Fanfiction based in the world of Harry Potter, created by JKR. Her characters are hers. Original characters are mine. No pecuniary rewards. Please see first chapter for full disclaimers and description.

Sorry for the delay in posting—Christmas Holidays and four small children… enough said. Ah, I wish that was enough said. Just after I posted Chapter 31—literally hours after—I received a phone call that my dear 19-year-old niece had been tragically killed in a car accident. This has been a difficult adjustment for us, and I beg your forgiveness if my chapter updates are a bit slow for a while.

This chapter has a very oblique reference to homosexual relationships. NOTHING graphic.

Thank you to my Beta, Elaine! Thank you also to Elaine's husband, Rich, who helped me with a serious plot dilemma a few chapters ago, and who also is responsible for the fact that I did not mutilate the Latin in the preceding chapter.

Chapter 32: Lament, Solace, Lament

Rowena did not remain unconscious long. The pain stabbed through her chest with each intake of breath, yet she woke gasping for air. It truly felt as though someone had reached into her, shredded her heart to bits, then roughly placed it back inside, where it could stab at her painfully with each beat.

Apparently, Rowena was made of stronger stuff than even she knew. She forced the tears that wanted release aside, and sat up at the edge of the bed. Unsurprisingly, Albus Dumbledore sat beside her bed, regarding her with his soul-searching azure gaze, eyes that were subdued and sad at the moment.

"Rowena," he said her name simply, and she could hear the heaviness of sorrow in his voice. "I had no idea that he would do such a thing, or I would never have agreed to the Bonding to begin with. He has surprised even me in this, that he could do this. Term does not start for a few days yet, you may stay here until you feel prepared to return to your quarters."

She shook her head and washed her face with the clean flannel sitting in a bowl of cool water someone had set beside her bed while she slept.

"It's not your fault, Albus. He wants me to believe he never really wished the Bond or the marriage, but I know better. He's pushing me away to keep me 'safe'. I've experienced this before, though it wasn't quite so horrid as this. I thought it was at the time, mind you, but now I realize this is much worse."

Hadn't she wished that she could die when Remus rejected her on the eve of her coming to school? Hadn't she often thought bitterly that it would be less painful for her if he had just DIED so that she could grieve properly and get over it? Something about her made the people she cared for most feel that in order to protect her they had to push her away. Was she truly so weak and frail?

She had had enough. No more. If Severus Snape expected her to mope about the castle pining after him, he had another think coming!

Her heart was broken. Her spirit was not.

She stood and forced herself to ignore the pain in her chest. If this was going to be an ongoing consequence of the ruptured soul-bond they had briefly shared, then she was going to have to learn to live with it!

"I am going to return to my quarters tonight," she said with her chin set in determination. "Now."

Albus looked surprised, but then managed to smile at her with a small nod, "As you wish, Rowena. I will ask the house elves to return your belongings for you; I don't wish you to over-exert yourself right now."

She stopped and kissed him on his whiskery cheek and managed a small smile in return. "Thank you, Albus."

He followed her out of the room quietly; neither of them noticing the glittering ring on the floor, under the corner of the wardrobe where it had come to a halt when she had thrown it at Severus earlier that day.

Breakfast at the start of term was a stilted affair. During break, teachers came and went as they pleased for their meals. But when term started, Albus felt it important to all be present at the same time, and insisted upon it.

Of course, few of the other teachers knew what had occurred, and Rowena's usual seat next to Severus was the only one empty when she entered the Great Hall. The lingering pain had been delegated to a mere nuisance so long as she did not give it any of her attention, though it stabbed at her savagely when she saw him sitting there for the first time since he had broken their Bond.

He looked horrible. So often she had thought of him—as did so many others—as being a man with iron-control over his emotions. Indeed, some people viewed him as utterly devoid of emotion, which was ridiculous. For Rowena, who knew him so well, his inner turmoil was etched clearly upon the marble-impassive angles of his face. The scowl line between his expressive black brows was deeper than normal. The crease of his cheek near his nose that deepened with his sneer was clearly evident, as though the delicious scent of the Hogwarts food was rotting haggis instead.

She took her seat next to him gracefully, greeting the surrounding Professors at the table with the usual polite salutations, not excepting Severus himself.

"Good morning, Professor Snape," she said coolly as she reached for the pumpkin juice.

His glittering black eyes raked her face, but he said nothing, only inclined his head very slightly.

It was McGonagall who first gave indication that she noticed something amiss. Her head had jerked upward at the strange formality of Rowena's morning greeting toward Severus, and she looked at the younger woman piercingly. She caught sight of Rowena's hand, again as she drank from her goblet, and her thin brows contracted together to form nearly one perfect line.

