Jehane Desrosiers

PART II
WEDDED

Chapter 12 (Rewritten)-- His Burning Day

That was our romance. Living together was a different kind of story, a shifting and unfolding, like the enchanted origami of the Japanese that creases this way to form a dove, then with another fold a lion, then castle, then rose, then once again dove. There was no goal but continuous discovery, and endurance and self-mastery were the keys.

In our second year together I drew most heavily on our friendship. Once Severus began asking about my hurts there was a frightening amount to be said. I think he had never helped anyone in this way, and he approached it seriously. I told him over and over the story of Guy’s death, of my mother’s death, of uncovering her association with the Death Eaters. He never gave me the slightest feeling of impatience. He listened and held me, and it seemed to bring him solace as well.

No one entered the space between us. My marriage to Guy had been like a train station, someone always coming to dinner and plans underway. As a shy and unconfident woman I had enjoyed the carnival atmosphere. But the place of our love was for Severus and me a haven, quiet and sun-dappled, and we protected it.

I had several friendships of my own, with Remus Lupin, Minerva, and a young witch who lived in Hogsmeade and took riding lessons, but Severus ignored these. He was neither curious nor hostile; having no friendships himself, at least not in the conventional sense, it was as if he were blind to mine. Only Hagrid was sometimes permitted at the outskirts to the extent that Severus might come along to the Broomsticks with us or stop with me in his hut at the end of day for a cup of tea.

We lived this way for nearly two years -- productive, interesting, comforting years -- before the first upheaval struck.

I had always known that Albus Dumbledore held a special place in Severus’ heart. It was one of deep respect and gratitude for the fresh start Albus gave him when he left Voldemort. He was as close as Severus would allow himself to a mentor or a friend and the relationship worked in part because Albus saw and understood this without comment. He treated Severus with respect and a certain tenderness, even when he behaved badly, and in return Severus permitted him a modicum of influence.

It was early December and at the tail end of a blizzard when Severus came home, threw himself into the wing chair and thrust his legs toward the fire with a scowl.

“Dumbledore is an ass,” he snarled. “A senile ass.”

“What do you mean? What’s happened?” I put down the book I’d been reading, kicked a footstool closer to Severus’ chair and sat on it.

“He’s out there this minute traipsing about in the snow without even a hat. Gods, I despise the Dear Dotty Old Uncle act. He had to be pulled from a snow bank by the sixth years.”

“Well, why shouldn’t he? I’m sure he’s learned by now how to take care of himself.”

“Have you taken a look at him lately?” Severus barked. “He’s practically a skeleton.”

“Are you saying he’s not well?”

“Yes. No! He’s an old, old man. What do you expect?” He rubbed his eyes with his palms.

Then I saw what it was. “You’re afraid for him.”

As always, Severus stiffened when I saw into him, then relaxed a fraction.

“He’s an ass.”

“Mm.” I scooted closer and rested my forehead on his arm. His long, tapered fingers came up to touch my cheek.

“He needs to take care,” he said quietly. “He’s an old man.”

So I began to watch Dumbledore. Three years before, when I arrived at Hogwarts, he had seemed old but unchanging, like a great gnarled tree whose age is a testament to its strength. To the students and younger staff, he was forever old rather than forever young. Now I saw something new. His spotted hands trembled, the flesh sunken between swollen knuckles. His beard was still white but the cheeks above it were yellow, the sagging skin crazed with tiny wrinkles. His neck looked too thin to support his head. He seemed not merely old, but ill.

It was a week later at dinner in the Great Hall that he caught me looking. Our eyes locked for a moment. He might have nodded a tiny bit, or perhaps it was only conveyed in the length of his gaze. Then I knew, and when his eyes slid past me to Severus I was afraid.

I wasn’t the first. Once my eyes were opened, I recognized Minerva’s solicitous gestures -- the fetching of fresh tea, the footstool placed beneath the table at staff meetings -- and Poppy Pomfrey’s anxious evaluating glances and Professor Sprout’s sighs. Which meant, of course, that Severus also knew and was keeping it from me.

I woke late one night to find Severus out of bed. I padded out to the sitting room where he slumped in the wing chair in his pyjamas, feet on the hob of the dying fire, head in hands, his dark hair covering his face.

I crossed the floor and knelt by his chair.

“It’s Albus, isn’t it?” He nodded.

“Come back to bed,” I said. “It’s cold out here.”

He sighed deeply, but pulled himself up and followed me.

The bedroom was cold, too, but the piled comforters were still warm. He crawled in beside me and I wrapped my arms around him, rubbing his icy feet with my warm ones.

“Tell me,” I said.

“He’s dying.”

“Yes. I was stupid not to see. When did you -- ?”

