icon ficlets the fourth
This one is for Shug (a.k.a. sshg316), because she couldn't. :D
Title: Cheers for Severus
Rating: G
Characters: Severus, Hermione, assorted others
Genre: Humor
Summary: It’s not always easy to show appreciation.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to JKR
Severus, Severus, he’s our man, if he can’t intimidate it into submission, bully it into compliance, sneer at it till it crumbles, crush it under the heel of his disdain, or poison it, no one can!
Hermione crumpled up the parchment and tossed it onto the floor with the rest of her ill-fated attempts. They all, somehow, lacked that certain … positive quality that she was aiming for.
Severus had never been much for celebrations, and he brushed aside any efforts made by anyone to show him appreciation. He had even managed to miss his own medal presentation ceremony, much to the embarrassment of the then-new Minister of Magic. Kingsley had forgiven him, and their friends had learnt that teasing Severus about his hero status was the surest way to engage his talent for barbed invective. Which only meant that it happened with monotonous regularity, every time the Snapes got together with anyone with a surname of Weasley or Potter or Finnegan or … well, pretty much any time the Snapes got together with anyone who was even remotely close to Hermione’s age. In fact, an elaborate points system had evolved, based primarily on the duration of the attack, but with bonuses for style and indignation level, as measured by skin tone and pulse rate. The unquestioned first place prize went to the speech Ron had incited when he insinuated that Severus was using his reputation as a saviour of the wizarding world to pull babes whenever Hermione worked late. The resulting diatribe not only cast aspersions on Ron’s heritage, genetic make-up, fertility, intelligence and potency, it expanded to include his brain-damaging effects on all of his co-workers and the likely career options of his progeny.
Hermione would have asked her friends to stop, if she were not fully aware just how much her husband enjoyed his little rants. Besides, an enraged Severus was a vigorous Severus. The Snapes entertained quite often.
None of which was helping her write her tribute.
Hermione had decided that, for once in his life, Severus Snape was going to be shown proper appreciation. Not in a public ceremony - if she’d tried that, it might have meant the end of their marriage - but privately, at home, amongst their friends. His fiftieth birthday gave her the perfect excuse. Everyone they liked and no one they didn’t would be coming to the cottage. And so, without his knowledge, she gathered their friends, weeks in advance, and together they made their plans.
“If everyone gives a speech, it’s going to be dead boring. Seriously, Hermione, how many ways are there to say, ‘You’re a bit of a git, but basically decent, and we’d probably want to hang out with you even if you weren’t married to Hermione’?”
Hermione tried to glare at Ron, but she had to admit that he had a bit of a point. “Fine. What do you suggest?”
Ron grinned. George grinned. By the time she saw Ginny’s grin, Hermione knew her marriage was in trouble.
…
Greetings and felicitations had been given, gifts acknowledged (though not opened, that would have to wait until the proper detection spells could be cast), canapés consumed and beverages quaffed. Nervously, Hermione called for everyone’s attention and then waited as the smaller children were quickly herded into the master bedroom and plunked down in front of the telly. (Severus had abandoned his long-standing opposition to television the day he had watched little Jamie Potter transformed from a raving banshee to a placid angel by the simple press of a button or six.) Then the tributes began.
Luna offered a complex and lyrical ode that was almost entirely comprehensible, an effort that was much appreciated by the recipient.
Severus was somewhat less impressed by Seamus’ bawdy ballad. Hermione noted George looking far too innocent. (“How did you arrange that one?” “Why, Mrs. Snape. Are you implying that I might have rigged the selection somehow?” “No, George. I’m telling you that I am going to get you back for rigging the selection. Sometime when you least expect it.” George flinched.)
Minerva managed to present an almost tasteful, but utterly apt limerick.
Fleur’s terpsichorean efforts were politely applauded by one and all.
Harry’s poetic rendition of, “How do we put up with thee? Let me count the ways,” did little credit to the original, but it drew big laughs with, “We put up with thee with the depth and breadth and height that our patience can muster when you are out of sight,” and caused a few sober nods with, “We put up with thee with a love we seemed to lose with our lost friends.” Despite himself, Severus was deeply touched when Harry ended with, “Merlin willing, we shall put up with thee even better for many years to come.”
