Severus Snape surveyed the chaos before him with a curious mix of disdain, amusement, and utter satisfaction. The large table he'd set outside so their party might dine beneath the last rays of autumn sunset was now illuminated and warmed only by the stars, and the multicolored orbs of floating lights he'd conjured. His exquisitely prepared meal had been enthusiastically consumed. The remains of the moist and delicious chocolate cake he'd crafted were strewn everywhere. Children, who had been running about the yard, screaming like banshees, were now fast asleep or slumping sleepily against adults. A half-dozen bottles of wine had been emptied, and coffee and sherry were now being sipped lazily by a party of utterly sated adults in varying levels of sobriety. And everyone, including himself, he reluctantly admitted, was having a lovely time.

The perspective he'd gained in the white room had enabled him to build quite a different life for himself since he'd emerged from its isolation. Still, it had taken him some time to find true enjoyment in this type of chaos. He had perceived that this disorder was the stuff of life. He had clearly understood that his task was to learn to enjoy it… but it had not been easy. The loud machinations of a large family had been simply too foreign to his experience, the perpetual drama inherent with so much camaraderie too draining to his introverted nature for enjoyment to grow quickly. But grow it did, so that, now, he could claim the experience as, mostly, pleasurable.

In retrospect, it probably should have been even more awkward than it had been. After all, when he'd taught most of these people, he had been, he knew now, an embittered, self-obsessed git. Still, being considered a hero by the group patriarch, and being the firmly acknowledged beloved of the group's matriarch had smoothed many of the would-be rough social edges. Even the Weasel, who'd initially attempted to detest him on principal, had been bullied by his wife over time into behaving towards him with a tolerance that now bordered on bemused affection.

Still, these dinners had been initially…challenging for him, like being dropped into a social washer with the cycle on spin. He had persisted only for Hermione. Knowing that she wanted him there, wanted him to be a part of this family of hers had given him the fortitude to endure the first few chaotic months. The turning point had come in the third month, when his beloved had encouraged him to view the entire gathering as an intellectual puzzle, challenging him to look beneath the surface interactions to the currents that swirled beneath the waters. With his brain thus engaged, he'd finally grown easy. Or at least, as easy as he was likely to get. Sometimes, not always, mind you, but sometimes, he even managed to look forward to the gathering.

Still, when he'd first realized that this special day was to coincide with their turn to host family night, he'd been quite upset; last year's more intimate celebration of Hermione's birthday had been so memorable. To share her, on the anniversary of their beginning? It rankled.

But now, as he watched her, luminous with the glow of great fun and affection, he reluctantly admitted that the idea to have a larger party had been a good one. In particular, the Cards Against Humanity game that George had inflicted upon them had engendered some of the longest laughing fits he'd ever heard from his beloved. That he'd handily won the game,(having over the months built the most complete intellectual catalogue of what would tickle every person at the table's fancy) had only increased his satisfaction with the evening.

But the game was now over, and the stories were beginning to wind down. Soon, he knew, the evening would come to a close. And yet, everyone was reluctant to leave, as if none of them wanted Hermione's Birthday Celebration to end. And it wouldn't. Not just yet.

"And then," the Weasel said, his making a huge gesture with his freckled arms, "the gates burst open, and the whole lot of them just poured through towards him like a herd of teenaged fan-bulls."

He snorted. At least the Weasel, with his atrocious table manners, knew how to tell an occasional amusing story.

"Was everyone okay?" Hermione asked, swaying from side to side, her arms cradling the youngest addition to the red-headed horde.

Potter waved a hand. "They were all fine. No one was trampled. Though you wouldn't know it based on tears streaming down their faces."

Weasley snorted, "The whole lot of them were bloody hysterical. Scared the poor bloke to death, them screaming at him like he was the new Chosen One."

Potter yelped with outrage. "Chosen One?" He put a dramatic hand to his chest. "There can be only One."

There was a pause, then laughter as the customary barrage of foodstuffs went flying his way. Severus was so content and so relaxed that, without thinking, he wandlessly sent the remains of his dinner roll winging through the air, hitting the Obnoxious One on the temple with absolute precision.

There was an instant and startled pause at the table. Since the chairs on either side of Severus were currently unoccupied, with Hermione holding Megan's baby, and Longbottom retrieving the Sherry bottle from the other end of the table, the trajectory of the roll was unmistakable. Then laughter rose like a tide. His mildly drunken beloved looked at him with delight.

"You threw food at Harry?" she said, hastily handing the sleeping infant in her arms to Lovegood.

He nodded, pleased with himself. "He deserved it."

Great cheers of "Here! Here!" rose from the assembly.

Hermione, who had come to his side during the cheering, wedged herself on to his lap, "I am so..." she kissed him briefly but firmly on the lips, "proud" another kiss, "of" and another "you!" She then proceeded to kiss him in a rather more thorough way. He was only dimly aware of the cheers and catcalls that rose as she did so.

When they broke for air, his comment was for her ears alone. "Had I known that giving in to my urge to hurl objects at your best friend would earn me such enthusiasm, I would have done so many years ago."

Her chuckle was warm and throaty. "It's all about timing, dear one. And your timing is superb. Seeing you here, and happy, is the best birthday present you could give me."

"If you like that," he said, kissing her again, audience bedamned. "You will love this."

He clinked his spoon against his glass, easily gaining the attention of those around them. A sense of expectation leapt into the air. He was a man of few words, and so, when he spoke, as a rule, people listened.

"Now then." With some regret, he set Hermione back upon her feet. If he was going to do this, he would do so in the correct manner. Therefore, he stood, carefully placed his folded napkin upon the table, and hand on the small of Hermione's back, led them back a few paces so that both would be visible to all present. He turned to the crowd of them, his usual sardonic smirk in place.

