Chapter 25 – Feelings and Firewhiskey

Chapter 25 – Feelings and Firewhiskey

A storm was raging down in Cornwall, making the waves crash with violence against the harbour walls in the village. Fishing boats tethered to the mooring bobbed perilously together on the iron-grey sea as if huddling up for shelter, the wind whipping the rigging so that it clanked eerily on the masts. The rain was almost horizontal with the sheer force of the ferocious gale. It was certainly not the kind of night to be outside, and as Severus Snape listened to the howling of the wind through the chimney top, he felt grateful he was sitting in his favourite armchair, cosy and warm, next to the fire in his little cottage.

He'd finally stopped moping over Ginny and had moved on instead to what he was best at: brooding by night. He knew sitting around in a darkened room drinking his way through copious amounts of Ogden's was not something he could sustain, even though it was very tempting. After a week of such morose indulgence, he'd forced himself back into his old routine. Routine gave him a purpose and there was some sort of comfort to be taken from that, at least. He kept his mind busy and would only allow his thoughts to lament on Ginny in the dead of night. Dampening his ardour with a few pumps of his wrist at the thought of her left him feeling even more frustrated and empty, however.

He missed her. He missed her scent, he missed her laugh. He missed her kisses and the way she made love. He missed her wry comments. He missed all of her. And he was still adjusting to the idea of never seeing her again. So when frantic and incessant knocking at the front door pulled him out of his thoughts, the last person he expected to see on his doorstep as he threw open the door in annoyance was Ginny herself.

She looked so small and helpless, the storm blowing her cloak from her face and lashing strands of red hair about her. Her chestnut eyes were filled with sorrow. It took all of Snape's strength not to sweep her in his arms. Instead, he silently stood aside and let her pass, his heart racing. He didn't know what had brought her back to his cottage, but whatever it was, judging by her doleful expression, it couldn't be good.

He followed Ginny into the lounge, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. It was curious how seeing Ginny again had been his greatest wish over the last few weeks and yet, now she was here, he didn't have a clue what to say to her. He offered her a drink, and she gratefully accepted a tumbler of Firewhiskey, perching on one side of the battered leather sofa. He sat opposite her in his armchair, feeling decidedly awkward, and waited for her to speak.

‛I've made such a mess,' she said eventually, clutching the tumbler so tightly her knuckles whitened. ‛I'm so sorry.'

Snape's brow furrowed as he watched her carefully. ‛Has something happened?' he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

Ginny closed her eyes and sighed. ‛Harry has filed for divorce.'

There were a few beats of silence as Snape processed this. ‛I see,' he said. ‛On what grounds?'

Ginny's gaze met Snape's, and she looked more wretched than ever. ‛Repeated adultery,' she replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Snape felt like his stomach had been plunged in icy water. ‛What? Did you tell him what had happened?' he asked, more sharply than he'd intended.

Ginny shook her head in defeat. ‛I don't know how, but he worked it out himself. He even worked out it was you.'

Snape's mind reeled as he struggled to take this in. He'd always maintained that Potter had never showed signs of exceptional logic or perceptiveness in his entire academic career, and he'd assumed Potter had been given the title of Head Auror purely on the grounds of defeating Voldemort. But Snape had to admit, however Potter had found out, he must have been very shrewd. But this was irrelevant. The fact was, Potter knew, and he wanted to divorce Ginny. And clearly, Ginny was upset about this.

‛Do you know how a divorce case works at the Wizengamot?' Ginny asked tentatively, clutching her tumbler of Firewhiskey even tighter.

Snape looked back at her blankly, shaking his head. Wizard law was not his area of expertise, and divorce was not something he'd ever come into contact with, even though when growing up he'd wished many times his own parents would end their marriage. He assumed divorce in the wizarding world would simply be a case of both parties signing some papers in the presence of the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, after which they would be free of their marital duties. Something in the way Ginny was fearfully looking at him told him there may be slightly more to it than that.

Ginny took a deep breath before continuing. ‛Wizard law states that, in cases of adultery, both parties that committed the act need to confess in front of the Wizengamot before divorce is granted.'

Ginny watched Snape's expression turn from neutral to confusion to comprehension and then to anger, all in a matter of moments.

‛And you want me to confess, in order to free you from the shackles of your marriage to the Four-Eyed Git Who Lived, do you?' Snape sneered. Now he saw with clarity just what this visit was really about. Of course, he was to blame for hoodwinking Ginny in the first place, but little did he know that it would lead to his exposure to the wizarding world, the world he'd tried so hard to leave behind. His Jobberknolls had certainly come home to roost, this time. Thousands of them, wailing a deafening death-cry.

Snape screwed up his eyes as he imagined the terrifying scenarios unfolding from the revelation that he was alive: the Daily Prophet having a field day, his face splashed all over the headlines. The rumour mill about his Death Eater activities gradually gaining pace alongside his reputation as an adulterer. An exposé by Rita Skeeter, leaving no grisly stone unturned. A campaign of justice for Dumbledore. The Wizengamot, sentencing him to rot in Azkaban for war crimes. And all of this could and probably would follow as a result of an admission of adultery.

