Goblet
‘Do you still want to get married?’
Severus tenses slightly, having to replay the words in his head to make sure he had heard correctly. His eyes flick up from his book, studying Petra quickly, then dropping back down.
‘Why do you ask?’ He drawls in a casual tone.
‘Because I wouldn’t say no this time.’ Petra states.
Severus stills completely, staring at his book without reading it, controlling his emotions. He senses a trap, but that is not normally how Petronella operates. Could she really have changed her mind? And what would have caused such a fundamental shift?
‘Is this… a practical decision?’ He asks, turning a page he has barely looked at.
‘Fundamentally, yes.’ Petra answers. ‘There are many things which might have been easier if we had been married – Harry’s adoption being the main one, though I am glad to have set a precedent there for other couples. However, we do have a lot of challenges ahead of us now, and there is something to be said for reducing the number of difficulties and complications we might face. Also being officially married, would make the right impression to the right people.’
‘Agreed.’ Severus states. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t feel somehow rejected because she is simply being pragmatic. Petronella has given him more that he had any right to want or expect from life given the mistakes he has made. And he had already made his peace with fact that she did not want to marry him. All of this does not explain the sharp twinge in his chest.
‘But,’ Petra continues, and he can feel her eyes on him. ‘I also know this is something you wanted. I appreciate you respecting my wishes, and my views have not changed, but that does not mean that I cannot compromise.’ Petra frowns; that sounded different now she said it out loud. ‘I mean that I want… I want to make you happy.’ She visibly cringes, then takes a breath and continues. ‘As far as I’m concerned we are as good as married already. Better really. You know that I love you and am fully committed. And I wouldn’t even consider marriage if it were to anyone else. I am no longer that teenager being coerced into an arranged marriage because she thought she had no choice.’
Petra bites her lip. She has said everything she intended to, but it all came out rather garbled, and didn’t sound at all how she had thought in her head.
Severus is quiet for some time, just staring down at his book. Petra knows he will need time to process the mess of words that had spilled from her mouth, so she picks up her own book to try and read. They haven’t been tense and uncomfortable around each other like this since the last proposal debacle, and Petra is starting to get fidgety. She is therefore almost relieved when Severus suddenly stands and exits the room.
Petra exhales a deep breath, but is immediately nervous again. Has she fucked up? Perhaps this had been a bad idea altogether and she never should have brought it up. They were fine the way things were. Or maybe it was the way she had said it that was all wrong? She had briefly considered doing the whole romantic bit, wine and candles and such, but that just was not her. Everything she had just said to him had sounded romantic when composing it in her mind. But she is aware that what she considers to be romantic, and what the rest of the world considers romantic, are two very different things.
She starts to tap her foot and fiddle with the corner of the book, but tries to calm herself. Severus will come back and talk to her once he’s had a moment alone to think. They have been through so much together, not just as friends or lovers, but as committed partners. They might argue, but they always find a way through their disagreements. Petra picks up her wine and takes a long gulp.
Just as she is wondering whether she should go after him, Severus returns.
Severus had needed a minute to think. He paced back and forth in their bedroom, in front of their bed, between their chests of drawers. He had accepted that Petra didn’t want to get married, and now she had gone and flipped things around again. Merlin and Salazar. No, boredom was certainly not something he would have to worry about spending his life with Petronella Blishwick.
That’s when it hits him. It doesn’t matter what her reasons are for wanting to get married now. It doesn’t matter whether she wants to do it for purely practical reasons. He is kidding himself that he is even considering it a question at all. As if he would ever refuse her.
He rifles through the back of a drawer, then steps through the corridor to the living area, crosses the room in long strides, and kneels down in front of her.
‘I will not do you the disservice of second guessing your decisions. I know you would not offer this without careful thought, and serious consideration. Your reasons are your own, and that is enough. You know that I have wanted this for a long time, and it is also true that what we have is more than I had ever thought a marriage would be. If you were, however, to do me the honour…’ He unfurls his fingers and proffers a small blue velvet box. ‘Petronella Ciara Blishwick. Would you sign a pointless and archaic document legally binding us together unto death – or divorce?’
