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A sharp intake of breath, a very slow count to ten, and then an even slower exhale were all that stopped Severus Snape from committing murder and living the remainder of his short, bitter life in a cell surrounded by dementors. Not that the beasts would get much from him. His happiness had been ripped away from him, and there would be very little going forward if the parchment that he had crushed in his fisted hands had anything to say about it.
Fate herself seemed to take great joy in jerking him around as much as possible. He had done many things in his life that he regretted, very few he could atone for despite his best efforts, and even more regrets. He survived the damned snake bite despite the odds, rescued by Harry Bloody Potter himself, only to be declared a hero by the Ministry. He could not prove it, but he was sure that that was Potter's doing too; it always was. Not that he could say much, in the three years since the end of the war, his once most irksome student had become one of his closest friends.
They had tea once a week and dinner at least once a month as long as their schedules aligned. He had thought—or hoped, foolishly perhaps—that they could be more. Every once in a while, there would be a stretch of silence that carried such a weight that he could almost feel it pressing against his skin. The moment would pass with neither man moving, almost as though Harry, too, was too afraid of jumping off the cliff and what it would mean for them.
Now, though, there would be no chance of Severus ever being brave enough to take that step and see what would happen between them. Instead, he had to get married. That thought alone was enough to make his stomach turn. Being forced into marriage had never been something he thought he would have to go through. He was not of noble blood, not even a pureblood, and had no political power, no reason he ever should have been put in this situation. Until he was.
It had been an accident, really, or perhaps the hands of Fate twisting his life to suit her cruel humour. He had been summoned to Gringotts and informed that his last distant maternal cousin had passed, and he was the only remaining tie to the Prince line, and even though he had never been formally added into the family, he had gained the family vault. Curious, he visited the vault and discovered a ridiculous amount of gold, a few rare books, and a very ominously glowing scroll that threw itself at him as soon as he walked into the vault. Once it was touched, the old magic activated, and he was doomed before he even knew what was happening.
As the last of the Prince line, despite not carrying the name, he was the only person available to fulfil the triggered contract that had been set up by his ancestors. Sometime in the late 1800’s, the head of the Prince line decided that if his line was ever at risk of dying out, the last few remaining potential heirs would be forced to marry those of an approved family alliance to keep the bloodline from dying out. The contract had been placed in the vault, where it sat inert until the right situations activated it. Had Severus, or any of the other few remaining of the Prince's bloodline, opened the vault sooner, there would have been more than just him to decide from. Now, it was just him.
The very thought made him nauseous. Not only was he being forced into marriage before the next new moon, but marriage to someone in a very small pool of approved people, even worse, having to bring at least one child into said marriage, and to wrap it all up with a lovely bow, there was an ironclad fidelity clause.
When he looked over the names of approved families, his hopes fell further. Most of the lines had died out over the years, and the two wars that decimated the population. The list, already small to begin with, had mostly greyed out names, a sign that those families had no eligible matches. Three names remained. Percy Weasley by way of the Prewett line, Cornelius Fudge by way of the Towlin line, and Dolores Umbridge by way of the Selwyn line. Ugh.
None of the three possibilities was appealing, but even less so by the fact that in reality, he did not have a choice. Weasley was engaged and had a child on the way already, and as much of a bastard as he might be, he could not break up a budding family just because his ancestors were a bunch of pricks.
The other two were equally unappealing, though for very different reasons. Fudge was a spineless bastard who had done enough damage to their world that it would drag his already tentative balance in the wizarding world back through the mud. Umbridge was overall unpleasant, but at least wouldn’t harm his image too much, as most of her doings had been hushed up.
“Fuck,” He snarled emphatically to the open air around him. Really, there was nothing else he could say. His hands were tied. He had to marry Dolores Umbridge. Fuck.
“Severus! Are you in there?” Harry’s voice called out a few hours later, and the golden boy himself appeared before him in his office like the ghost of everything he always wanted and would never have. For a moment, he thought of standing up, of taking what he wanted and damned be the consequences, but looking into those bright green eyes, he knew the damn consequences would be far too great.
