Severus eyed the church dubiously. He didn't particularly care for church.

The buildings themselves were fine, it was what they represented that he didn't care for. Sin. Redemption. God.

In over thirty-six years together, she'd never asked him to go to church. For that matter, she had never really asked him to do much of anything.

She had gone to mass regularly with the kids when they were small. They'd all been baptized and done their first communions and confirmations.

It had been important to her for some reason that they have that foundation, a basis of not necessarily religion and God but spirituality. Believing something bigger than them was out there. He couldn't say she was wrong, so never balked at her thoughts on this topic.

She thought it might be a difference maker for Thomas.

Clearly, a difference had been made. Whether it was their doing. God's doing. Or a combination of a variety of things. Well, he'd likely never know.

He'd gone for the special things like first communion. Otherwise, while he knew he was always welcome to join them, she'd never pushed for him to. Today, though, she'd asked him to come with her.

He knew by now, this many decades into this, that if she asked him to do something it wasn't really a request. She wanted him to come to church with him.

So, he dressed with church in mind, with no questions asked, and went to church with her.

It was a Saturday, so that confused him even more. He knew some churches had services Saturday evenings, but it was afternoon. So, they couldn't be here for a mass.

They'd disillusioned themselves once they apparated near the church in question. She led him with their hands joined where they needed to go. Her grip on his was different today. Tight, yes, but there was something different to it he couldn't identify.

Tension? Maybe.

If he knew why they were here, he'd have a better idea where her head was.

They sat in a back pew. He was following her lead by continuing to hold her hand since he couldn't see her. Not being able to see her allowed him to look around some.

He saw an officiant and four men standing at the altar, all dressed similarly with boutonnieres on the lapels of their suit jackets. He'd been to enough of these … events over the years now to guess what this was.

"A wedding?" he whispered.

Really?

He'd been dragged away from school at the end of the school year for a wedding?

What in the world was she thinking?

She hadn't told him of any wedding invitations, which she usually did. He went where and when she told him. He knew there was nothing on his calendar for today. So he was truly lost.

They wouldn't be disillusioned if they had been invited either.

She squeezed his hand then, and he said nothing more. He could take a hint. She wanted him to shut up.

Fine.

He would shut up.

That did not mean he wouldn't be asking questions later. He did have things to do this time of the year! Students had OWLs and NEWTs that he needed to prepare for as much as they did.

She knew that!

He watched as the bride's attendants made their way up the aisle, followed by a young girl throwing rose petals on the runner as she walked. He smiled a bit at that. He couldn't help it. She was rather cute. And both particular and enthusiastic about doing her task. Everyone stood, including them, as the bride entered the sanctuary with her father. (He presumed anyway.)

He heard her soft gasps a couple of times as the ceremony went on. It was what he'd come to learn was the traditional full Catholic ceremony, so it lasted over an hour. He was really out of his element here. She wasn't prone to emotional fits. Yes, she cried, but there was usually a reason. He had no idea what the reason was, or why on earth they were here exactly. She hadn't told him anything beyond asking if he'd come along and to dress for church. So he had no idea what to do or say to fix it.

And he wanted to fix it for her.

Whatever this was.

He listened as the bride and groom exchanged their vows and kissed for the first time as husband and wife. Something he'd witnessed eight of his nine children do now. (And was very grateful Hermione nor Albus had ever told a soul he'd had to be prompted to kiss her when they married.)

He was flummoxed. It was a wedding. A muggle one at that. Surely he was missing something. He recognized no one, so they weren't former students, friends of the Harrisons, or anything.

"Ladies and gentlemen. I now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Donald Granger."

Oh.

And now he was no longer flummoxed.

The couple turned to face their guests.

He looked at the bride and groom - his mother and father in-law - as looking beside him at her would be futile since he couldn't see her.

1962. So seventeen years before she was born. He hadn't realized they'd been married that long, that her parents had been that … advanced in age, especially for muggles, when they had married and even more when they had her. They were not just eighteen now. Her dad was probably twenty-five or so and her mum was maybe two or three years younger. They weren't ancient, by any means, but it was still older than most chose to marry, especially in this time.

He'd never stopped to think about her parents through all of this, over thirty-six years now, and he thought that made him more than somewhat of an arse. Something he vowed when he'd given her his ring that he would not be.

She had parents who had loved her. Doted on her. Not to the point she was spoiled rotten, but clearly they did nice things for her. He'd heard through the rumour mill that she took ski trips and had been to France just while at Hogwarts. The trips they'd taken over the years. The things they'd done at their home. Those were because of her. Because of how she'd been raised.

Raised by parents who cared for her, had raised her so that she would become the witch that she was.

His witch.

A woman he was proud to have by his side.

Mother to his children.

Foster mother to four due to her generous heart (it had been her idea and he'd merely gone along with it), wanting four children to remain together in light of the tragedy of losing both parents one after the other.