He groaned. “November.” Ah, that would explain his abstractedness; I had chalked it up to mid-term examinations.

He stared bitterly at the stars outside our window, mouth set.

“Sorry, Darling," I said. "So sorry.”

He replied with a disgusted shake of the head. It would not do to talk about it more. I took his hand, still cold from the sitting room, and slid it under my pajama top to my breast.

He turned and met me with a fierce kiss, pressing me back against the pillows. This was how, then. I grabbed his pyjama jacket and grappled him on top of me, inviting his roughness with my own. He kissed me harder, scraping his teeth against mine. We struggled with our buttons until we could be chest-to-chest, my nipples hardening against him. He locked his arms around me tightly as if to force his way inside my skin, scratching my face with his late-night beard. I grabbed his arse and pulled him closer.

Hard already, he writhed against me frantically like an animal in a trap, and I was wet with his intensity. I kicked my pyjama pants to the bottom of the bed and wrapped my legs around him.

He slipped in with a long gasp, then paused, waiting for control.

No. No waiting. No control. I wanted to go straight in through his desire, to shake him, slap him, reach the despair that closed him off. I took a fistful of his hair and yanked his face down to mine, kissing him hard. His reserve broke and he thrust deep, eyes screwed shut, grunting through clenched teeth.

So rough. It almost hurt, but I wanted it. He drove straight toward his climax and I chased him, striving to master and soothe. Then he changed his angle, bringing my legs farther up and meeting my cervix with each thrust. Suddenly, nothing but that exquisite fullness, that melting heat. Two more thrusts that I met with my own -- I balanced for a moment on the threshold -- then tumbled into thrashing, overwhelming orgasm, only dimly hearing his hoarse shout of release.

He rested on his elbows, panting. The sweaty tips of his hair tickled my neck as he eased himself down. Silence, and our breath slowing, my hand spread on his back. In his face against my neck, his deep breaths and heavy limbs, I could feel his peace. I had never used sex this way before.

“Jehane,” he mumbled.

“Yes.”

“He wants to meet with me.”

“Alone?”

But he was asleep. I had just enough time to pull the comforter over us before I followed.

Thursday was a heavy teaching day and I hadn’t a chance to speak to Severus until after dinner. When we got back to our rooms he set some parchment on the table and began sharpening a quill.

“Don’t work yet,” I said. “Come sit on the couch. Did you meet with Albus?”

He stood, quill in hand. It seemed sitting was not on the agenda. “Yes,” he said, looking at the fire.

“What did he want? Did you talk about -- what’s coming?”

He turned, skewering me with troubled eyes. “He’s putting me up for Headmaster.”

The silence seemed long as I struggled to conceal my astonishment.

“Oh --” I said, but it wasn’t clear to me if I intended congratulations or distress.

“Yes, right. It’s an idiotic idea,” Severus spit.

“I’m just so surprised.”

“He’s senile, as I’ve said. He’s half dead already.” Severus took up his small knife and addressed the quill aggressively. I had the sinking feeling that it was too late to avoid hurting him.

Words were so often wrong. I came close and took the quill and knife from his hands, replacing them with a kiss on each palm. He looked at me warily.

“I’m starting to see how it could work,” I said, and I was. He would be the stern kind of headmaster, august and respected. He’d have to give up bullying the students. And the staff, too, for that matter. Nor was Albus as soft as he appeared; Severus might not have to travel so very far to match him.

“You can do it. You’d be brilliant.”

“He’s going to push it through the Board of Directors,” he said uneasily.

“And he should.”

“He thinks they can’t deny him,” he said.

“They shouldn’t.”

“I don’t want it,” he said.

Hogwarts under the direction of the brilliant, imposing, magisterial Headmaster Snape.

“Do it,” I said.

It was a beautiful Christmas. Informed by the sadness of what was to come, the staff suspended their customary enmities and a tenderness hung in the air like mist. The students did not know, of course, but the mood seemed to catch them unawares, softening their voices and blunting their usual jibes and insults. At the Yule Ball, Albus forwent the head table for a thronelike red armchair by the door. A charmed sprig of mistletoe hovered above him and he invited all comers for a Christmas kiss. It was mostly first and second year girls who came forward and a few of the younger boys, but later in the evening I saw Pierce, now fourteen years old and six feet tall, kneeling before Albus like a young knight receiving a kiss on the forehead.

Severus seemed dispirited and could hardly muster the disapproval with which he usually met adolescent high spirits. In the midst of the dancing and hilarity, Minerva threaded her way over to us with two cups of punch. I took mine immediately and was pleased to find that, despite its origin in the common punch bowl, it had acquired an alcoholic kick. Severus stared at the cup in Minerva’s hand.

“It isn’t poisoned, Severus,” she said acerbically. “Or I’d not give it to Jehane.”