"Rowena, have you lost your ring?" she inquired sharply.

Rowena looked up from the goblet to glance across the table at Minerva, and then looked at the other teachers who all suddenly seemed to be hanging on her answer, even as they pretended to be reading their paper or engrossed in spreading marmalade on their toast.

Rowena sipped at the juice a moment before answering to steady herself; then shook her head calmly.

"No, Minerva. Professor Snape and I came to an accord over the Holiday and decided the engagement did not suit us. It was an amicable parting, I assure you," she finished quickly, seeing Minerva's eyes flash dangerously at Severus as her scowl deepened.

It might have been easier to make this lie sound like truth if Severus hadn't returned McGonagall's scowl with an even darker one of his own… and if the cut on his cheek had been fully healed. It was nothing more than a thin dark scratch, nearly healed, and surely did not betray its origin. However it marred his fair skin and high cheekbone, showing clearly that something occurred over his holiday at least that was not "amicable".

Rowena looked away from the two hawk-like scowls. She had gone as far as she was willing to go to keep their colleagues out of their private business. Severus had a much longer history with Minerva anyway. Let him deal with the situation a bit!

It was Dylan's eyes she caught as she looked away, and the usually flirtatious and outrageous cowboy was regarding her with compassionate understanding in his eyes. He gave her a slight nod and touched his cowboy hat at her, then turned to resume his conversation with Flitwick as though he had not heard anything unusual.

The other teachers muttered among themselves, but unlike the excited exuberance that broke out when her ring was first revealed, this was subdued. Soon Rowena and Severus seemed to be forgotten in the normal hum of conversation… though they continued to attract curious glances for the remainder of the meal.

Days passed as slow as molasses through cheesecloth. Death Eater activity was subdued and silent, at least as far as their information could ascertain, and even Severus was not summoned for several weeks.

She was surprised how easy it was to slip into cool and distant formality with the man who had been her husband for a short time, less than two months. Perhaps it was because the pain in her heart left her room for little other emotion. She forced herself to look at him without seeing him; speak to him without communicating with him. Somehow she could survive, even if she could not live.

Remus took to staying at the school, in turns with Tonks and even their parents. Katrina continued to be under primary charge of the Weasley's, though Becky Lupin spent a great deal of time with her as well. Rowena visited her often, but it was bittersweet and painful. She did not want to drag the child into her grief or taint her relationship with Severus, who also apparently continued to spend time with her as though nothing had happened.

Rowena did not want to be alone at night, though she would not have admitted that aloud for anything. Fortunately, the others seemed to know this—maybe it was a normal response after the sort of trauma she had experienced. One of the chairs in her sitting room was transfigured into a bed, and she had not spent the night alone in her rooms since she returned from the Malfoy's.

Of course, eventually it happened that there was a night when many of the Order members not involved in teaching were out on some important mission or another. Mrs. Weasley and her mother needed to stay back and mind the children of those out on the mission, so that there was no one to spare to stay with her. She was bracing herself for a night alone, with only her ferret for company, when a knock sounded at her door. The ache inside her chest throbbed in alarm, as though afraid the visitor would be Severus, but it was not.

Professor Howard stood outside her door, his ridiculous hat in his hands, and a gentle look of compassion on his handsome face.

"Since I ain't involved in none of that Voldemort business, I thought I might keep ya company for a bit," he said bluntly. She shivered at the name, but stood back from her door to allow him inside. A flash of something in the hall caught her eye for the briefest of moments, but when she turned to look closer, there was nothing there.

"I'm fine, Professor Howard, really," she said with more conviction than she felt. "It's very nice of you to come and check on me, but I don't need a minder."

"It's Dylan, have ya forgot already? I ain't here to be your minder," he said with a frown marring his brow, "I'm here to be a friend. I figure we can all use more o'them, right?"

Rowena offered him a small, tired smile, and nodded, waving her hand to indicate he should have a seat. "I suppose that's true. Would you like some tea, then?"

"It's downright true what we say back home 'bout you Brits, you know that?" he said with a teasing smile as he sat on her sofa, "They say that your homes could be fallin' down 'round your ears, and you'd offer a dude tea. I gotta confess a real bad lie, Miss Lupin… I cain't stand that stuff. Ain't you got some coffee?"

That actually earned a slight laugh from Rowena… slight, but not forced, which was a first in many days.