Petra finds her mouth pulled into a large smile. He gets it. This is romantic, because he knows her, knows how her mind works, and he loves her for it.
‘Yes.’ She manages to say.
Severus opens the box to reveal a gold ring with dark blue enamel, and tiny star shaped diamonds around an empty setting.
‘You kept it.’ Petra whispers, recognising the ring he had proposed with before, and only now appreciating it’s beauty.
‘Not because I expected you to change your mind. But to remind myself never to ask you again.’ The corner of Severus’ mouth twitches upwards in a wry smile. ‘May I?’ He asks, reaching toward her ear. Petra realises then why the setting in the ring was empty, and removes Eileen’s opal stud from her second piercing. Severus takes out the small white stone which ripples with iridescent colours. It fits perfectly into the setting on the ring.
‘I… this is beautiful.’ Petra says with a frown. ‘But… I do not want to wear an engagement ring… the connotations of ownership…’
‘Of course.’ Severus closes the box, and goes to stand, but Petra puts her hands around his, holding him in place.
‘I love it, really. And I would love to wear it – as my wedding ring.’ Petra tells him firmly.
Severus smiles slightly and nods.
‘May I get off the floor now, I don’t think my knees can take much more?’ Severus grimaces.
‘Hmm. I’m not sure.’ Petra raises a brow. ‘I happen to rather like you down there.’ She smirks.
~~~~
‘Potter!’ McGonagall barks, causing Harry to at least slow his descent of the staircase. Seamus had challenged him, Ron, and Dean to a race down to the hall, and as Finnigan had made some rather derogatory comments about Harry’s hair of late (comparing it to Snape’s) he was in the mood to show him up.
Harry was secretly a bit pleased to be compared to his father. His adoptive one, instead of James. People always told him he looked like James Potter, which was fine. It was nice to have a connection to his birth parents. And obviously he was never actually going to resemble either Severus or Petra, but growing his hair long like theirs, and wearing it tied back like Sev does sometimes made him feel a bit more connected to them somehow.
‘No running!’ McGonagall is shouting at the others, who had now got ahead of Harry. He smirks at them as their Head of House catches up to the other boys just outside the hall, then Harry gives them a cheeky wave and heads in the opposite direction towards the dungeons while Finnegan gets lectured by the Professor.
Having dinner at home once a week was more of a loose arrangement now than a regular requirement, but both Severus and Petra had made a point of telling Harry that he should come for dinner on Friday night this week. Usually that meant bad news of some sort or another, but Severus had been an exceptionally good mood all week (for him). Still Harry is pretty surprised by the news he receives, and for a moment all he can do is stop and stare.
‘You’re getting married?!’ He repeats, a huge grin spreading across his face. ‘Oh Merlin! This is brilliant!’ He leaps out of his seat and hugs a tense Petra from behind, then rounds the table to his father, who stops him with an upheld palm.
‘Yes. And the correct response would be along the lines of “many congratulations” with a firm handshake.’ Severus instructs him.
Harry takes his father’s proffered hand and shakes it.
‘Many congratulations on your betrothal my liege.’ He mock bows.
Petra snorts and Severus rolls his eyes.
‘Well we can hardly blame him for being sarcastic.’ Petra shrugs.
‘Yeah, I learned from the best.’ Harry winks at his father.
Severus narrows his eyes a moment, but then squeezes Harry’s hand, and places his other on Harry’s arm, giving the boy a small smile.
‘Dinner.’ Severus nods at Harry’s plate, and he goes and takes his seat.
Harry has a million questions, which he asks one after another, until Severus cuts him off.
‘We have not discussed the details as of yet.’ He tells the over excited teenager.
‘This does not mean that anything is going to change.’ Petra states, looking at him carefully.
‘Good.’ Harry comments, shovelling another bite of curry into his mouth along with a large piece of garlic naan. ‘I don’t want anything to change. It’s good though, isn’t it? I mean, it’ll be fun to have a wedding.’
Petra gives him a look that says she decidedly thinks it will not be at all fun, then his parents glance at each other and have one of their little silent conversations.