“Forgive me,” he said stiffly, accepting it. “I was hoping it was.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I can find you some aconite for you if you wish.” Severus did not take the bait but gazed bleakly into his cup. Minerva softened, tilting her head slightly at him.

“Ah, Laddy,” she sighed. “Hard times ahead. But you must buck up for the sake of the school.” I darted a look at him -- Laddy! -- and found him nodding slightly.

Albus chose the first of January for his dying day. He wanted to see in the new year, he said, and all of New Year’s Day he wore his foiled-paper pirate’s hat from the night before, still draped with curls from the exploding crackers of midnight. Most of the students had gone home for the holidays. It was Sunday, and the staff were called in for quiet chats, one at a time, each fetching the next. Being the most recent addition I saw him directly after breakfast. I found it difficult to focus on my eggs, glancing down the table to where Albus sipped a cup of milky tea. Finally he gave a sigh and caught my eye.

“Will you help an old man up, Madame Desrosiers? You might walk me to my office.”

“Yes, of course.” His arm, when I took it, was like a stick with a knot in the middle. He walked slowly, barely lifting his feet. How had he suddenly come to be so very old?

“I have already begun what I will finish tonight,” he said, reading my thoughts as we made our way down the corridor to his office.

My eyes filled with tears and I did not answer.

“Wine gums” was the password. He leant on my arm as the spiral staircase took us upward to the office door.

“Ah, Fawkes.” Albus said as we entered. “You see, my friend Fawkes will accompany me to the very extent of his ability.” And indeed, the bird was grotesquely deteriorated, feathers in a pile below his perch and those remaining pointing haphazardly or hanging loosely, ready to drop. His eyes were half closed, his bald head sunk between his shoulders.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if his burning day were tomorrow,” Albus said fondly. He gestured me into a chair. “Now, Jehane. Oh, don’t weep, dear, please. Such a waste. I’ll just have a few words with you and then I hope you have a lovely pastime to occupy the rest of your day.”

I hadn’t meant to be silly about it, but I found that I could either control my tears or speak, so I pressed my lips together silently.

“You’ve seen the thestrals, haven’t you?” he chided gently. I nodded. He sighed again. “The hardest part for me is giving up influence. I’m a very wilful man, and I will miss that so. But I have faith in Severus. He won’t do it my way, of course, but he will do well.

“That first time we met, here in my office -- do you know, I felt you would bring great things to Hogwarts. I felt it, but I did not imagine how. I don’t mean the riding program, although that’s been a wonderful success.

“I have done all I can to secure the headmastership for Severus. I think the Board will be unable to oppose me in this, and I don’t intend to let it drop, even after tonight. But my dear, I would not have done so three years ago. You know what he is, intellectually -- brilliant, and rigorous. He has great stamina. I thought he might even learn to be diplomatic. But he had no anchor. He would have been battered unendurably by the demands of the position. I wasn’t confident he could hold a steady course.

“Things have changed,” he said significantly. “I believe he will not just endure but triumph.” I nodded again. Somewhere in the back of my mind I noted this as a prediction for our relationship as well.

“I’m rather old fashioned in this, aren’t I?” Albus said ruefully. “Telling you to stand by your man. I make a poor -- what is the Muggle word? Feminist. So now let me be feminist for a moment. Can it be an adjective?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t lose yourself, Jehane. Hold fast to what you know and who you are. You will need that firm grip. Never deprive Severus of your honest opinion or fear to face off against him.

“You know he is a bit difficult,” he said.

”Oh, a bit.” I found myself smiling, tears at bay.

“He needs you to pull him up short sometimes, I expect.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Ah, good. He needs that. Now, do take one of these peppermint puffs, my dear. You have been a blessing to us all. Take good care. And please send Madame Hooch to see me.”

It felt so natural.

“Good bye, Albus.” I leant over the desk to give him a kiss.

“Good bye, Jehane.”

Nestled into the hollow by Hagrid’s hut, the snow around it tamped with frozen hoof and claw prints, the stable seemed like a cozy burrow. Protecteur, Filleambre, Serrebrune and Salazar scratched eagerly at their stall doors when I appeared; over the holidays they got lonely. Cadbury was asleep, her head resting on her crossed forelegs.

“Hey hey, buddy,” I crooned to Protecteur, scratching his neck. “Come on out now and have a good run.” I opened the stall door, but he must have sensed my sadness, for instead of pushing his way out he rested his head over my shoulder, pulling me close with his neck. I put my arms around him. He smelled of warm animal and his own special perfume. We had known each other so long, and to have him feel with me was deeply comforting.

I brought the griffs into the pasture to exercise while I mucked out stalls and filled bins. The work felt good, letting my muscles do the thinking for a while. Pierce had stayed over the holidays and would come down later to fly with me.