"Now there is a truly vile substance," she said, shaking her head, but she managed to find a cup and summon some coffee from the kitchens with a mere wave of her wand. "Who would have thought that something that smells so pleasant could taste so rancid?"

She carried the coffee and her tea service to the low table in her sitting room—that now had only a sofa and one chair as the other chair was the makeshift bed—and sat down in the chair opposite him. He accepted the coffee with relish, though he still looked at her with concern.

"I'm breakin' a bit of advice my pa gave me as a kid… he said never to go nosing around in other folk's old boots, cause ya never know when there's gonna be a rattler in there to bite off yer nose.

"But I gotta say, Rowena, I didn't really buy that… how's that you put it…'amicable parting' bit between you and old scowler himself. I'm thinkin' yer hurtin' and tryin' not to let anyone know 'bout it."

Rowena's eyes snapped to his face, and she frowned darkly, "I think that was sage advice from your father, Professor Howard," she said coolly, "I don't find that my parting with Professor Snape is any business of yours."

Dylan raised his hands in surrender and shook his head, "Beggin' yer pardon, Rowena. I didn't mean no offense. I just figure that it might help to talk 'bout it, you know? I'll say it again, I wish ya'd call me Dylan."

She sighed heavily and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear, "Dylan, then. I really don't want to talk about it. Especially… I'm sorry, but especially not with someone who doesn't know the situation. You can hardly be objective."

He shook his head, "Beggin' yer pardon again, but that makes me more objective, don't it? I don't have no set notions 'bout scowler, 'cept his face might crack if the dude ever smiled. And I don't have no set notions 'bout you 'cept that you ain't one to have your head turned by purty words or flattery. Seems to me I'm 'bout as objective as you get 'round here. I don't think you can get better and move on from all this unless ya let yourself face it, right?"

Rowena shrugged, but she knew he was right. She didn't want to speak of it, though. It made it far, far too real. Somehow, almost since the instant of the severing of the Bond, she had become numb. She had gotten to where she could almost believe it had never happened—any of it.

He had never married her. Never kissed her so sweetly. Never Bonded with her. Never made love to her, filling her until she thought he was touching her heart. Never wound his soul around hers through their Bond so that she felt her very essence was as entwined with his as their physical bodies were… it was just a dream… it hadn't happened.

To her horror, she found tears running down her face, the pain in her heart as fresh and raw as if it had all just happened a few hours ago rather than days and days ago. Somehow she had not grieved, and by shutting out that pain, she had shut herself off from ALL emotion. Her visits with Katrina were numb and distant. All joy had been stolen from her as surely as if it had been sucked out by a Dementor, because she refused to allow herself to grieve.

To grieve meant she had to accept that it was over. Gone forever and over before it ever even really started. He could not accept what she so freely offered… because he could not believe himself worthy of it.

The gentle trickle of tears became a flood, the effort to suppress her sobs causing more pain inside her so that each breath felt like the rasping of sandpaper across the raw, open wound that was her very soul. A scream sounded in the room, the horrible, heart-wrenching scream of a soul in deepest agony. She was not aware that the sound had come from her. Dylan stood quickly and silenced the room with a charm so as not to alarm anyone, then knelt before her chair and wrapped his arms around her. She sobbed and screamed against his chest, pounding her fists against him in her rage, grief, and pain.

Later, much, much later, the tears were spent. The pain remained, but it had eased somewhat, and she felt as limp and useless as an old flannel that had been wrung and reused too many times, thin and threadbare.

Dylan held her, rocking her gently, even though his knees on the floor must have been in agony by now. He stroked her back and crooned softly, as Remus might have done if she would have let him… though she would never have given him another reason to add to his animosity with Severus!

She had needed this… Dylan was right. She had needed an objective, adult friend to turn to—she was unwilling to 'damage' Severus's reputation, such as it was, with any of those he had to work with at the school or in the Order. She was still, even now, struggling to protect him, demonstrate her affection for him.

Affection he did not want.

"Thank you," she said in a small, hoarse voice as Dylan leaned back to look into her face. He shook his head and withdrew a brilliant red paisley handkerchief from his pocket and began to dry her face.

"We've all be there, honey," he said softly. "I'm thinkin' yer beau made himself a Texas-sized mistake and maybe he'll figure it out one o'these days. In the mean time, you gotta go on livin', right? You ain't doin' nobody no favors pretendin' all's right with the world while yer dyin' inside, see? I think yer braver than lots'o folks would be… because you stayed here. Some folks woulda run away so's not to have to face him every day."

A strange shuttered look came over his eyes, and he looked away, paying attention instead to drying her tears.

