Quarrel and Estrangement

Disclaimer: It has never been more clear than it is now that I do not own Harry Potter, or Severus Snape or even the honking daffodils.

Chapter 17: Quarrel and Estrangement

Rowan spent the evening of the Valentine's Hogsmeade trip listening to Ariadne give a blow-by-blow account of her date with Edgar, including ice-cream and snogging at Madam Puddifoot's.

At first, she was a little annoyed with Ariadne. Of course, she'd let it be known she didn't consider Edgar her property, but it was still a bit off-putting to hear the details of him kissing her best friend. After listening for a while, though, she found herself feeling happy for Ariadne, but even happier for herself.

"He was really sweet. He kisses nicely, not like those guys who are all hands and want to lick your tonsils." Rowan remembered what it was like when Edgar kissed her, and she agreed with Ariadne's assessment.

"He kissed me for a long while, and it was, like, he could have sat there forever just kissing me, without making a whole bunch of moves. I felt so safe with him, you know?"

Rowan didn't know. She certainly hadn't felt safe being kissed by Snape. Still, even though it had frightened her, she didn't think she'd trade that wild thrill for any tamer variety. She wished she could tell Ariadne about it, compare notes, but she kept sensibly silent.

"I'm glad you had a good time, Ari. Do you think he's going to be the one?"

"Maybe. I think so. Maybe," Ariadne answered, blushing. "You're a pal for listening, Ro'," Ariadne said, giving her a hug. "I'll do the same for you any time."

Rowan plastered a grin on her face and hugged her friend back. "I'll remember that when the time comes."

After they'd both turned in to bed, and Rowan had pulled the curtains safely shut, she lay back on her pillow and examined her recollections more closely.

Wow, that had been a kiss. Even in the darkness and solitude, Rowan blushed thinking about it. In the safe space of her own bed, Rowan could take out the memory and examine it in detail. She remembered the faintly salty taste of his mouth, the rasp of wool on wool as his arms slid around the back of her robes and the feel of those strong arms about her. She grew warm again, reliving those sensations. She wondered what would have happened if she hadn't become frightened then. Would events have continued to their ultimate conclusion?

Severus (she had a hard time thinking of him as 'Snape' when she was imagining such intimacy) had kept his distance from her physically until then. She had been afraid that he wasn't interested in her that way, or possibly that he was so appalled at the idea of being forced to marry her that it overwhelmed any interest he might feel. Now she felt she'd been granted a glimpse of a part of him normally kept extremely well hidden. She sensed that underneath that cold, mocking exterior there was a passionate, sensual streak, which he struggled not just to keep hidden, but to subdue.

It would make him miserable to be bound to a woman whom he could not touch. Yet he had offered her just that.

Was what he had done to her, that day, the worst thing he had ever had to do? Viewed dispassionately, if that were even possible, it seemed unlikely. Rowan shied away from trying to think of what might qualify as worse. Just take it as given that there is. She wondered, then, why he had chosen to make such a sacrifice for her. Why was it so important to him that she shouldn't be afraid to accept his protection?

Was it because he felt that doing this for her also balanced some past sin? Perhaps there was no one else living to whom he could make amends? Or maybe, her heart skipped a beat, he felt something more for her than just guilt. Maybe he also hoped, despite all the odds against it, that there could be something real between them.

With that thought, Rowan slid down into the warm space under the covers. After allowing her imagination, and her hands, to run wild for a while longer, she fell into a sound and contented sleep.

February blew into March. There might have been some resemblance to early spring in more southerly latitudes by now, but at Hogwarts, winter still held sway. Still, spring rituals continued on schedule, end of term exams, then the Easter holiday. Quidditch resumed. Sunset gradually moved later; it crossed passed teatime and started closing in on suppertime. Everyone was working feverishly. Even the most lackadaisical of Rowan's classmates had figured out that N.E.W.T.s were fast approaching and had begun to crack books.

One afternoon, Rowan received a note to go to Professor Dumbledore's office. She gave the owl half of her cookie and pocketed the scrap of parchment, then set off in the direction of the headmaster's office. Professor Snape was waiting for her at the gargoyle stair. He did not give her any hint what the meeting was about, but ushered her into the Headmaster's office and shut the door behind them.