After about an hour, I looked up to see Severus in the doorway. It had been over a year since he’d sought me out at the stables. I wondered how long he’d been standing there.

“Come in.” I put down my pitchfork.

“Goddamn horrible day.”

“Mm. Come here.”

“Bloody beastly boring asinine day.” He kicked a cat out of his way as he entered.

“Watch the school property, please. Have you seen him yet?”

“No, I haven’t seen him. He prefers to torment me by having an idiotic interminable love festival with Lupin. I have work to do and this is ruining my concentration. Don’t touch me.” I ignored him and put my arms around from behind, squeezing gently. He didn’t push me away, but stood stiffly for a few moments, then turned and embraced me. He smelled of sulphur and preserved mandrake, unwashed hair and coffee. I rested my chin in the hollow of his neck and we stood for a while.

Then with a little push he stepped away.

“Arrg,” he said disgustedly. “I’ll be in the lab.”

He took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. Without looking me in the eye, he folded me in his arms and kissed me roughly. Another little push and he turned on his heel with a swirl of his robes and strode off. Feeling dizzy, I picked up my pitchfork and began forking straw into the stalls.

The day passed quietly. Pierce and I took a long ride over the grounds, coming in once to switch mounts. The company of a fourteen year old boy can be very soothing because he will talk incessantly, but not about anything that matters.

Minerva was the last to see Albus, late in the evening. By then most of the teachers had gathered in the staff room and were talking softly around the fire, sharing stories. Sybil Trelawney sat deep in the corner, flames reflecting off her glasses, while Hagrid wiped tears from his face with a striped beach towel. Professor Flitwick perched on a footstool on the hearth, feet dangling, cradling a cup of tea.

“Anyone seen Professor Snape?” I asked.

“Ee went in after me,” said Hagrid. “Then I saw him heading out -- you know, fer one of his walks -- after -- after --” He buried his face in the towel.

If Severus wanted to be alone in the dark and cold to wrestle with his feelings, experience had taught me to leave him be. And the room was warm, invitingly shadowed by the flickering fire. A silver flask passed from hand to hand -- Remus was having a tot right now, and held it up to me inquiringly -- so I slipped inside and found a seat next to Hagrid, patting him on the shoulder in passing.

Professor Sprout gave a choked sigh. “I wonder how Minerva --”

“I expect they’re discussing the Headmastership,” Remus said. A few glances flickered my way. Everyone must know, then.

“Don’t look at me,” I said. “I’ve just heard about it myself. I’m sure Albus knows what he’s doing.” I wasn’t completely sure but it seemed wise to align myself with Severus from the start.

“It won’t be the first time he’s outguessed us,” Professor Sprout said comfortingly.

“Well, with taking Severus back at all. Who knew he’d be a war hero. Did Albus, I wonder,” Remus mused, passing me the Firewhisky. “Severus and Harry Potter. Unexpected.”

“Not to one who has the Gift,” piped up Professor Trelawney. “But the signs are ill for Hogwarts in the year to come. Very ill, I am distressed to say.”

“Albus told me,” I cleared my throat nervously. “That I should be helpful to Severus. And I will.” I looked around at my colleagues. “Be as helpful as I can.”

“That’s quite reassuring, actually,” said Remus lightly, repossessing the flask from my hand.

Minerva appeared at the door, pale and red-eyed. Pomona Sprout leapt up and offered her seat while Remus took her by the elbow and guided her, folding her hand around the Firewhisky. It seemed to strike all of us at once that Minerva was losing her oldest friend.

“Well, that’s that,” she said in a shaky voice.

“Did yeh -- did yeh stay for it?” Hagrid asked.

“No,” she said. “He wished to be alone.”

We sat like that long into the night, then one by one left quietly for our chambers.

*****

We entered the study silently, Minerva at the fore, Severus, Pomona, Remus and myself in her wake. I scanned the walls; the exact means by which the portrait appeared on the dying day was known only to the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

It was a stunner. Albus Dumbledore, still with flowing white hair and beard, yet somehow younger and stronger than I’d ever seen him. My eyes traveled from the peak of his pointed cap to his penetrating gaze, filled with power and mirth, to the wand resting lightly in his hands. He raised his finger and tapped the side of his nose; as was customary, he would not speak for a year.

In the painted background stood Fawkes’ empty perch. Behind me the actual perch was empty as well, but beneath it lay a cone of fine ash, just now disturbed by the stirring of tiny pinfeathers.

Albus’ robes and cap lay crumpled on the floor. Around them, too, spread a circle of ash. Severus crouched and touched it with his fingers. His face was stony, but I knew the anguish there.

“Soft,” he said.