"We have gathered here, somewhat to my dismay as you well know," knowing chuckles from the crowd, "…to celebrate the grand anniversary of this spectacular person's birth." He waited for the cheers, and Hermione's blush, to die down before continuing. "In the year I have attended the peculiar monthly circus of family night, it has become clear to me that Hermione is a beloved friend to each and every person present here tonight. She is the heart of this circle, the person to which everyone turns when they need comfort or succor." He watched them all nod. "She is also, as all of us know, at her core, a healer. There is not a one among us here tonight, not even baby Winnifred, who has not been the beneficiary of that skill."

Ron's wife Megan, who had recently been rescued from her baby's all night reflux, cheered from the crowd "And grateful I am for that!" More cheers.

He breathed deeply. He had expected interruptions. Interruptions were the lifeblood of this group's communication. Still, when the cheers did not soon settle, and he was forced to raise his hand for silence, he could not quite keep the hint of annoyance from his voice as he continued.

"But though she is dear to all of you, and though she has healed all of you, and though you have known her far longer than I, to no one is Hermione more dear than to me." The group quieted. Suddenly, he felt, he had their complete attention. "No one has healed more under her care than I." He turned away from the crowd and towards his woman. "You have asked that there be no debt between us, but that cannot undo what you have done. It was you who came into my blank life, and brought me color. It was you who gave me this new life," he gestured to all in attendance "…in all of its chaotic majesty. It was you who gave me this circle of human beings that I must now acknowledge as my friends."

It was a recent development, his use of this term, and it was the first time that most of them had heard him refer to them as such. He noted, with some satisfaction, that the murmurs of the group seemed to carry great feeling. Under his tutelage, Hermione was learning the pleasure of subtlety, under hers, he was learning the pleasure of bald truth. It did feel…liberating, didn't it? He continued.

"Having not had a surfeit of friends in my life, I am not, as you may know, entirely comfortable with this," he pointed an accusing finger at Potter, who seemed to be rising from his chair, "So, do not even think of hugging me Potter. Friend or no friend I will hex you into the ground." There was laughter and a cheer or two, as Potter made a big show of raising his hands in surrender and settling back into his chair.

Severus took a deep breath, and continued. "Thank you. I will let you know if hugging is ever allowed. But for now, it most certainly is not. Nor with you Longbottom. And, Weasel, it will be a cold day in hell…"

"Feeling is mutual, pal," Weasley said, without rancor.

Severus, who was feeling almost giddy by this point, once again raised a hand to silence the giggles.

"Yes, I know it is all very amusing, Ginevra, but I am reaching the end of these words, so I beg your attention for just a moment or two more. I am a very private person, as you all know. Thus, it is in honor of the friendship you have offered me, and the love that you all bear for Hermione that I have chosen to do this here, now, in front of all of you."

He took Hermione's left hand into his, and slowly, gracefully, his eyes locked on hers, sank to one knee. A collective gasp came from the company behind him, but the look in his beloved's eye was calm and radiantly happy. He grinned. She'd obviously known what was coming; the woman knew him inside and out.

And, miraculously, she still loved him.

With the utter confidence of a man who knows the answer to his question, he intoned the words he'd been crafting ever since he'd selected her ring.

"Hermione Jean Granger," He said, his silky voice clear in the night air, "You are my savior, my companion, my partner in all things. You are the heart of this precious life of mine. I ask you now, in front of our circle of friends, to bind your life to mine."

He paused, wanting to remember the moment. Slowly, carefully, he spoke the words that would make it all real.

"Hermione, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wedded wife?"

As it had in the white room, time slowed down and stilled. He was aware of the sudden crispness of the breeze. Autumn was beginning to breathe change into the air, but the change was kind yet, a mere kiss on his skin.

He noted the entirety of the community at the table, their bodies unanimously tense, their postures leaning forward in anticipation of his beloved's answer.

He heard a dog barking madly, somewhere in the distance. Crickets were suddenly singing, as they'd been singing, unnoticed, all evening. One of the babies was fussing.

He felt the unyielding firmness of the ground beneath his knee, the open expanse of the sky above him, the warm competence of the hand resting in his.

He watched the air stir the nimbus around Hermione's face, her every freckle and contour familiar and precious to him. And his breath, like the moment in time, stilled in his chest. He loved this woman. And she loved him.

In this one moment, he knew, everything that was before halted, and everything that was yet to be thundered toward him. He could feel it coming. For he was finally coming awake. And to be fully awake was a magnificent thing.

He watched her clear amber eyes fill with tears.

And then her beloved voice was shouting, and she was catapulting her sweet body into his, and time resumed its forward progress in a joyful avalanche of sound and feeling.

And though he'd known her answer before she'd said it, her "Yes!" and the resounding cheers that followed, were like honey flowing into suddenly boundless expanse of his future.

-The End-

And so, I dedicate this story, not only to the cherubic, curly haired, poetic little boy Andrew once was, and to the brilliant, but lost, man he became, but to all souls who find their lives veering into dark places. To all of you who are lost, may you find your way back to yourself and to those who love you. I know the way home is not easy, and it may take you a long, long time. But keep trying. Your life matters.

Thank you, each of you, for your encouragement and partnership. Writing a story becomes way more meaningful when folks are cheering you along in the process. And a special thanks to those of you who reached out to me during my hiatus; your words of support were more meaningful, and motivating than you could possibly know.

Love,

Libby/Theolyn

In Loving Memory of the brilliant and beautiful Andrew Joseph Gonzalez.