Softly Simmering

Disclaimer: Checks sock drawer, sofa cushions, lint trap: Nope, no deed to the Potterverse. Guess I don't own it.

Author's Notes: Extra special thanks to Verity Brown, beta reader extraordinaire.

Chapter 18: Softly Simmering

Snape walked down the path with a stiff and rapid stride. White knuckles gripped his wand, and the more self-aware of the local vegetation rustled quietly as it shrank back to avoid annoying him with root or vine.

How dare she insinuate that I would ever do such a thing to her! Snape thought to himself as he walked through the night towards the boundary of the grounds. When have I treated her with less than perfect respect?

Well, at least once, a sarcastic voice from the back of his head cut into his mental diatribe.

I was forced as much as she was, and well she knows it! he answered the voice.

And you might be again, and she knows that just as well, the voice pointed out, undaunted by his fury.

But I would never throw it up at her like that. My wife – the tone of his thoughts making it plain he meant the role and not the person – would always command my respect.

Wouldn't you? You've never said anything uncalled for, or even cruel?

That is different. Students need toughening up. The world is cruel.

She's going to be your wife a lot longer than she'll be your student. Wouldn't it be nice if that were on speaking terms? Besides, she's pretty tough already; look how much she's had to take, and she's still got her spirit.

What she has is a temper, which she'd better learn to keep under control. I am forced to listen to quite enough of that at school; I won't have it in my home.

So she should defer to your every whim? You know you don't like submissive women.

I insist on being treated with respect. That is hardly unreasonable.

How much do you insist? If the price of keeping her happy enough to shag you were a little groveling?

I'm not that desperate.

Really?

Really. I'm only risking my life and whatever might have passed for my good name every day, possibly for years to come, in order to defeat that monster. She doesn't have to like it – Merlin's toenails, how could she possibly like it? – but it pays a debt for which no other coin will serve. If she cannot live with that, she will not be able to live with me. I hardly thought she would want to in the first place.

That kiss suggested she might. Oh well, I suppose after the last few years, being married to a woman who can't stand you won't cramp your style much, after all...

Snape tried valiantly to glare that sarcastic voice into submission, but since it resided well behind his eyeballs, this was not the most effective tactic. The best he could manage was to pretend to ignore it, until he reached the point from which he could Apparate. After that, in the Dark Lord's presence, dire necessity coupled with years of practice kept it well and truly silent.

By the time he reported back to Dumbledore and returned to his quarters, his temper had cooled somewhat. Enough, at least, that injured pride no longer ruled him completely.

Rowan was expecting Potions class to be an embarrassment or a disaster. It was worse: nothing happened. Snape entered the classroom on schedule. He taught class, criticized potions, handed out points in his usual miserly fashion and removed them generously. In short, business completely as usual. He showed no sign of either avoiding Rowan or of watching her more closely. She paid attention and made no errors. He deducted no spurious points. She was miserable. The only sign that gave her the slightest scrap of hope that things were not utterly ruined between them was that he continued to use one of the black swan quills she had given him to mark grades while the class brewed. Rowan wasn't sure what that meant, except that it was clear he hadn't burned them.

Rowan wanted to speak to him, but wasn't finding him either in his office or workroom. He seemed to always be busy elsewhere, or he had at least one or two Slytherins with him. Discussing the news with Ariadne over lunch, she found out why he was so preoccupied now.

"Look at this, Rowan: Susan and Peter Noctis were killed in their home by Death Eaters Saturday night. Aurors investigated when the Dark Mark was sighted over their home and found them together in the living room, victims of the Killing Curse. Aren't those Gregory's parents?"

"Gregory Noctis? But he's a Slytherin. Why would Death Eaters go after his family?" Rowan asked.

"His dad's pureblood, from an old line, but his mom's a Muggle. That makes his dad a blood traitor. No big mystery there," Ariadne answered her.

"How'd he wind up in Slytherin then?"

"I don't know, but he seems a good fit, don't you think?"

"Ick, yes I do," Rowan answered, thinking back to Potions class. He'd always been a typical Slytherin – ambitious and clever. His first choice of final project, which Snape had shot down, was typical.

"He's not the first Slytherin to lose family in the war either. Remember Carol Parks?"

