Arden's Refuge

"Hermione, let me explain," Severus began, unconsciously using her first name.

"It was you, it was! I knew it!" She seemed almost triumphant.

"Look, Dumbledore made me do it!"

This, apparently, was the wrong thing to say. Hermione suddenly took on the character of an angry cat--all fur, claws, and hissing.

"Thank you, Professor Snape! It's so comforting to know that you only did it because Dumbledore made you!"

Severus could see he was getting nowhere. Hermione wouldn't even look at him now--and no surprise--surely she must have been wondering how she could have ever kissed that. It had been cruel of him, deceiving her into giving him something she never would have knowingly given... And how could he have expected that she might even be glad to know that someone else cared for her? Not when it was him...

"I apologize with all my heart, Miss Gra--"

"Funny! I thought you hadn't got one!" She was positively fuming by now, her thick hair flying everywhere. She looked enchanting... no, no, Severus reminded himself, that was the wrong thing to think right now.

"This is just another of Dumbledore's mistakes, and we've just got to try to get over it," he said.

"Easy enough for you to say!"

He stood up from his chair. She looked up at him in a manner that he found most unsettling. He noticed now that there were tears sliding down her flushed cheeks. "I've nothing more to tell you," he said. "I'd best be on my way."

-----

It was raining by the time he got outside, and he didn't bother to do anything about it. It felt terrible, soaking his clothes and his hair and surely worsening the cold he'd felt coming on that morning. This had been an overwhelmingly atrocious day, and he could think of no more appropriate end. He only wished the sun would go ahead and set and leave him in darkness.

When he got back to his room at 12 Grimmauld Place, he reluctantly changed into some drier clothes, but didn't bother pulling out his cauldron to brew up a potion for his cold. It was too much trouble, he thought, to expend on himself right now. He glanced in the mirror. No difference, he thought... It was fortunate enough that he looked so worn and... ugly... all the time. No one would notice any difference. No one would ask what was wrong, or worse yet, pity.

All the same, he wished he didn't have to go to the Order meeting tonight. It would be infinitely preferable to stay in his room alone, wrapped up in his Neruda. Which, of course, was exactly why Dumbledore would expect him to be there. Beyond any reasonable possibility, the day would, in fact, get even worse. He sat down in the hard wooden chair and let his wet hair drip everywhere.

Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche.

The lines flowed out of his memory naturally, the unfortunate product of familiarity. But had he really understood the poem before?

Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

-----

"Severus, you look terrible," commented Molly Weasley, sitting across from him at the kitchen table.

"Thank you, Molly," he commented dryly. "Believe or not, you aren't the first to make that observation."

"No, no, I didn't mean... I just meant, you look sick. You're even paler than usual, your eyes are bloodshot, and I can tell from your voice that your throat hurts. Please, let me make you some tea."

There was in her tone that distinctive note of pity that Severus most despised. Especially coming from Weasley's mother. "No, thank you."

Dumbledore piped in from the end of the table, "No, really, Severus, I think that would be a good idea. You have a duty to keep your health up, for the good of the Order."

Severus slowly turned his head toward Dumbledore and gave him a basilisk-worthy look. "'For the good of the Order,' you say. For the good of the Order! A phrase that covers a wide range of evils." He turned back to Molly. "Fine, I'll take the tea."

Molly got up to boil the water. "Albus, tell me more about these plans for going to America. And why isn't Ron here tonight?"

"Actually, Ron is here tonight, and he should be coming down in a few minutes. He said he'd be on time for the meeting," Dumbledore said. "He woke up about an hour ago," he added, looking at Severus. "And the plans for America are cancelled. Never were, actually. Ron was in a coma."

"AND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?!?" Molly Weasley roared. "How dare you, Albus Dumbledore! Keeping a mother from her sick child like that!! That was very low."

"I'm telling you, Molly," Severus said, "he's full of that sort of thing if you watch him long enough."

Dumbledore pointedly ignored Severus. "I apologize, Mrs. Weasley. But it was a security concern. We certainly didn't want it leaking out that Ron was injured immediately after our raid on Malfoy's camp, especially when Ron was supposedly nowhere near the place."

"What he means is," Severus interjected, "he did it for the good of the Order. He can justify anything that way..."

"No, I can't," Albus said, finally addressing Severus. "And I have, perhaps, justified too much. For that I am sincerely sorry."

"If only your apology could fix things. If only it were more than just words. You see, it's easy enough to say you're sorry when you've already accomplished what you wanted. You got what you were looking for, now, please stop tormenting us."

"What is this about?" Molly looked around confused, holding the tea bag uncomfortably suspended over the cup of boiling water. Dumbledore and Severus ignored her, and the Moodys and the Lupins were all speechless, watching the drama unfold.

Alastor suddenly interjected, "Well, this is all certainly been very interesting, but I do believe we have a meeting to hold. Or are we waiting for Mr. Weasley to come downstairs?"

"I'm here," said Ron, tromping into the kitchen. "And I am hungry," he added.

"Oh, the people we get here these days," Severus lamented.

Ron appeared not to have heard him and immediately assaulted the refrigerator. "Does anybody mind?"

A round of half-hearted negatives followed.

"All right," Dumbledore began. "Now that everybody's here, we might as well get started..."

-----

It was bad enough that Severus had just lost--without ever having--what could, in some alternate life, have been his soul mate, but Weasley's return made it ten times worse. He only wanted to sulk in privacy, but Weasley would, of course, insist on barging into his room at eleven o'clock at night to discuss something ridiculous, like Quidditch or his job (though only the most boring details, of course), and, occasionally, his fiancée. Severus was certain he couldn't bear that, and if Weasley tried talking about Hermione, he would simply leave the room.

Sure enough, as if on schedule, Ron dropped in at eleven o'clock. "Severus, I need to talk to you."

"No, this is big. Really big," he said, looking a bit unsettled.

Severus put his book down and stared at Ron, hoping to frighten him into leaving. Ron apparently took it as an invitation to continue.

"I just got an owl from Hermione," he said. "She said she's breaking off the engagement."

On bleak canvas of Severus's day, something glittering, something akin to hope had just made an appearance.