There was a great deal of laughter, overlaying a rich base of affection and respect for the once-despised Potions master. But all good things must come to an end, and time will not stop for anyone, not even when your friends have carefully arranged for you to humiliate yourself in front of them. Eventually, it was Hermione’s turn.
Gazing at her husband, as adoringly as she could manage under the circumstances, she began to speak. “I want to thank you all for a very memorable evening. But this evening isn’t about me, it’s about the man who has kept my life interesting and challenging for nearly a decade and whose home and name I am blessed to share.” She raised her glass and turned, smirking, to George. “Let’s hear it for Severus Snape. Hip, hip ….”
As the assembled company responded, “Hurray,” George acknowledged her little victory with a nod.
“Hip, Hip” “Hurray” “Hip, hip” “Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!”
…
Hermione and Severus saw the last of their guests off and then made their preparations for bedtime.
“Were you planning to explain the One-Eared Wonder’s crime, or am I to be left in the dark?” he asked, as he worked his way down the long row of buttons on his frock-coat.
Of course Severus had noticed. She sighed as she plaited her hair. “It was nothing really. Apparently, he rigged the assignments for the tributes.”
“I was under the impression that you had arranged the … entertainment.” His customary sneer was somewhat muffled as he lifted his shirt over his head.
“To a degree. We marked slips of parchment with the various forms, and everyone picked one out of a bowl. It was supposed to be random.”
“I see. And your selection was not ‘give three cheers’.”
“Not quite.” She let her robe fall to the floor, too tired to bother hanging it up, and shrugged into her nightie.
She didn’t have to wait long for the eyebrow to quirk to its familiar, inquisitive position.
“It said, ‘cheerleading’.”
Severus pulled himself up in mock indignation. “You would deny me pompoms on my birthday?”
It was a giggling Hermione who led her husband to bed and promised that he could have pompoms any time he liked, as long as she was not required to brandish them in public.
A/N: The poem that Harry mangles is, of course, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “How Do I Love Thee”
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Title: Cheers for Severus
Rating: G
Characters: Severus, Hermione, assorted others
Genre: Humor
Summary: It’s not always easy to show appreciation.
Disclaimer: It all belongs to JKR
Severus, Severus, he’s our man, if he can’t intimidate it into submission, bully it into compliance, sneer at it till it crumbles, crush it under the heel of his disdain, or poison it, no one can!
Hermione crumpled up the parchment and tossed it onto the floor with the rest of her ill-fated attempts. They all, somehow, lacked that certain … positive quality that she was aiming for.
Severus had never been much for celebrations, and he brushed aside any efforts made by anyone to show him appreciation. He had even managed to miss his own medal presentation ceremony, much to the embarrassment of the then-new Minister of Magic. Kingsley had forgiven him, and their friends had learnt that teasing Severus about his hero status was the surest way to engage his talent for barbed invective. Which only meant that it happened with monotonous regularity, every time the Snapes got together with anyone with a surname of Weasley or Potter or Finnegan or … well, pretty much any time the Snapes got together with anyone who was even remotely close to Hermione’s age. In fact, an elaborate points system had evolved, based primarily on the duration of the attack, but with bonuses for style and indignation level, as measured by skin tone and pulse rate. The unquestioned first place prize went to the speech Ron had incited when he insinuated that Severus was using his reputation as a saviour of the wizarding world to pull babes whenever Hermione worked late. The resulting diatribe not only cast aspersions on Ron’s heritage, genetic make-up, fertility, intelligence and potency, it expanded to include his brain-damaging effects on all of his co-workers and the likely career options of his progeny.
Hermione would have asked her friends to stop, if she were not fully aware just how much her husband enjoyed his little rants. Besides, an enraged Severus was a vigorous Severus. The Snapes entertained quite often.
None of which was helping her write her tribute.
Hermione had decided that, for once in his life, Severus Snape was going to be shown proper appreciation. Not in a public ceremony - if she’d tried that, it might have meant the end of their marriage - but privately, at home, amongst their friends. His fiftieth birthday gave her the perfect excuse. Everyone they liked and no one they didn’t would be coming to the cottage. And so, without his knowledge, she gathered their friends, weeks in advance, and together they made their plans.