"I remember she went home for a while, but I didn't know why," Rowan answered.

This was the kind of world Voldemort was bringing, Rowan thought to herself. No one was safe, no one knew who to trust. What would happen to me and the other Muggle-borns, if he should win in the end? Could they drop out of the wizarding world and try to make their way as Muggles? Would they be rounded up and killed or enslaved, bound like house-elves to serve pureblooded masters?

"It says here that the Ministry is working around the clock to protect mixed wizarding families and prevent attacks," Rowan commented, handing Ariadne the paper.

"They aren't making much headway, are they?" her friend retorted. Ariadne looked around the garden; they were alone, but she lowered her voice anyway.

"My parents think that You-Know-Who has agents in the Ministry. Very high up. That's why the Ministry is doing such a miserable job catching them."

"Your parents read The Quibbler, don't they?"

"You have to read something besides the Prophet," Ariadne said, throwing that publication down on the ground. "Otherwise you are just going to read that: Any day now, The-Boy-Who-Lived will be invading He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's headquarters with a crack team of Ministry Aurors at his back and reduce it to rubble."

Rowan stifled a laugh; Ariadne's imitation of a standard Daily Prophet article was pretty close to the mark. She only wished she could believe it were true.

Ariadne checked the time and said it was almost time for class. She picked up the paper and said she had to leave to get her books. Rowan had brought hers outside with her, so she told her friend she would meet her there. She took the extra few minutes to sit in the spring sunshine and think a while longer.

Ariadne is right: the Ministry is nearly useless. There were rumors around school about a secret Order dedicated to fighting Voldemort which was being at least somewhat more effective. Rowan had a shrewd idea that Dumbledore had something to do with this, and that this was the group to which Professor Snape reported, rather than to the Ministry. At least, Rowan hoped so. Judging by the way things were going, she had much more confidence in a shadowy group that included her Headmaster than in anything the Ministry could put together.

Considering Snape's role continued to leave Rowan confused and divided in her own mind. Rowan felt sick thinking about their fight. She regretted her words, but the core of reality behind them still frightened her. What kind of a man was he really? Not just a spy, but an active Death Eater, and she would have to marry him.

Well, how else could they get any real information about Voldemort's plans, if not from an insider? He wasn't likely to just blab them to random strangers, and he would be well defended against magical spying. Useful intelligence could only come from someone he trusted. Getting and keeping Voldemort's trust would not be an easy thing for an outsider, for someone who hated him. Logically, it would appear that, at one time, Snape must have been a genuine follower. It was equally apparent that Dumbledore implicitly believed that Snape was no longer loyal to Voldemort. What could possibly have brought about such a change, Rowan had no clue. Nonetheless, she was certain it was a true change. For all his formidable, unapproachable, sarcastic exterior, Professor Snape had treated her with respect and consideration, even kindness. Even though he had frightened her when he'd kissed her, he hadn't harmed her. She still owed him an apology, even if it was too late. The question was how, and what to say?

It was time for her to go to class now; Rowan picked up her books and headed into the castle to meet Ariadne. She resolved to catch Snape before Potions class began and beg an appointment on some pretext. She couldn't quite bring herself to do anything to force him to give her detention. He'd probably have her scrubbing armor for Filch anyway, having lost House points to no purpose.

Charms class took all Rowan's concentration that afternoon. They were still working on advanced mending charms. They'd finished with fabrics and were practicing on wood today. Professor Flitwick had a piece of a tabletop which had once been decorated in a complex pattern of marquetry. The design was now rendered nearly unrecognizable from the various stains and marks of dry rot, wet rot, scorching and woodworm. Rowan didn't have quite the affinity for this work as she had for the brocade they had worked with the other day, but she performed creditably on her piece, as did Ariadne. The double Charms class flew by, and they both scored decently.

Rowan left Charms class and headed towards the dungeons at a fast walk. She was in luck; the last class had completely left. She was the first of her N.E.W.T. Potions class to arrive, and Professor Snape was sitting at his desk, making sure all the flasks from the previous class were properly labeled for grading. When Rowan walked directly to his desk instead of taking her seat, Snape raised his eyes from his task and looked at her.