A woman respected for her mind long before such things were commonplace. Granted, Albus helped spearhead that happening, by taking Severus' side in things whenever the subject of his wife being able to do or handle something came up.

All that pointed to her parents being good people from what he could ascertain. And the actions of their daughter.

Good people who, he would guess based on her coming seventeen years from now, had probably struggled to have the one child they were able to have.

He truly had no idea what story Albus told them or what he'd done to them. Albus hadn't told him that part of the plan.

At the time, she'd been Hermione Granger, his swot of a student, so he hadn't thought to push so that he might assure her they'd be all right. That they would be told something reasonable. That they wouldn't be left to worry that she never came home and they hadn't heard from her.

He assumed Albus obliviated them and sent them elsewhere because, as she pointed out, Harry would likely have made his way to their house at some point. He was tenacious like that, and would not have allowed his best friend to merely go away.

He would have cared.

If Albus passed along that there was a threat as he'd said he was going to, Harry would have been concerned. He wouldn't have just accepted she was gone. He loved his friend.

She'd never, in all of this time, complained about being whisked away and required to leave everything and everyone (except her familiar) behind without a proper goodbye.

She'd never said one word about her parents or missing them or wishing she could talk to her mum. And in his experience, observing and listening to Charlotte with Hermione and all of his daughters-in-law with their mothers; daughters liked to be able to talk to their mums.

He'd taught his mum.

He'd been able to see her every day for seven years. He had gotten to know her in a way he never had prior to their excursion into the past. She had become … human to him. He was no longer … angry with her.

Granted, she didn't know who he was, but there was a good chance some years from now that she would suspect who her professor was because he would look uncannily like her son. And his last name was very close to hers.

Would she contact him?

Who knew?

There was a chance that she would, though.

Thirty-five years ago he would have scoffed at the very idea of there being the possibility of a … relationship with his mother. Now, though, if she came to him today. He really couldn't say absolutely any longer that he'd tell her to go to hell. That was something he'd wanted to do many times over the years but hadn't because, in the end, she was his mum.

He'd taught Minerva, his wife's former head of house who was the last person to hug her or show her any affection in their original time. Yes, they were friendly now, but Minerva had no clue that she'd known Hermione before or how important Minerva had been to his wife thirty-six years ago.

Hagrid was probably Hermione's biggest fan, outside of Severus. She visited him. Took tea with him. Listened to his stories. Again, it wasn't the same. He didn't know why his wife befriended him or thought highly of him when others didn't give him the chance.

There was no one else in their pew. The church was on the large side and, while the wedding was well attended, the church wasn't packed to the brim. So, they sat in silence while the newly married couple, then the bridal party, and, finally, the guests walked down the aisle, leaving the sanctuary.

He sat quietly, regarding the empty sanctuary.

Bows on the end of each row of pews. A crisp, white runner the bride walked in on with her father and the bride and groom walked out together on.

Joined together.

Married.

Flowers on the altar.

Candles, of course.

The organist was still playing. He imagined with the turnout and the size of the wedding party, the music would continue for a little while yet.

This witch hadn't even gotten a wedding. She'd been married in a safehouse's office by a man she knew as her headmaster. To a man who had been her professor.

All but one of their nine children were married now. All had weddings, to which Hermione thrived in her role as mother of the groom seven times and bride once. He'd never stopped to think she might have been … sad she hadn't had one of her own.

He should have thought of these things without her having to say them. Because of course she wouldn't say anything. She wasn't built that way.

"I have violated the one vow you asked me to take thirty-six years ago, and I apologize profusely, Love."

"I'm sorry?"

"You asked me not to be an arse."

"Severus," she whispered, clearly confused.

"I have never once stopped to think…" he shrugged, squeezing her hand. "I had no one. Albus. That was it. I never stopped to realize you might miss anyone or anything. That you were deprived of something as basic to most women as a wedding. A mum. A confidante. That was incredibly foolish of me."

They'd talked about Potter and Weasley over the years, of course, as well as her other friends. He never got the sense that she missed them after a year or so here with him. They were her friends, but they were in her past. She was logical enough to know that she wasn't going to get them back.

He felt her shrug against his shoulder and arm.

She was trying to be brave and strong, to not let him know how much she had missed them. How painful it likely was seeing them today for the first time in thirty-six years. Knowing they wouldn't know who she was even if she showed herself.

"I didn't know where either of them was born, so couldn't have visited them when they were born. It wasn't something I ever thought to ask them. I couldn't show up at my grandparents' houses. This was the only thing I knew for sure."

"They were a lovely bride and groom."

"They were. They were engaged for two years before getting married. I never was told why. Mum lost a few babies before me," she said, answering the question he had but felt it was rude to ask.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "Glad that you are here, though."

"I felt so guilty."

"About?"

"We got pregnant whenever we tried in a time when medical advancements were not…"

"Do not! That is not your fault. You don't know what happened. Have you really felt guilt all of these years?"

"Not constantly or anything, but it's crossed my mind, yes."