"Thank you for coming to see me, Miss Bourne," professor Dumbledore said as she entered uncertainly. "Please, do sit down." He offered her the dish of lemon drops, but she declined with finality.

"I wanted to speak to you and Professor Snape for a few minutes regarding your wedding plans. I understand from him that you two have not yet discussed them. It would be best if some sort of arrangements were made now. The usual ceremony between a wizard and a witch is a form of Handfasting. This is probably not what you were brought up on, Miss Bourne, but since the purpose of having this marriage is to appease wizarding society, it would be the best course. Is that agreeable to you?"

Rowan was startled. Here was yet one more thing it had never occurred to her to think about. So much for the idea of being married in the pretty little parish church she'd been christened in. Dumbledore was right, the ceremony was to satisfy the wizards, not the Muggles. Rowan hadn't been attending church services, except during the summers, for so many years that she found it didn't make much difference to her; married was married. "Yes, that would be okay, I guess."

"Excellent. I have the authority to perform the ceremony myself. We could do it right here, if that is also all right with you. This would allow you to marry as soon after Leaving as possible, so you will have at least a little time to yourselves before the news breaks."

Rowan glanced at Severus and saw him nod at her. He had already agreed to the plan for his part, so she saw no reason to object. "That is all right too."

"Very good, then. Shall we have it in the late morning, or perhaps the afternoon, after the Hogwarts Express has departed?"

"Afternoon, I think," Rowan answered. "I'd like a little time to change and dress up a bit." She looked at Severus shyly. "I know it's kind of silly, under the circumstances, but I'd like to wear a gown and have some flowers."

Dumbledore looked at Snape inquiringly. "I certainly have no objection, if that is what Miss Bourne wishes."

"That's almost it then," Dumbledore told them happily. "Besides performing the ceremony, I will arrange for the necessary paperwork to be filed with the Ministry. There is only one last arrangement to make: Severus has no family living, Miss Bourne, but I daresay you would like your mother to be there. We will arrange for her to be brought to Hogwarts shortly after the students have departed." Dumbledore was going to say more, but he stopped when he noted Rowan's ashen complexion.

"Is something wrong, Miss Bourne?" Dumbledore asked her.

"My mother. What on earth am I going to tell her?"

Snape looked sour and turned away.

"You mean you haven't told her anything about this yet?" Dumbledore asked Rowan.

"I ... no. At first I didn't want to upset her; there were so many horrible things going on and she was so worried about me. That was before I knew I'd have to get married, so there didn't seem any point to upsetting her further. Then it seemed like such a long way off, and I hadn't told her about ... what happened ... so I didn't know how to tell her about the results. Now, of course, it's been so long, ..." Rowan trailed off wretchedly.

"Well, I can understand why you would not want to put such a thing in an owl," Dumbledore told her not unkindly, "Nevertheless, she must be told. I will have someone bring her here. You can tell her in privacy, in my office. If you wish me to stay with you, naturally, I shall."

Rowan didn't look much less miserable at this idea.

Snape turned around again. "Miss Bourne, as much as I am not looking forward to the inevitable scene with my future mother-in-law, I would infinitely prefer to get it over with before our wedding day."

Rowan felt ready to sink. She hadn't thought about how hard that would be for Severus. Certainly, she had to get it over with now.

"All right, Professor. I'll send her an owl to let her know she'll be hearing from you."

"That would be for the best, Miss Bourne. I will have Minerva arrange for her transport..."

While Dumbledore was speaking, Snape suddenly winced and clenched his left hand into a fist. Dumbledore stopped and looked at him in concern. "Are you called, Severus?"

"Yes, Headmaster. Are we through for now? I should leave right away."

"What do you mean 'called,' Professor?" Rowan looked at Dumbledore, then at Snape, in alarm.

"He means," answered Snape, "that the Dark Lord has commanded my presence, along with his other Death Eaters, immediately."

"What? You can't mean you are still ... that you haven't ...!"

"What were you expecting, Miss Bourne? We all went to a great deal of trouble to keep my position with the Dark Lord viable. Yourself included, I might add."