“You weren’t in the sunroom, and I wondered if I managed to get the day wrong or something,” Harry went on, setting down a paper bag that no doubt held cinnamon rolls, or some other treat. He would soon hand one over and would refuse to take a bite until after Severus did. Severus would complain about the amount of sweets that were being forced upon him nowadays, and they would bicker until Harry threatened to force-feed him, calling him Snape instead of Severus in that fondly exasperated way. It had become a ritual at this point, one he looked forward to.
Severus had no idea what expression he wore on his face, but Harry’s normal smile had dropped faster than Severus’s own hopes for the future had. He did his best to return his face to the blank mask he had perfected over the years, but as he could not feel most of his body, Severus had no idea if he was successful.
Harry’s eyes darted to the top of his desk for a few moments before he looked back up, concern more obvious than ever. Severus knew what he saw. The letter that declared his future—pristine and perfect once more, thanks to it being a magical contract—several crumpled sheets of parchment, one half-written letter, broken quills, and a nearly empty bottle of fire whiskey that had been full a few hours ago.
“Severus, are you drunk?” Harry asked, one eyebrow raised in reminiscence of Severus’s teaching days. The Saviour did not have the same soul-piercing glare that Severus had managed, but it was close enough that he had to fight not to laugh. Perhaps he was a bit drunker than he thought. Come to think of it, the last time he felt like this was when he had that regrettable one night stand with Moody all those years ago.
“No. Of course not. I am… merely indisposed,” He replied, and though his voice did not slur, he almost tripped when he stood up and had to use Harry to catch himself, nearly sending them both tumbling to the ground.
“Absolutely pissed,” He thought he heard Harry mutter as he was unceremoniously shoved onto the couch near his bookshelf. The fact that the room was rather unstable and he had been able to be shoved told him he was indeed a bit drunk. He hadn’t even known Harry had left the room until he returned with a small vial, already uncorked, and handed it to him, another glare saying he was more than willing to shove it down Severus’s throat if he didn’t drink the Sober Up willingly.
As his thoughts were not exactly clear, or clean for that matter—Merlin, why did Harry have to look at him like that?—he downed the potion, though not without quite a bit of grumbling. Severus had to force his embarrassment down as his mind cleared, and could only hope it did not show on his face. This is why he did not normally drink.
“Now, care to tell me what that was all about?” Harry asked, hands on his hips, looking for all the world like an irritated mother hen. It might have made him smirk if the reality of what he was going to have to do hadn’t come crashing back down on him as the alcohol induced buzz left him.
“Might as well, I suppose, it will be in the papers soon enough anyway,” Severus growled as he summoned the contract from his desk and handed it to Harry, his disgust at the parchment’s contents making him sneer quite nastily.
“This…" Harry’s eyes narrowed as he read the contract, the requirements, and the list of family names in which so few were available. When he looked back up, there was anger and something else, something Severus was too uncertain to name, in those bright green eyes. “Maybe there is a way to break the contract without repercussions?”
“There is not. I’ve already asked my solicitor. My only other option is to lose my magic. I am the last person in the Prince line. I cannot renounce the name. This is the hand I have been dealt,” Severus replied, having to swallow hard at the well of emotion those words caused within him. “I have to marry Umbridge.”
“The toad?” Harry gasped, horror, revulsion, and hurt—how was it only now that he could read the man so well?—fighting for dominance in his face and voice. Severus knew that Harry would probably have preferred he pick either of the other two candidates despite his very valid reasons not to, and maybe once the wound had scabbed over, he would be able to tell his reasoning, but for now, the hurt would have to stay imprinted on Harry’s face, for Severus could not cure it, not this time.
Unable to look at Harry any longer, Severus buried his head in his hands, unwilling to let himself feel the emotions battering at his mental walls free. He had never been one to allow emotions to run away with him, his heart buried deep within his chest, and for a moment, he wished that he, too, could wear it on his sleeve for the world to see, just as Harry did.
“Don’t give up, not yet. I will find a way to fix this, Severus,” Harry said quietly. When Severus picked his head up and looked, Harry was standing directly in front of him instead of near his desk, where he had been only a minute before.