She drew a great, shuddering breath and nodded. She felt not unlike when she had been a child and helped muck the dairy barn all day long… covered in filth, exhausted and aching from head to toe… and then immersed in a hot bath. The aches weren't gone, nor was the memory of sweat and hard work of the day… but the bath was cleansing, cathartic… as had been the tears.

Something about the shadow that crossed his face as he talked to her caused her newly reawakened awareness to prickle. "Is that why you're here? Why you took the position here at Hogwarts? Were you running away?"

Now he sat up and returned to the sofa and the stone-cold coffee in his mug. That was quickly remedied with his wand, and he heated her tea as well, sipping his coffee before meeting her eyes again.

"Yup," he said at last, refusing to elaborate.

"Well, she was a fool to let you go," Rowena said, full of indignation on his behalf. "You are a very nice gentleman when you aren't trying to flirt outrageously with everything bipedal. I suppose that's what she was angry about?" she stopped suddenly, her hand over her mouth in shock at herself.

"Oh! I'm so sorry—now I'm prying. Never mind. It's none of my business!"

Dylan, strangely, had laughed, though it was humorless, and he was staring into her fire.

"Well, if we're gonna be swappin' heartbreak stories, might as well fess up. I don't figure yer as judgemental as most, and none of you Brits are as tight-laced as they are back home.

"The thing is…" he hesitated and raked his hand through his hair, "What's the word you folks use here… I'm a pouf, is that right? A Nancy. Call us fags back home. Nothin' very nice, but there ya are. I had a dude; we'd been business partners fer years, on the ranch. He's as queer as a two-headed calf himself, but he ain't got the nerve to tell no one, see?"

He glanced over at her to see how she was taking his 'news'. She looked surprised, but not angry or disgusted.

"The flirtin' thing, that's a cover, see? My friend, back home… I was just startin' to hope that he was ready to admit there was somethin' there with us. I won't gross ya out with none o'the details, but there was chemistry there, real fire. His family ranch's right next to mine. We been workin' the land and the herds together since we was kids.

"And last June his ma told him if'n he didn't marry the gal they'd picked for him—only daughter o'the ranch on the other side of theirs—then they'd let his younger brother have the ranch, 'cause his brother wanted to marry the gal.

"Well… Josh, he loves that ranch. Looks like he loves it more'n me, cause I got an invite to the weddin' same day's I got the offer for this job. So. Here I am. You ain't the only ones who's folks still try and arrange marriages, only ours has nuthin to do with magic back home. Josh's a wizard, but he ain't had proper schoolin'. Dropped out after a couple o'years to tend the ranch. The gal's Muggle."

He took another swig of his coffee and cast a slightly vulnerable glance at Rowena.

"That's horrible!" she exclaimed. "How could someone chose a bit of old dirt over a person they loved?"

Dylan actually winced at this. "A bit of old dirt? Aw, honey, you ain't really got an idea of what it's like to work that land."

"Yes I do, my grandparents farmed and milked cows. I loved the farm; I'd go back now if it were safe to do so, just to be in the wide-open space. I even had a horse." She smiled softly at the memory of her old mare. "Nothing to your Jake, but she was mine, and I could ride her pretty well. Um… English saddle, of course. But I'd never pick that bit of earth over anyone I cared about!"

He shrugged. "Well, anyway, it's long over now. Weddin' was back in November, after the harvest and before spring calvin'. They didn't bother to send me an announcement, o'course. I think it was the last kindness he could do for me, not to hurt me anymore'n I already was. I ain't seen him since the day I got the invite.

"That ain't the worst of it, though. The worst is that I knew I'd never really be over it. That's why Luke was able to hoodwink me so easy, see? Luke is the very image o'my Josh—what Josh'll look like in 10 years or so, anyway. He's got that fancy Brit way o'talkin' that would send Josh into fits of laughin' but he's still got the look. Somethin' right powerful 'bout a man who can tie his hair back with a bit o'black velvet ribbon and still look masculine and sexy, don't ya think?"

Rowena couldn't help it… she laughed… a rich, full laugh that felt as though it was a balm to the tattered shreds of her own heart, her eyes met Dylan's who's were also twinkling with mirth, and he laughed as well.

"Well, how many men do you know that could carry that off?" he asked between guffaws.

Rowena crinkled her nose and shook her head, trying to speak between peals of giggles. "Lucius Malfoy is one of the most evil Dark Wizards in Britain!" she exclaimed. "I have NEVER considered him anything other than vicious and frightening. You… you make him sound… comical… 'a bit o' black velvet ribbon'… "

The shared laughter at Lucius's expense eventually died away to leave her feeling even more drained than before, though more healed as well. Her exhaustion got the better of her, and she leaned back against the chair and closed her eyes.