They hadn’t talked about it since the proposal – or rather it had been more of a mutual agreement. Both were nervous to bring up the topic in case conflicting preferences over the details caused an argument. At some point though they would need to talk about exactly how this wedding business was going to go down.
Once Harry has been placated with promises to tell him the whens and wheres as soon as they have decided themselves, and they have extracted a promise not to go spreading the news around the castle, they send him back up to Gryffindor and sit down together.
‘I suppose we have a wedding to plan.’ Severus states, holding back his smile and watching Petra’s face. She grimaces slightly. ‘Unless you have changed your mind again?’
‘No.’ She smiles. ‘No Sev.’ She reaches out for his hand and holds it tightly between her own. ‘It’s just the word: wedding. Makes me think of frilly dresses and stupid gawking relatives who you hardly know, and stupid vows about obeying your husband.’ She scowls.
‘Hmm.’ Severus raises a brow and decides to take a risk. ‘Obeying your husband. I rather like the sound of that.’ He smirks and runs a hand up her leg to her hip. His gamble pays off as Petra glares back at him dangerously, with the hint of a smirk dragging on the corner of her lips.
‘I’ll obey you in the bedroom if you obey me everywhere else.’ She says, moving to sit straddled in his lap.
‘No change there then.’ He says.
‘Right.’ Petra scoffs.
‘We can call it a ceremony instead if that is preferable.’ Severus says.
‘I had been thinking, I might like to do the vows bit at the stone circle.’ Petra responds.
Severus keeps his features blank, but is pleased. She has been thinking about it, and the stone circle is an important place to her. Having the ceremony there would be symbolic, meaningful. He nods slowly.
‘Guests?’ He asks.
‘As few as possible?’ Petra suggests, and Severus huffs a laugh.
The idea of inviting a lot of people to show off his wife in front of did have a certain appeal, but quite frankly he did not know all that many people, and less than a quarter of that number would he actually want to spend any time with.
‘A small gathering suits me fine.’ He responds. ‘I would like my mother to come if possible.’
‘We can afford to send her a portkey.’ Petra says. Eileen is one person she would be quite happy to have there. Preferable to her own mother anyway. Ugh. She’s going to have to invite her parents.
‘Oh no.’ Petra realises in the same moment. ‘McGonagall.’
Severus snorts.
‘Oh she will be pleased.’ He grins evilly. Watching her fuss around Petra would almost be worth putting up with Minerva’s gushing commentary to him. ‘Well, we don’t have to tell her quite yet.’ He concedes, and Petra flashes a knowing smile.
‘So how long do you intend on keeping me waiting?’ Severus inquires, by way of avoiding using any phrasing in the realm of “setting a wedding date”.
‘How about the Solstice?’ Petra suggests.
‘I didn’t know you were so eager to get me down the aisle Blishwick.’ Severus teases.
‘Get it over and done with more like.’ Petra grouches, then flinches, hoping the joke wasn’t too close to the bone.
‘I’ll be happy to get that ring on your finger before you can change your sodding mind again.’ Severus bats back with a curl of his lip.
Petra grins back, and silences any further discussion for the night by pushing Severus’ head back and shoving her tongue into his mouth. Severus does not complain.
~~~~
Three weeks later and Petra has been putting off another conversation. Having hashed out a basic plan for the wedding it was time to begin inviting people, and there is a certain promise she had made in a moment of high spirits – one could say stupidity – which she now had to fulfil.
She strolls along behind the teacher’s table in the Great Hall while Minerva is engaged in a conversation with Pomona. Petra needs to time her interjection perfectly. As the Headmaster rises from his seat to make his announcements Petra strides past, leaning over Minerva’s shoulder to mutter the pre-prepared words.
‘You may wish to keep the 22nd December free. The invitations aren’t done yet, but as promised you may be Maid of Honour if you wish.’ Then she glides on past to take her seat at the far end of the table.
Minerva pauses halfway into her seat, and opens her mouth to try to respond, but the Headmaster is holding up his hands for quiet. His reminder to the assembled that the delegates and participants for the Tri-wizard tournament will be arriving tomorrow causes a flurry of chatter as Minerva tries to subtly peer down the table and shoot a flabbergasted expression at her colleague.
