back, rather affectionately in fact. “Don’t be nervous,” he added conspiratorially, as the four shocked students looked on, “you’ll do fine! It can’t be as complicated as the books make it out to be!”

Snape’s mouth snapped closed. His blood froze in his veins, and he felt the sudden urge to crawl under the floorboards and hide there until somebody burned the place down, which for him could not come too soon. And for a moment he took stock. Was he, Severus Snape, whilst standing in front of some of his most annoying students, in fact being given comforting advice about his sex life by a virginal half-giant?

Yes, dear God, he was.

Kill me… said Severus Snape, but only to himself.

“Congratulations, Professor Snape,” Luna Lovegood was saying now, smiling again. “I wish you all happiness.”

Strangely enough, she was the only one doing so, not that Snape would have known. His mortification had reached epic proportions, now, and he was starting to feel disconnected from his own body. Thus he did not see Harry and Ron’s expressions of horror, and Hermione blinking at him stupidly, an expression which was now transforming into a knowing smile.

“Well?” Hagrid prodded, turning towards the rest of the bar’s patrons, and practically shouting now, “All of yer should congratulate him! Professor Snape an’ Professor Flintrammel just this evenin’, not half hour ago, got themselves hitched!”

Hagrid beamed at the room full of students, expecting, at the very least, some hoots and clapping.

Instead, much to his distress, there was a loud, collective, nauseated gasp, punctuated by the clatter of spoons hitting saucers, and the sound of coughing as several students began choking on their butterbeer. Dean Thomas even stopped staring at Rosmerta’s breasts.

“Pull the other one!” shouted Fred Weasley, at last, and he and George (fresh from closing Zonko’s for the summer) began laughing.

There were a few nervous titters at that, but the rest of the students, noting the expression on Hagrid’s face, and that of the Potions professor (who had voiced no denial) realized that it had to be true.

The room fell into utter silence, and Hagrid was obviously nonplussed. Usually such announcements were met with cheers, or at least modest applause, not derision and blank stares. His face fell a bit.

“Heh heh…” he laughed nervously. “Married…to each other! Jus’ now, in fact!”

More silence, save for one lone student in the back. The shock of Professor Snape’s marriage to Professor Flintrammel was too much for poor Nigel Winterbourne, a timid Hufflepuff. After a few moments of goggling, Nigel emitted a high-pitched shriek and bolted from the pub entirely.

Everyone else continued to stare, mutely.

And it was in that moment that Severus Snape decided he had had enough of it. Enough of it all. Shocked, were they? Horrified, were they? Disgusted, were they? He’d show them, yes he would. He’d give them something to shock and horrify and disgust them!

So Severus Snape pulled himself up to his full height, and swept to the center of the pub, his ink-black eyes arcing across the room. There was another gasp, and one student in the back cried, softly, “oh no!”

Snape ignored this, and moved to stand by Jane, who kept her back turned to him and began assiduously attempting to ignore him.

“On behalf of myself and my new wife,” he began silkily, placing his hand on her shoulder and turning her to face the stunned crowd, “I must thank you all for your felicitous response to our nuptials. I was not aware until this very moment that rampant shrieking, gasping, cringing, laughing, and vomiting were actually displays of congratulatory feeling.”

He smiled at them then. An icy smile that filled the students (and some of the adults as well) with fear.

“Not to mention staring like utter, slack-jawed cretins,” Snape added, urging Jane off her stool to stand beside him. She looked away, murmuring in her objections, and seemed quite embarrassed by the whole thing.

And she had a right to be, because by this point both the students and some of the faculty were looking at him as if he were a dangerous madman. Snape did not help things when his arm snaked out to catch his new bride’s wrist. Almost in unison nearly every student gasped again, and flinched as if expecting a blow.

But all he did was bare his teeth as he gently pulled his new bride closer to him.

There was yet another horrified intake of breath as Jane continued murmuring and weakly struggling against him. “Severus…what are you doing…” she was saying, “I haven’t finished my butterbeer…”

Snape raised one eyebrow, and tilted Jane’s chin upward and towards him, even as she attempted to turn her face away. “It’s been at least twenty minutes since I took my vows as husband,” he said matter-of-factly. “Certainly you’re due for another kiss, are you not?”

Jane tried to shake her head, but the hand on her chin was implacable. And Snape took her head in his hands now, attempting to meet her eyes even as she averted them. “Not here, Severus” she protested, squirming, “…not here…not…mmmnnnffff!”