For some reason he could not explain to himself, he knew this would be the last time he would ever see Harry Potter. This betrayal, the marriage of the woman who had tormented him far worse than he ever had, was too much, and he would lose not only what could have been, but also the friendship between them. He wanted to say something, anything, to stop it all from happening, but his hands were tied. He must follow through or lose his magic, and the loss would probably kill him at this point in his life. He made no apology. He would not insult Harry with words when he would make the same choice again if forced into it. He only wished…
A soft hand cupped his cheek; the eyes that met his when he refocused were filled with a sorrow he had not seen since shortly after the war. The look spoke of horrible loss. A gentle thumb brushed once across his lips, a parody of the kiss he wished he could have gotten, and then Harry Potter was gone, walking quickly out of his office, out of his house, and, no doubt, out of his life. His walls broke, and he did not try to stop the silent tears as they trailed down his face.
Severus looked in the mirror, his black robes—despite being his preference anyway—suited his dark mood well. He was dressed for a funeral, and not his unfortunate wedding. There was no one by his side as he dressed, and no one there next to him as he stood at the front of the room to wait.
He had many people who would have stood with him, but he could not stand the idea of any of his most favoured people being shown to approve of such a farce. Minerva and Poppy had offered to stand with Umbridge—even agreeing to wear whatever horrid-coloured robes she picked out—and while he appreciated the gesture more than he could ever say, he had refused their generosity on the same grounds: he would not celebrate the loss of his freedom.
The room that held the platform where they would say their vows had been decorated as Umbridge preferred. He had let her have free rein on everything so long as she agreed not to ask him any questions about it. Unfortunately, that resulted in the entire room being a horror show of shades of pink, frills, and lace. It was nauseating.
Severus stood in his place to wait for the event to start, spine straight, posture stiff, mind closed off. To anyone looking at him, they would see the same man who had stalked the halls of Hogwarts and terrified students for nearly twenty years before his retirement after the war. In his mind, though, far under the surface, locked away behind the walls he would never let fall again, he was not there.
He was back in his house, a cup of tea and a pastry before him, a second just across from him on the small table he kept in the sunroom, Harry’s laughter filling the space between them. The summer sun was shining through the glass, casting him in a golden light, making his eyes shine that much more, and giving his ever-messy hair a halo effect. In that moment, Harry really could have been one of the angels his father had spoken about in his youth. Someone come to rid him of all his sins and bring him eternal happiness. He paused the moment in his mind, not even remembering the context of the conversation, or what had made Harry laugh so hard. Still, it was by far his favourite memory, and if he were ever able to cast a patronus again, this would be the memory that might be able to push through his heartbreak and bring forth his doe.
The room filled as Severus stood lost in his favourite memory, and when he came back to himself enough to actually pay attention, the sight in front of him was almost enough to make him smile. Despite his refusal to allow any of his friends to stand with him for the occasion, they had shown up anyway, giving their presence and their support in the only way they really could. He looked them over—Minerva (carrying a portrait of Albus), Poppy, Filius, Argus, Hagrid, Pomona, Narcissa and Draco—who both looked a bit too pleased for his comfort considering the occasion—as well as many others, colleagues and old students alike—and saw that each one, like him, was dressed head to toe in black. They looked like they were attending his funeral, which, as he had thought before, might as well be true. It warmed a place within him that had gone cold since he read the cursed contract.
Just like that, with a thought of that day, the warmth vanished, just as it did every time he thought of Harry and the fact that he had not seen or heard from him in the three weeks since he had walked out of Severus’s house. Harry should have been in the crowd. Should have lifted his pant leg ever so slightly to show off some new ridiculous pair of socks, proving that, as always, he only ever pretended to follow the rules. Should have been there to stop him, to talk him out of it, or—he almost dared not to think such things—to take Umbridge’s place.
He knew it was not possible. The Potter line, as itself or by way of an older line, had not been on the list, and there was nothing that could be done. In a matter of minutes, he would be wed, and there was nothing he could do short of begging someone to end his misery. He didn’t think he was quite that desperate. Yet.