Petra ignores her and smirks to herself. That had gone as well as could have been hoped. Now she just had to avoid McGonagall for the next eight weeks and everything would be fine. Easy. She isn’t sure what the role of Maid of Honour usually involves, but she has terrifying images of being made to try on ridiculous poofy white gowns, and if anyone tries to make her have a “hen party” she might just have to demonstrate a few unforgivable curses herself.
The start of the Tri-Wizard Tournament provided the perfect distraction, and timing dropping the information on Minerva to coincide with the arrival of the other schools was a stroke of genius if she did say so herself. At least the bloody event was good for something.
‘I take it you have given Minerva the happy news.’ Severus drawls next to her. ‘You know you will have to speak to her eventually.’
‘The day before the wedding will do.’ Petra responds eliciting a snort from her partner.
Her plan works for about twenty four hours.
~~~~
Only half an hour after the end of classes on Friday the students are all filing out of the school via the north exit under the bell tower. The tower might be quite grand, and the old doors opulently carved, but Harry always thinks of this as the rear entrance. It’s where they all traipse in and out in their muddy Quidditch gear, and though the carriages come to this door at the beginning and end of the year, if one is walking down to Hogsmeade the footbridge is much more convenient.
It’s twilight, and quite chilly, but the excitement from students and staff alike is palpable. Little clouds of condensed air puff from smiling mouths and there is a hum of chatter around the darkened lawns. Behind a thin veil of cloud a half moon casts a pale diffuse glow above the lake where it rises in the east.
The Headmaster of Hogwarts stands at the centre of the short flight of wide steps running up to the door, his Deputy Head Minerva McGonagall on one side, and his Potions Master Severus Snape on the other. The rest of the teachers are arranged haphazardly near the entrance, and the students in a vague crescent shape around the edge of the lawn.
Petronella, as is her way, is standing off to the side, in the shadow of a buttress. She has mostly given up moaning about the Tri-Wizard Tournament as even she is becoming sick of the sound of her own complaints. Severus is quite pleased about this, although it has been easy enough to tune out her grumbling, just throwing in the odd “absolutely” and “I completely agree”, until she gets annoyed with him, and decides to put her mouth to more pleasant activities.
The crows start cawing loudly at the edge of the forest, and rise up from their perches in a broken cloud. Petra looks up and sees a movement in the sky; a hint of gold and blue against the slate grey of the clouds. They continue to squawk and flutter as a great carriage pulled by 12 palamino Pagasi flies overhead, then dips down towards the castle, almost clipping the top of the Quidditch stands before gliding smoothly down onto the lawns.
Severus spares a fragment of his attention for the arrival of the delegation from Beauxbatons. Across the lawn he can just about pick out Petra’s form leaning against the outer wall. A shadow among shadows, he knows her sharp eyes are watching the new arrivals carefully. Harry is also within his sights, closer to the castle entrance about halfway between his parents and surrounded by other students. Safe enough.
After dutifully greeting Madame Maxine he turns the majority of his attention towards the lake. The Headmistress of Beauxbatons seems worried about her horses, but eager to get inside out of the cold, which seems a little strange. Surely the Pyrenees are as cold as Scotland – though perhaps not until later in winter.
The form of his wife moves out of the shadows, her posture confident, so Severus tunes out the rest of the immediate conversation and focuses his attention on the water.
Having noted that no one seems to be in charge of the Pegasi Petra strides out of her secluded spot, ready to take charge.
‘Johnson, Haywood, Lovegood, Divekar, and Abbott!’ She calls out, waving the students over. She hasn’t assisted with the Saturday Creature Club for years, but she has a pretty good idea which of her students are good with animals. She scans the rest of the crowd and picks out a face. ‘Wood. Run down to fetch Hagrid.’ She instructs, reaching up for the bridle of the nearest Pegasus. It flinches slightly, but she holds her ground, calmly placing a gentle hand on it’s forelock and making a low keening noise in the back of her throat.
‘Tell him to get his- himself up her now. I don’t care what he’s doing.’ Petra orders the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.
