perpetual_motion | For distaff

distaff_exile asked for Neville/Snape with wedding shennanigans.

"No," Severus says, mouth a flat line.

"I thought it would--"

"I am not having Honking Daffodyls honk out a tune at our wedding. It's obnoxious enough that I've *agreed* to a wedding."

Neville rolls his eyes and looks at his list of ideas. "Fine. No Honking Daffodyls. No cake with moving groom and groom. No tea service. No specialized vows. What *do* you want from this?"

"To be married."

"That's it?"

"That's the point, isn't it?"

Neville looks up, ready to explain to Severus what an obnoxious twat he is. But Severus is looking at him sincerely, tiredness in the lines around his eyes, and a determination to try in the way his hands are splayed on the tabletop. "You want to be married."

"Yes."

"To me."

"No; to the dunce of a Potions student in *this* year's class." Severus doesn't roll his eyes, but he doesn't have to. His tone--exasperated and a touch fond--carries the statement perfectly. "But, if you've five minutes and an ounce of sense, perhaps you."

Neville rolls up his list and tosses it into the fireplace. "Fine. Let's go to the Ministry and get married."

Severus's eyebrows go up. "Excuse me?"

"I want to marry you. You want to marry me. Forget the wedding. Let's get married."

"I thought we were going through all of this so that others could be in attendance."

"They can throw us a party later," Neville says and takes the floo powder from the mantle. "Unless you'd rather have to get measured for new dress robes."

Severus stands and shakes out his robes. "Rings?" He asks.

"We'll stop at Jenkins' Jewelry Jabberwocky." Neville holds out to floo powder to Severus. "Shall we?"

"Yes," Severus agrees and takes a pinch of floo powder.

I've had a few, folks [we had friends over for dinner. One is a bartender.]. Name me something, and I'll throw together something unbetaed and fun [by the by, I'm on a Nero Wolfe kick right now. Cash in on that.].