Rowan knew that her classmates could start walking in at any moment, so she had to be circumspect. "I wondered if you had a moment to speak with me after class, Professor, about my project?"

"Is there a problem, Miss Bourne?"

"I think maybe there is, sir. Do you have a few minutes?"

"Yes, if we can speak while I work. I have a number of potions brewing for the Infirmary which I must bottle this afternoon. You may come to my workroom before dinner. Now, please take your seat for class."

Rowan heard the rumble from the hallway which presaged the bulk of the class approaching.

"Thank you, sir," she said. She went back to her seat, set out her cauldron, and greeted Edgar as he slid into his place next to her.

Rowan marveled at how time could slip past when you were dreading something. Her classes were over in no time, and she was knocking on the door of Professor Snape's workroom before she knew what had happened.

"Enter."

Rowan opened the door and slipped inside. Snape was examining the milky-blue contents of one of the several cauldrons which were lined up on the workbench. There were three other cauldrons: one had a fire going under it, one (still steaming) must have just been removed from the heat, and the third was empty. There was a case of neatly packed and labeled flasks of reddish-orange potion next to the empty cauldron. Snape appeared satisfied with the blue mixture because he reached for a pouring ladle and a clean funnel.

Wordlessly, Rowan picked up flasks one by one and held them while Snape poured. The flasks were already labeled for a potion to ward off infection. Rowan corked each flask and packed it carefully in the waiting case. They were finished with the full two-dozen doses in just a few minutes.

"Thank you, Miss Bourne. Now, what was it you wished to see me about? Do you, in fact, require further assistance with your project?"

"No, Professor, I'm working on the potions you suggested; they will be ready for testing in a few more days."

"Well then? As you surmised, I am very busy lately." Snape pushed his hair back from his face and glanced in the direction of the Slytherin dorm as if he expected disaster from that direction at any moment.

Rowan took a breath, pulled back her shoulders, and met Snape's eye. "I wanted to apologize for what I said to you the other day. It was totally uncalled for."

Aha! Groveling will not be necessary, Snape thought with relief. He could stop having arguments with himself now. The realization put Snape into an almost charitable frame of mind. Even so, Rowan had best understand the way things stood. There could be no benefit to deceiving her.

"Thank you," Snape answered. "You were correct, though, in believing I will continue to have to follow instructions which are, at best, distasteful."

Rowan wondered whether Snape considered what he'd done with her distasteful or not. She didn't ask; she knew there was no good answer.

"Has it always been ... so terrible?"

"Very rarely, and now that the Dark Lord again considers me trustworthy, he will prefer that I am able to maintain my position at Hogwarts. Nevertheless," he reminded her, "the time will come when he will give an order and I will have to obey, or risk losing everything I have sacrificed to gain his trust. Make no mistake, I will do what is required of me."

Rowan shivered and lowered her eyes. "I know."

Snape looked at her downcast face. He could not see her eyes, but he could read her thoughts quite clearly from her posture. "You do understand. But you aren't prepared to live with that reality. Am I correct?"

Rowan had no answer for him. He was right, she wasn't prepared for it. To live with him, never knowing what he might have to do, would either drive her mad or break her heart. How could she ever bear it?

Correctly interpreting her silence, Snape turned away from her and busied himself lifting the boxes of vials into his arms. "It is nearly dinner time, and I must deliver these to Madam Pomfrey," he told her without looking at her.

Rowan went to the door and held it while he passed through, since his arms were full. She looked at him inquiringly as she stepped into the hall.

"The wards are active; they will seal when you shut the door."

Rowan nodded and pulled the door firmly closed behind her. She started after him towards the stairs, walking slowly enough that he would keep ahead of her and she could think.

She had done what she came to do and apologized. She was somewhat comforted that he had accepted it, but it was clear there could be no more than civility and courtesy between them if she could not accept what he was. Could that be enough? Rowan hoped so. She tried to convince herself as she walked, but a whisper of his scent lingering behind made her remember the feel of his arms around her and his kiss on her throat.

By the time she reached the ground floor, with its bustle of hungry students and promising scent of dinner, she was more uncertain than ever.

Author's Notes: Coming up – Rowan finally creates visible invisibility fabric!