‘Yes Professor.’ Wood responds, running off.
‘Ah, this is one of my two Charms Professors, Professor Blishwick.’ Albus tells Madame Maxime. ‘She will look after the horses until our gameskeeper arrives.’
‘Madame.’ Petra nods. ‘You have rugs and halters for them?’
‘Yes,’ The Headmistress looks around, speaking in French to one of her students.
‘Bien sur Madame, tout de suite.’ The boy replies, hurrying to the back of the carriage, and returning levitating a large trunk.
Johnson, Divekar, and Abbot are all accomplished horse riders outside of Hogwarts, and Haywood, and Luna are both naturally good with all creatures. With the help of the Beauxbatons student they soon have the magnificent creatures unhooked from the wagon. They swap their bridles for halters, and are covering their backs in huge pale blue blankets which feel to be made from cashmere, when the excited chattering starts once more. Petra spares a glance towards the lake, where something is bubbling beneath the surface. She would have liked to watch the ship surfacing, but she needs to keep an eye on the horses. They are fairly calm – probably tired – but Pegasi can be skittish. She strokes the forelock of the one before her with a quiet shushing, checking to see that the others are all under control, then takes another quick glance up, this time towards her husband.
Severus watches the lake where the normally still water is bubbling even more than when the giant squid is having a particularly lively day. Then a thin flagpole breaks the surface, followed by a mast, it’s dripping sails tied tight against the yards. He nods to the Headmaster, and signals to his prefects, glad that he doesn’t have to stand around with everyone gawping at Karkaroff’s magnificent vessel. Not that he’s jealous.
‘I take it that’s our cue.’ Filius says cheerily, waving a small spark from his wand to get the attention of his own prefects. They organise the small delegation of prefects and older students previously agreed upon to meet the Durmstrang contingent. At the last moment Severus makes a snap decision, calling to his son.
‘Potter!’ He crooks a finger, and Harry jogs over. ‘With me.’
Petra has her hands full, as a couple of the winged horses are getting a little jittery with the commotion over the ship, and he wants at least one of them to have eyes on their son at all times. Besides, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to be in control of Karkaroff’s first meeting with Harry.
Hagrid arrives just after the contingent from Beauxbatons, and most of the students have gone indoors, and the longboats from the Durmstrang ship are disappearing around the other side of the castle to the landing docks.
‘Sorry ‘bout that.’ Hargid smiles as he comes striding over from the training grounds. ‘Bit o trouble with the old screwts.’ He says. ‘But you’ve done a grand job ‘ere.’ He beams at some of his best students, and gives Petra a contrite look. ‘Magnificent aint they?’ He hums, greeting each horse with a gentle pat or stroke, whilst nickering to them, as he gathers all twelve ropes in his huge hands. ‘I’ve got it from ‘ere, you lot go enjoy the feast.’
The entrance courtyard is quiet and dark, but Severus and Filius light the torches, then have their students line up neatly, ready to greet the group from Durmstrang. Severus plants Harry firmly at his side, smoothing a stray strand of hair which has escaped from his ponytail.
‘Dad.’ Harry mutters, brushing his hand away.
Severus allows himself the smallest smirk, then turns his attention to the top of the narrow flight of stairs in the corner which leads up from the boat shed.
They can hear the distant shuffle of boots on stone now as the Durmstrang students climb the stairs to the courtyard.
‘Severus!’ Karkaroff exclaims as he steps into the light.
‘Headmaster.’ Severus keeps his tone formal but polite, biting back the indignation at Karkaroff’s brazen attitude towards him. He who quite happily tried to buy his freedom by giving up Snape’s little more than a decade ago. ‘This is Professor Flitwick, Head of Ravenclaw House.’ Severus continues. ‘And my son, Harry Potter.’
Karkaroff’s eyes light up.
‘Pleased to meet you sir.’ Harry says, offering his hand.
Severus swells with pride, and gives his son a light pat on the back. He had sprung this meeting on Harry, but the boy has taken it his stride and behaved perfectly.