"Hermione," he whispered, leaning over to where he knew her face to be and kissed her. He pressed his cheek against hers, finding her ear. "Again, I apologize for violating the one vow you asked of me."

"Stop it. You didn't violate anything. You weren't an arse. I could have said something at any time."

She was right. She could have. She certainly knew how to speak her mind.

"Why didn't you?"

He felt her shrug again. She moved her face, kissing his cheek. "What good would it have done? I made a decision, and I don't regret it. Not at all. I just wanted to see them, assure myself that this happened as it was supposed to."

"I completely understand. Did we give them a gift?"

She laughed softly. "Yes, I gave them some money. And I slipped in that ball you had Babe Ruth autograph."

He remembered. It was before Charlotte had been born, Thomas had been three maybe. She'd asked him to get a ball autographed. Boys and their fathers seemed to get better results than a woman making such a request. He remembered now she'd mentioned that her father was a fan of Babe Ruth. He couldn't have been alive when he played, but obviously had seen clips or footage enough to become a fan. Reasonable.

He was going to get the shock of a lifetime when he saw that ball. The only thing that bothered Severus, her parents would never know who gave it to them.

"Wise choice. Both things. Are you all right, Love?"

"Yes."

"I should have asked."

"When? We've been so careful for years. I can't even remember the last time you said my real name. Or I yours for that matter. We both know the wizarding world has eyes and ears everywhere."

It was why she called him STS sometimes. She rarely did it in front of anyone, but it was safe. They could say it meant anything and no one would suspect.

"I love you," he murmured, squeezing her hand.

"And I you," she said. "Very much."

He looked out over the sanctuary again. Empty now. There were still the sounds of people in the church, but a lot less than there had been moments ago.

"You didn't get a wedding."

"No," she said. "Charlotte did…"

"Ah," he said. Their daughter's wedding was a rather grand affair. He hadn't stopped to consider that any of that might have been for Hermione's benefit.

Stupid.

His thoughts strayed to their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Not as far away as it seemed. Could he put something together with his childrens' assistance to surprise her? He certainly had time to come up with something. The children were all aware they eloped so their mum had no wedding. Surely they would be behind such a thing. Yes, definitely something to think about and execute when that time came.

"Ready?" she asked.

"I am if you are. If you need to stay, I'm here as long as you need to be."

"No," she said.

"Your grandparents?"

"Yes, they were all here, too."

He hadn't thought to look for the parents of the bride and groom. He'd never met any of his grandparents, so it hadn't occurred to him that she would have known more than just her mum and dad here today.

Stupid.

"What would you like to do today?" he asked.

"We can go back. I know you have grading."

"Nonsense. I asked what you wanted to do today. You know me well enough to realize I don't say things I don't mean. Of course, as compensation, I will expect you to help me grade papers tomorrow."

"Mm, how can I resist such an offer?"

"Most sane people would. You wouldn't."

She laughed softly. "You're right. I wouldn't."

"Anywhere?" she asked after a moment's silence between them.

"Anywhere your heart desires, that I can take you anyway."

"Will you side along with me?"

"Sure," he said, frowning slightly, even if she couldn't see it.

"Great," she said.

He felt her stand from the pew then and he followed suit, letting her guide him out of the church and back to the apparation point. They removed the disillusionment then and she hugged him tightly.

"Thank you for just going with me."

He drew away a bit, cupping her cheeks. Wordlessly, he cast a charm that would make her eyes appear less red. They weren't badly bloodshot, but it was evident she had been crying. "If you are unaware by now, Madam Prins, I would just go anywhere with you, anytime."

"Thank you."

"Thank you."

"Ready then?" she asked. There was a sparkle in her eye that made him wonder what she had planned.

"As I'll ever be, I guess."

He knew where they were as soon as she guided him in that direction. He'd stood on the very spot when he was eighteen, sixteen years from now. Presently, he knew that his second son was hoping to pitch a song or two he'd written to their manager. (Severus may or may not have offered a bit of input on the songs, knowing the band's history as he did.)

The Cavern Club.

The Beatles.

If he'd had his choice he probably wouldn't have liked them, but his mum had. It had sort of amused him as he got older to think of this thirty-something year old woman singing along with their songs on the radio in her kitchen.

HIs father hated them, which may have made his mum love them more. Severus supposed he'd never know.

He paid the cover charge, noticing it looked as if they were returning tonight after an extended stay in Hamburg. Had she known? Is that why she'd chosen to come here? He doubted it, but nothing about her and her memory surprised him anymore.

"And again, you humble me."

"Why?" she asked.

"An emotional day for you and when I offer you anything you choose to do something that you know will mean something to me."

"I love you. If it's meaningful to you then it gives me pleasure, Erik. Now let's enjoy The Beatles, dance, have a few drinks, and go home and tell Philip…"

"Let's."

And enjoy they did.

Story ©Susan Falk/APCKRFAN/PhantomRoses.com