Music he had not been expecting filled the hall, signalling that the horror show had begun. When Dolores Umbridge appeared, her dress robes, as everything she wore, were an eye-watering shade of pink and covered in too many frills and a very large bow. She looked like every five-year-old girl’s dream. Despite her getting the better hand in marrying Severus, she did not look happy in the slightest. He supposed he could not blame her; he was very few people’s idea of a good match, she was being forced into this just as much as he was, and the only benefit other than his newly acquired wealth was that she would gain a slightly better public standing.
Having only written letters to plan and discuss their arrangement, when she at last stopped in front of him, Severus looked at Dolores for the first time since her departure from Hogwarts more than five years before. Though she was as put together as he had ever seen, under the surface, there was definitely something she was trying to hide. Had he not been going through the same thing, he might not have recognised the sight for what it was. Heartbreak. He was not only ruining his own happiness, but someone else’s as well.
Severus met her eyes briefly, and the exchange between them was something he would never admit to anyone who knew him. They all mostly still saw her as the terror of a High Inquisitor, and she had been horrible, but how could he judge that when he, too, had done horrible things on behalf of someone else?
With an internal scowl at how apparently soft he had gotten in the last few years—surely this was also Potter’s fault somehow—for never in his past would he have sympathised with Umbridge of all people, Severus listened to the officiant drone on about unity and the importance of allowing themselves to be guided by Fate. If Severus had had any less self-control, he would have snorted out loud at the thought. Fate was not a guide; she was a vindictive and twisted creature that liked to watch them all suffer.
When at last the monologue ended—why that was even needed, he had no idea—and the short wizarding officiant was ready to recite the bonding spell, Severus felt himself grow impossibly more tense. This was it. There would be no going back after this.
“Stop!” A voice shouted from the other end of the room, and the large double doors were flung open, adding to the shout with a loud bang. Everyone jumped at the unexpected noise and turned in their seats to see who had interrupted the ceremony and why.
Harry Potter, dressed in the nicest robes Severus had ever seen him in—if he wasn't sure he was mistaken, he would have thought they were wedding robes—strode up the aisle in quick steps, moving as gracefully as ever, and looking just as serious as he had before killing the Dark Lord. Bright eyes flashed, looking just as deadly as the killing curse they shared a shade with, and Severus had never seen Harry look better. The ache in his chest spread until he thought he might collapse to the ground and beg Fate to release him from his contract.
“Potter! How dare you-” Dolores started to say, her girlish voice rather higher than normal, and her face nearly matching her robes as she tried and failed to control her anger. It seemed Harry’s dislike was shared vehemently.
With a wave of his hand, Harry had Dolores silenced and frozen in place, apparently not caring that his display was in front of countless strangers and several reporters, who all looked like they had stumbled upon the story of the century, and perhaps they had. Harry had not even paused his stride as he moved past the statue of a woman and right up to Severus, only stopping when they were chest to chest.
“Severus, I could not live with it if I did not at least offer to take her place as your spouse. If you refuse me, I will accept your choice with grace, but I cannot hide how I feel anymore.” Harry said quietly, nearly whispering, words meant only for Severus.
He did not give him a chance to answer, though Severus was not sure if he could have answered then anyway, before soft lips were pressed against his, and he found himself melting into the kiss he had imagined far too many times to ever pull away, regardless of what the right thing might have been.
The kiss might have lasted a minute, or perhaps it had stretched several hours, before Harry pulled away—Severus would have gladly died there in that kiss instead of moving—and stared into his eyes with all the love and conviction that the brash Gryffindore felt written clearly on his face. How could he ever have questioned if his feelings had been returned? How had he not seen what was so clear to him now? If he had known before, they both could have been happy instead of dealing with the knowledge and the memory of the best kiss of his life, while he was forced to marry someone else.
“Severus Snape, will you marry me?” Harry asked, his lips only a breath away, his words still meant only for him. Severus could see the crowd leaning, trying to catch what was being said. The room was quiet, most people holding their exclamations and gossip until they understood what was happening.