‘And I you.’ Karkaroff intones, his smile difficult to read, but the eagerness in his eyes not so. Invariably he looks straight at Harry’s forehead, where the jagged scar fracturing his skin is clearly visible with his hair tied back. ‘One is never quite sure what to believe in that British newspaper of yours.’ Karkaroff continues, holding onto Harry’s hand a little longer than necessary. ‘But I see that the rumours are quite true. Congratulations Severus.’ He says, his eyes falling on Severus now, as he at last releases Harry’s hand.
‘Thank you. Headmaster Dumbledore awaits your presence in the hall.’ Severus states, having stood around chatting long enough. He turns towards the grand entrance door to the castle, indicating for the Durmstrang Headmaster to follow.
‘What of our trunks?’ Karkaroff asks.
‘The house-elves will see to those.’ Filius says, then goes on to explain the arrangements for their quarters for the duration of their stay, which are a set of rooms between Hufflepuff and Slytherin. Filius begins to tell Karkaroff how these particular rooms had originally been built to accommodate a coven of Norse wizards who had been granted asylum within the school for a period several hundred years ago, hence the large windows looking out over the lake towards the north east, so that they could look towards their homeland; but his story is soon interrupted by their arrival at the Great Hall.
~~~~
‘Viktor Krum.’ Harry whispers to Ron – and apparently several other nosy Gryffindors nearby – as he hurries to take his seat.
‘What? Where?!’ Ron perks up and looks about.
‘With Durmstrang.’ Harry points to the group who are stripping off their furred cloaks as the Slytherins make room for them at their table.
‘You met him?!’ Ron gasps with more than a hint of jealousy in his voice.
‘No not really. Karkaroff was leering all over my bloody scar.’ Harry mutters. ‘But he was right there next to him. Karkaroff’s favourite student I think.’
‘Well of course he is.’ Ron scoffs. ‘Bloody Quidditch superstar isn’t he?’
‘Ugh, that is hardly comparable to academic achievement.’ Hermione huffs.
‘Right.’ Ron rolls his eyes. ‘I heard you and Lavender swooning over his picture in witch weekly earlier.’
‘I was not!’ Hermione protests.
‘Hey Hermione, I think you’ve got a bit of drool on your chin there…’ Harry teases, throwing a napkin at her.
Hermione pumps her mouth, and for a second Harry thinks she might tease him back, but instead she just glares at him, obviously not wanting to accidentally let slip his secret. She’s a good friend, Harry thinks, he’ll have to make it up to her later. Thankfully any further teasing about Viktor Krum or anyone else is interrupted by Dumbledore’s speech.
The Headmaster introduces Bartemus Crouch and Ludo Bagman, then explains the accommodations for the visiting schools and Tri-Wizard officials, and finally about the process of selecting the champions. This wakes up a few people who had started to snooze over the more boring details.
‘Mr Filch, the casket if you would.’ Dumbledore instructs the caretaker.
With great reverence, and more than a little struggling – the item looks quite heavy and must be difficult to carry without magic – Filch hefts an intricately carved wooden chest onto a podium in front of the Headmaster.
It looks extremely old, with deep carvings of what appear to be magical creatures like dragons and griffins, and magical symbols such as pentagrams, moons and stars, etched into the thick dark wood. Great black iron hinges shaped into intricate swirls hold shut the doors on the front of the upright chest, and the metalwork on the sides and corners is decorated with huge jewels of red, green, and blue.
Dumbledore taps the top of the chest, and the front opens up to reveal a shining gold interior, at the centre of which hovers a comparatively rather plain wooden goblet.
A simple turned base supports a wide cup, also carved, this time with simple runes all around. The thing which makes it stand out however are the subtly swirling flames rising from the bowl. Pale blue, and wispy almost like mist the fire flickers with a soft but entrancing glow.
Petra feels the magic emanating from it; an old spell, cast before people worried about “light” and “dark” magic. Perhaps she had been a little hasty to dismiss the tournament; clearly there was a history stretching back a long way. If she has time she might see if there is any information in the library about the history of the games – or at least the goblet itself.
‘Those hoping to participate will have a week to enter their names into the goblet.’ Dumbledore is explaining. ‘And the names of those successful will be given up by the goblet on all hallows night.’