“If everyone gives a speech, it’s going to be dead boring. Seriously, Hermione, how many ways are there to say, ‘You’re a bit of a git, but basically decent, and we’d probably want to hang out with you even if you weren’t married to Hermione’?”
Hermione tried to glare at Ron, but she had to admit that he had a bit of a point. “Fine. What do you suggest?”
Ron grinned. George grinned. By the time she saw Ginny’s grin, Hermione knew her marriage was in trouble.
…
Greetings and felicitations had been given, gifts acknowledged (though not opened, that would have to wait until the proper detection spells could be cast), canapés consumed and beverages quaffed. Nervously, Hermione called for everyone’s attention and then waited as the smaller children were quickly herded into the master bedroom and plunked down in front of the telly. (Severus had abandoned his long-standing opposition to television the day he had watched little Jamie Potter transformed from a raving banshee to a placid angel by the simple press of a button or six.) Then the tributes began.
Luna offered a complex and lyrical ode that was almost entirely comprehensible, an effort that was much appreciated by the recipient.
Severus was somewhat less impressed by Seamus’ bawdy ballad. Hermione noted George looking far too innocent. (“How did you arrange that one?” “Why, Mrs. Snape. Are you implying that I might have rigged the selection somehow?” “No, George. I’m telling you that I am going to get you back for rigging the selection. Sometime when you least expect it.” George flinched.)
Minerva managed to present an almost tasteful, but utterly apt limerick.
Fleur’s terpsichorean efforts were politely applauded by one and all.
Harry’s poetic rendition of, “How do we put up with thee? Let me count the ways,” did little credit to the original, but it drew big laughs with, “We put up with thee with the depth and breadth and height that our patience can muster when you are out of sight,” and caused a few sober nods with, “We put up with thee with a love we seemed to lose with our lost friends.” Despite himself, Severus was deeply touched when Harry ended with, “Merlin willing, we shall put up with thee even better for many years to come.”
There was a great deal of laughter, overlaying a rich base of affection and respect for the once-despised Potions master. But all good things must come to an end, and time will not stop for anyone, not even when your friends have carefully arranged for you to humiliate yourself in front of them. Eventually, it was Hermione’s turn.
Gazing at her husband, as adoringly as she could manage under the circumstances, she began to speak. “I want to thank you all for a very memorable evening. But this evening isn’t about me, it’s about the man who has kept my life interesting and challenging for nearly a decade and whose home and name I am blessed to share.” She raised her glass and turned, smirking, to George. “Let’s hear it for Severus Snape. Hip, hip ….”
As the assembled company responded, “Hurray,” George acknowledged her little victory with a nod.
“Hip, Hip” “Hurray” “Hip, hip” “Hurray! Hurray! Hurray!”
…
Hermione and Severus saw the last of their guests off and then made their preparations for bedtime.
“Were you planning to explain the One-Eared Wonder’s crime, or am I to be left in the dark?” he asked, as he worked his way down the long row of buttons on his frock-coat.
Of course Severus had noticed. She sighed as she plaited her hair. “It was nothing really. Apparently, he rigged the assignments for the tributes.”
“I was under the impression that you had arranged the … entertainment.” His customary sneer was somewhat muffled as he lifted his shirt over his head.
“To a degree. We marked slips of parchment with the various forms, and everyone picked one out of a bowl. It was supposed to be random.”
“I see. And your selection was not ‘give three cheers’.”
“Not quite.” She let her robe fall to the floor, too tired to bother hanging it up, and shrugged into her nightie.
She didn’t have to wait long for the eyebrow to quirk to its familiar, inquisitive position.
“It said, ‘cheerleading’.”
Severus pulled himself up in mock indignation. “You would deny me pompoms on my birthday?”
It was a giggling Hermione who led her husband to bed and promised that he could have pompoms any time he liked, as long as she was not required to brandish them in public.
A/N: The poem that Harry mangles is, of course, Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s “How Do I Love Thee”
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, --- I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! --- and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.