“Harry…" Severus said quietly, his heart breaking as he tried to find the words that would fix things. He wanted nothing more than to say yes, to have and claim the man before him, and to belong to Harry in every way. There was no fixing this.
Before he could manage anything more, Harry knelt before him, looking all the world like a prince from a fairy tale and that breathtaking smile that Severus loved so much was gifted to him. The smile, the sparkle in his eyes that could mean nothing but trouble, and the way he took in a deep breath let Severus know the show had begun. Harry Potter was in full foolish Gryffindor mode, and there was no stopping him.
“I, Lord Harry James Potter-Black, offer myself to you, Severus Tobias Snape-Prince, to fulfil the Prince Marriage contract and all it entails,” Harry called out loudly, for the entire room to hear, though his eyes never left Severus.
Harry was clearly being serious, and the addition of his name had Severus holding his breath as he slipped his hand into his inner pocket and pulled out the contract and unrolled it with slightly trembling hands. There, where once had been the greyed out Black family line, the name Harry Potter-Black was clearly written in the same elegant script as though it had always been there. Severus wanted to ask how this had been done. What strings had Harry managed to pull to become an official part of the Black family?
“I-” Severus had to pause to clear his throat, which had gotten rather tight with the emotion he could not quite force away despite his best efforts. “I, Severus Tobias Snape-Prince, accept your offer, Harry James Potter-Black, to fulfil the Prince marriage contract and all it entails.”
With the words spoken and accepted, the contract still gripped in his hand lost the feeling of old magic, just as a gold light encased Harry and Severus for a moment. Harry stood in one swift movement, his hands coming up to cradle Severus’s face, his smile a soft, gentle thing. He moved a little closer and, suddenly far too impatient to wait, Severus leaned in and pressed their lips together in their first kiss as a married couple.
Far too lost in the moment to care, Sevrus paid no mind to the cheers, the murmurs, the stutter as Dolores was released from the spells that encased her, nor the way she actually smiled and looked relieved before making eye contact with a grey-eyed man in the back of the room. He could not care less, because he was kissing Harry, and would get to kiss him every day for the rest of their lives.
A soft pair of lips pressed to the nape of Severus’s neck, and he could not help but smile at his normal morning wake-up call, loving the gentle attention. When he did not respond with the hum that meant he was awake and getting up, another kiss was left, slightly lower. His response, a soft sigh, only seemed to encourage his husband, and the kisses continued.
Long, lingering kisses had him giving more soft sighs that turned into moans as gentle hands roved over his body, still bare from the ministrations of the night before. Severus had never been shy when it came to telling his partners what he wanted, but when he was with Harry, it was almost as though he knew what Severus wanted before even he did. Their encounters in the few weeks they had been together had ranged widely, but he thought that these gentle unhurried mornings might be his favourite.
When at last the light teasing grazes finally gave way to more purposeful touches, just as Severus thought he would lose his mind with desire, and they allowed themselves to give in to the burning inferno that had engulfed them completely, he didn’t think he could ever find it in himself to be happier.
“Good morning, my love,” Severus whispered into Harry’s unruly hair, pulling him close and accepting the kiss that was offered to him in return.
“Good morning, Sev,” Harry replied after their kiss, which naturally had morphed into something much more insistent than the light peck it had started as, leaving them both a bit breathless. Harry leaned back in, obviously willing to spend the entire morning in bed, and tried to capture his lips once more.
“None of that, I have potions that need attention, and you are due at work in an hour,” Severus said firmly, though he could not help his smile when Harry pouted at him.
“I had an interesting dream last night,” Harry said, giving in to good sense and rolling out of bed, one hand half-heartedly trying to tame his wild hair. At Severus’s hum of question, he went on, a soft, sad smile on his face. “Mum was there, talking to me, telling me how glad she was that we found our way to each other in the end. It was nice.”
“Somehow, I am not surprised. Lily always had a way of believing in impossible things. It's nice to know she approves, ” Severus said as he stood as well, moving to wrap his arms around Harry and kiss the top of his head. Offering comfort and support in the way he knew would help Harry the most.