~~~~
The feast is complete, but unfortunately the social expectations on the staff are far from over, and Petra steels herself for part two of this charade.
Severus slips an arm around his partner’s waist as they follow everyone into the trophy room which has been set up with drinks, and even more food for some reason. He leans in and whispers a few words in her ear. Petra smirks to herself, looking forward to getting him alone in their quarters as soon as they can reasonably sneak out of this thing. Perhaps this evening won’t be so bad after all.
‘Petronella Blishwick!’
Dammit.
Petra had not bargained on Minerva being quite so willing to make a scene in the middle of the welcome celebration for Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. Which in hindsight had been a fatal lapse of judgement.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ The Head of Gryffindor House intones, stepping into Petra’s path of escape, and seemingly completely oblivious to the attention she is attracting.
‘Fine. Over here.’ Petra sighs, stepping to the side of the room. ‘I hope you realise that one of your duties is to keep this secret as long as possible?’ She scowls.
‘Well I do now that you’ve told me.’ Minerva huffs. Then she turns her head to the rest of the room and attempts a casual smile and wave, before turning back to her prey. ‘So this is really happening? You’re actually… getting… married?’ She mouths the last word as if afraid it might trigger some sort of adverse reaction, which Petra can’t blame her for.
‘Yes well. Practicalities and so on.’ Petra dismisses, staunchly ignoring Minerva’s dubious raised brow. ‘But let me make this very clear. There will be no hen parties, or showers or bachelorette nonsense. We are not going to go and try on wedding dresses or pick out bloody napkins. In fact there really is very little for you to do. It’s going to be a small, simple ceremony with only our closest friends and family. We probably won’t even have a reception, what with the Yule Ball and all that.’
‘Of course.’ Minerva states, though her lips are twitching with a smile and her eyes have taken on that glassy, soft quality which people seem to get when they are feeling all sentimental.
Petra slumps into herself and scowls back as Minerva opens and closes her mouth several times. In the end she simply lifts both her hands to squeeze Petra’s shoulders firmly, then gives her a resolute nod, before heading back to mingle with the delegates.
~~
Severus catches Petronella’s eye across the room. She doesn’t look particularly happy after her chat with Minerva, but neither does she seem to be too anguished. Which is good, because he would very much like the support of his soon to be wife right now. He doesn’t call her his fiance, even in his own head. He knows she doesn’t like the term, and it does seem somewhat of an inadequate description for their relationship, seeing as they already sometimes refer to each other husband and wife.
Petra gives a small nod and weaves her way towards him, lips pressed together. Severus almost smiles at her expression of grim determination.
‘Igor, let me introduce my partner, Petronella Blishwick.’ He states as Petra joins them and slips her hand into his.
‘Ah! So this is the witch who has tamed the irascible Potions Master.’ Karkaroff grins.
‘I’m quite sure there has been no taming involved.’ Petra responds. ‘At least not in that direction.’ She immediately regrets the words when she sees the glint in Karkaroff’s cool blue eyes. So he was one of those men. The type that like the idea of taming a powerful woman, and now she has just given him the idea that that is exactly what Severus has done to her.
‘Hardly.’ Severus drawls. ‘Petronella is one of the most powerful witches I have ever met.’ He states with obvious genuine pride. ‘She answers to no man.’
This only seems to stoke Karkaroff’s interest, but thankfully they are interrupted by Ludo Bagman who wishes to discuss some details with the three Headteachers. At last they are able to escape, slipping out of the room surreptitiously one after the other.
‘Was it wrong of me to enjoy Karkaroff’s leering over you?’ Severus murmurs as they make their way down the spiral staircase.
Petra raises a brow, but doesn’t feel particularly put out.
‘I like knowing that you are desired by others.’ Severus admits. ‘And that I am the only one…’ He shakes his head and frowns at himself.
‘I know love.’ Petra opens his office door, then pulls her partner against her. She is aware of Severus’ possessive tendencies, and how hard he works to keep them at bay. But she is pleased that he feels confident in their relationship now, that he trusts she would never betray him.
‘I know.’ She whispers against his lips.
~~~~~