It seemed ridiculous that the law demanded proof in the form of confession of both parties for divorce to happen. If this law was used as a way of preventing the break-up of marriages, it certainly worked, as divorce was fairly uncommon amongst wizarding society. Admission of adultery publicly put shame on both parties and would be of great personal embarrassment. And yet, simultaneously, it was far less shameful than having one's private memories of illicit intimate encounters displayed in front of a court as evidence, Snape supposed.

‛I begged him not to name you, Severus,' Ginny replied desperately. ‛You saved our son. I told him... I told him you shouldn't have your life ruined because he was angry with me.' Her eyes were shining with emotion, begging him to believe her. ‛Eventually, he agreed with me. But he said he'd name Alfric O. Nobel as the other party instead. I tried to protect you,' she finished weakly.

Tried to protect him? Snape wasn't expecting that. He saw Ginny flush, as if she'd confessed a secret she hadn't wanted to share. As he watched her playing with her hands uncomfortably in her lap, he pondered having to go to court as Alfric. In many respects, it would be easier; after all, it was Alfric who was known for his brilliant potioneering work and who had saved Ginny's son, not Snape. And Alfric was not tarred with the stigma of being a Death Eater or a murderer. It seemed unlikely that the indiscretion would directly affect his professional work. At worst, it would be embarrassing. He was not sure if the same could be said for Ginny, however.

Ginny had a great deal to lose by going through the divorce. There was the risk of losing contact with her children, as well as being lowered in the opinions of her family and friends. But, even more crucially, Ginny had a job that was very much in the public eye. Could her divorce jeopardise that? Even though she worked for the Prophet, they hadn't been shy about publishing stories when her son became ill. Would her own employer turn on her and kick her when she was down?

Suddenly, Snape realised how magnanimous it was of Ginny to think of protecting him when she also had so much at stake by going through this divorce, and felt a little ashamed that he'd assumed her visit was purely self-serving.

‛Do you want to get divorced?' Snape asked softly, looking at the forlorn woman in front of him.

Ginny replied without hesitation. ‛Yes, I do. I can't stay married to a man I don't love anymore.' Especially not when I think I'm in love with you, she finished in her head.

‛Even though you risk losing your friends, your job and your family?' he asked carefully, genuinely surprised that Ginny could think about giving up so much just on the basis of their affair.

Ginny bit her lip and stared into the fire. It was several moments before she replied.

‛I'm not happy, Severus,' she started at last, her voice wavering slightly. ‛I haven't been happy for a long time. I don't feel like I'm me anymore. I feel like I've been squeezed into a box that doesn't quite fit. I never actually wanted to be a mother. It just happened. And then I had to give up Quidditch, which was the only thing I was ever really good at and loved doing. Harry got his promotion and we saw less and less of each other. We both changed; our priorities changed. And I lost sight of who I was. Who I am. But being with Alfric – being with you – made me feel alive again. It made me feel like the old me. And then I saw clearly that I didn't want to have this life, just existing with someone who I no longer loved. I wanted to be the old Ginny. The Ginny who loved life, the Ginny who followed her dreams. The Ginny who was happy.'

The Ginny who is in love with you.

Ginny couldn't stop the hot tears from falling. This was the truth, which she'd never spoken aloud before. It was selfish, it was reckless, but it was the truth. Ginny hated crying, and the old Ginny rarely did. But the new Ginny was broken and emotionally exhausted, and couldn't have stopped herself even if she tried. She covered her eyes. The thought of Snape looking at her with disdain made her anguish even worse.

But Snape wasn't looking at her with disdain. There was empathy shining in his black eyes. He knew what it was like to be in a situation which spiralled out of control and then ruined your life. But along with empathy, there was also a confused knot in his stomach. Ginny had said he'd made her feel alive. Did she really mean it? And could she still feel that way?

With the stealth of a cat, Snape left his armchair to sit gracefully next to Ginny on the sofa. Although he wanted to hold her, to comfort her, he felt afraid. He was never very good when it came to expressing emotion. Instead, he carefully laid a hand on her shoulder, terrified she would shake him off. But she didn't.

‛Ginny.'

Hearing him say her name in his rich, low baritone coupled with the touch of his hand at her shoulder made her body tremble, and the last of her resolve crumbled. She turned and buried her face in Snape's chest, weeping openly and clutching to him as if she were drowning.

Snape wrapped his arms around her, one hand entwined in her still-damp red hair as he held her close. He wished he could absorb all of her pain inside himself, and make her happy again. Seeing her so distraught was gut-wrenching.

‛If you really want a divorce, I'll come to the court with you,' he said quietly, stroking her hair idly with a thumb and watching the flames flicker in the fireplace. As the flames leapt and danced, they seemed to imitate the erratic beat of his heart which was caused just by being close to Ginny. She had awoken a burning inside him: smouldering feelings of love and desire that he never thought he'd experience again. Holding her like this spread warmth through him, stronger than any fire. In that moment, he realised he'd walk across hot coals if she asked him to.

‛I'd do anything for you,' he murmured into her fiery red hair, surprising himself by speaking his thoughts aloud. He froze momentarily, every part of him terrified that Ginny would push him away in disgust for his foolish admission.

But Ginny merely held him tighter, her sobs subsiding with every passing second in his embrace.