Rowan felt sick. Of course he was right. She'd never followed it through to its logical conclusion. She was, for all practical purposes, going to be married to an active Death Eater. It made no difference that he was now on Dumbledore's side; he still had to answer his Master's call and do Merlin-knew-what at Voldemort's orders.

Dumbledore, seeing her growing upset, attempted to reconcile her to the necessity. "Professor Snape is the only one of the Death Eaters who has genuinely come back to us. Without the information he has provided, many additional lives would have been lost."

Grief and fear had too tight a grip on Rowan for her to accept any such thing rationally. She rounded on Snape in a fury. "How could you still be doing this? Why didn't you tell me? Or were you not going to say anything until we were married .... 'Not tonight, dear, I just raped a virgin, and I'm really not up to another round'?"

Snape turned pale and drew himself up stiffly. "I didn't think I had to tell you; I hardly thought you were such a fool. Miss Bourne, I spend my entire day babysitting sniveling schoolchildren. Please do not tell me I shall also be coming home to one." Without waiting for Rowan to reply, Snape departed from the office in a few long strides and shut the door behind him.

Rowan sat down hard into one of the armchairs; its squashiness did not allow for the sort of satisfying thud which would have eased her feelings. Instead, she sank hopelessly into its marshmallowey softness and wept.

Dumbledore sat in the other chair and waited patiently for her to run down. Eventually she drew a plain linen handkerchief from the pocket of her robe and blew her nose.

"I am sorry to learn that you had this misunderstanding, Miss Bourne. I feel partly to blame, for not making it perfectly certain that you understood the current situation." He gave a sigh. "Shall I take it you are reconsidering marrying Professor Snape, Miss Bourne? I still believe it would be for the best if you did marry him, although I completely understand that you might find his situation hard, maybe impossible, to bear."

Rowan gave a great sniff as she wiped her eyes. "I'm not sure. I'm going to have to think about it a little."

"Well, there is time yet. We will not, I think, need to bring your mother here right away."

"Thank you, sir. I'm sorry for being such a mess."

"Quite understandable, my dear. Are you feeling better now?"

"Yes, and I guess I'd better go." Rowan stood and shook out her robes. As she pocketed the handkerchief, she realized, with a pang, that it was the same one Snape had given her the last time she'd fallen to pieces at him.

The daffodils set up a welcoming chorus of honks in greeting as Rowan went past, on her way to her favorite sitting spot. She smiled wanly at them and promised to take them back to her room soon, now that the sunlight came in the window for more than the scant couple of hours it did in midwinter. Escaping past them, Rowan went on and plopped herself down on the bench by the artificial pond.

Now what? Rowan thought to herself, twisting Snape's hanky in her fingers. Am I going to go through with this? I was such an idiot not to realize what it all meant. Of course Snape is still a spy; why else did Dumbledore insist on a trial? Voldemort must trust him now; he did what he was ordered to do and almost went to Azkaban for it. After so much grief, they should reap the benefit of Snape's being again a trusted member of the fold. That doesn't mean I want to be around to see it happen, to have to wonder, every time he comes home, what kind of terrible things he has been forced to do.

I'm still stuck with no way to earn a living if I don't marry him. There's always the option he offered me. It wouldn't matter so much then, what he did, would it, if he never touched me?

Rowan shuddered; she couldn't tell whether the idea of Snape touching her, or not touching her, was worse. He had been so angry. Well, no wonder. What I'd said to him! Worse, it might be true. No. He might be forced to do such a thing, but Rowan was certain he would not fling it in her face like that. She'd been completely beyond the pale to suggest it. Nothing Rowan had seen about Snape led her to believe he was a forgiving man, and he was undoubtedly deeply insulted. He had probably been speaking only the plain truth when he said he didn't want to have to live with a schoolchild.

Would he still have her? She didn't think he'd take back his offer, no matter what she said to him, but she was suddenly very afraid that he no longer wished her to accept.

Why does that upset me? If I'm so disgusted by him, by what he does, why should I care what he thinks of me? But I do, her heart whispered, and now it's too late.