But it was too late, because then he was kissing her. Right on the mouth. In front of everyone. One arm went around her neck and the other curled around her waist and Severus Snape was kissing her, and Jane Flintrammel was being kissed. And he was not letting up, no.

The heavy silence became even heavier as they embraced, a silence which nevertheless began to be punctuated by barely (and then more loudly) voiced pleas.

“I want to go home!” piped one student in a small voice.

“I want me mum!” said a second, desperately.

“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” cried Ron, after which Hermione elbowed him in the ribs.

And over near the door, Luna Lovegood began murmuring into Harry Potter’s ear. “I told you he was in love,” she breathed. “I told you.”

“And I didn’t believe you,” he said, awed, watching in horrified fascination as Severus Snape continued to kiss Jane Flintrammel. “I’m still not sure I do.”

Hermione Granger was not smiling. Her hand had slid under the table to rest on Ron’s knee. She squeezed. Ron didn’t notice. How could he when Severus Snape was mashing his lips against Jane Flintrammel’s?

At least it’s not as bad as seeing them fuck, he thought.

“A horse a horse my kingdom for a horse!” he said.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Snape finally dislodged himself from his new wife, at which the students emitted a long, drawn out “Yuhhhhh…”

And as Snape held the flustered and thoroughly kissed Jane Flintrammel against him, he glared at his students, glared at them all, and to the last one they fell silent again.

“Now,” he explained, smoothing Jane’s hair (which had somehow gotten mussed), “in the interests of fair warning, you should know that I intend to kiss my new bride again, even more scrupulously, beginning in exactly ten seconds…

Snape glared again, as they stared. Then he raised one dark eyebrow.

“Ten…” he intoned. No response.

“Nine…”

Still nothing. Just blank, horrified stares.

Then, “eight…seven…six…five…”

Almost in unison, when Snape hit “five,” each and every student flung themselves from their seats and bolted en masse towards the exit (save for Luna and Hermione, who seemed in no rush at all and had to be tugged out by their respective beaux).

By the count of zero, when Snape did, as promised, indeed kiss Jane again, the front door was swinging and every student was gone. Minerva had the decency to avert her eyes, as did Miss Pince and Sybill (who pulled out and perused her crystal ball, which she apparently took everywhere), but Rosmerta looked at the lovers disapprovingly, noting the fact that her customers (most of them) had been run off by this display.

As for Remus Lupin, he caught the eye of Winslow Oxbox from across the bar, and winked at him, salaciously. Oxbox gave him a slow smile, a grand, lustful promise of a smile, and Lupin suddenly thought that (despite the fact it was Monday) it might be a good idea indeed to stay in Hogsmeade for the night after all.

Hagrid? Well Hagrid cocked his head and stared at Snape and Jane outright. “Guess he won’t be havin’ any trouble with the weddin’ night after all…” he muttered.

And the ghost of Albus Dumbledore began singing a little song about stitch holders.

When Snape had finished kissing Jane for the second time, he guided her to her seat again. Jane seemed like she’d just had the wind knocked out of her, but Snape felt thoroughly strengthened by his little victory. After he saw to it that she was quite set on her barstool and was not going to get woozy and tumble over (a serious danger with Jane at that point), he put his hand lightly on her back one last time and took a seat beside her.

On his other side was Remus Lupin, who looked on his best friend with wonder.

“You never cease to amaze me,” Remus Lupin said.

“Nor I myself,” Snape answered.

Jane said nothing, just sat there, panting lightly, her head still spinning, as she absently began sipping what was left of her butterbeer.

“What’ll you have?” asked Oxbox to Snape.

Snape thought for a moment. He had weakened the knees of his new wife, filled his students with fear and awe, and mortified the self-satisfaction out of Minerva McGonagall.

So he raised his eyebrow at Winslow Oxbox, and proffered him half a smile. Then, a whole one. Yes, he did like Oxbox after all.

But before he had a chance to speak, Jane piped up from beside him. She had quite recovered herself, it seemed. Her hand slid under the bar and rested on his thigh. But Snape knew somehow that this was not intended to be arousing. She just wanted to touch him. Snape's hand found hers and he clasped it, tightly.

"I think my husband would like something...strong,” Jane said.

And she smiled at him then, with a mixture of pride and affection and a tender awe, and Snape thought for the first time in his long life that things might just work out for him after all.