One of her last waking thoughts was for Severus… worried for him. She did not really believe he was hurting any less than she was. She still believed in the depths of her soul that he had loved her… maybe still loved her. He had no one who would care for him enough to help him like Dylan had helped her.

That was the problem, though. He pushed everyone away who might offer him help, comfort, friendship, acceptance. He believed he DESERVED this pain. She knew that, had seen evidence of it time and again. Until he could find his own peace and somehow manage to believe he deserved to have and to feel love and affection… there was nothing… NOTHING she could do for him.

And THAT, he had to find on his own.

Severus slammed the door to his quarters so hard that glass instruments on the shelves rattled. Remus had told him that they had been cautious not to leave Rowena alone at night after… after…

After HE had tortured her.

It was Remus who had come to him this afternoon, informed him of the raids, simultaneously on two locations—Voldemort had enslaved muggles that he intended to turn into werewolves. He intended to use the Wolfsbane potion to enable the creatures to keep their human minds during transformation—so that he could then control those minds.

Voldemort, with an army of werwolves! It was a very chilling thought.

Severus could not participate in the raid—he could not know about it. He was not suited to nursemaid the children of those going out. There was little he could do but swoop around the corridors looking for miscreants. But Remus had asked him to look in on Rowena. Severus had wanted to curse him into nothing more than a greasy spatter on the wall… but he understood the request. Rowena had made good show of normalcy, but he knew she woke screaming in the night.

It had taken some time to 'make amends' with his familiar, who seemed to be as angry with him as everyone else over what he had done. But at last the creature agreed to monitor her. He saw her, through Phantom's eyes, clinging tearfully to her brother, Tonks, her mother, when they woke her from screaming nightmares. The stubborn fool woman refused potions for sleep!

Dumbledore displayed his anger by icy cool behavior, and his own sort of 'Detention'. It was not possible for the Headmaster to reveal to any others the true severity of what he had done—it was still imperative that no one know they had been Bonded.

No, instead, he was confined to the castle, to regularly scheduled meals that he normally paid little attention to, to certain hours within the staff room…and to personally oversee all Gryffindor detentions.

The former was of course designed to make him face, every day, over and over again, the depth of the damage he had done to Rowena Lupin. Her innocent doe eyes would not meet his; her tawny complexion becoming pale and sallow, her face becoming thin and drawn. He had done that to her. He could not remember the last time he had seen her smile.

His fault.

The latter was simply to add insult to injury. Dumbledore knew he would punish himself far more than anything anyone else could do to him. Bloody Hell, a few hours under the Dark Lord's Cruciatus would surely seem like bliss compared to the constant pain in his chest and the constant reopening of that wound when he had to see her. But Dumbledore was angry, and the man could be as vicious in his anger as Voldemort in his own way.

If Severus wanted to be punished, by the Gods, Albus Dumbledore would punish him!

After the evening meal, this day, he had retreated to the solitude of his quarters. Rowena still sat next to him at meals. Still spoke to the other teachers as though the world had kept spinning. Yet tonight there was a tremble in her voice and dark circles under her eyes, the scent of fear about her. Tonight, no one would be there to watch over her while she slept, and she was trying to put on a brave face, as though she needed no one.

With no detentions to oversee, he brooded. He toyed with the bit of gold and glittering stone he pulled out of his pocket—the ring that his ferret had found and brought to him a week ago. His ring, that had once been on her finger. Phantom had bit him savagely when he deposited the thing in his palm. He hadn't noticed. The fire inside the stone even seemed flat and dull.

He could touch nothing beautiful without it resulting in its destruction. He understood that now.

After student curfew, he had swept through the corridors, pretending he was not going where he was going. He would only inquire as to her health, offer her a dreamless sleep potion—surely she would accept one under the circumstances! Then he would return to his quarters. Maybe a dreamless sleep potion would be in order for himself. Then again, he didn't deserve such comfort.

He heard the knock before he rounded the corner to her corridor, saw the cowboy standing there, hat in his hands, as though a supplicant at an alter. He heard the lazy drawl of the man, the soft response of the woman, the door opened wider… he left as quickly as he could, confident that his black robes in the dark hallway would conceal him.

Rage filled him as he stormed back to the shelter of his dungeons. He thought he could slam the door hard enough to rattle the entire castle, and was disappointed when it did not crash down upon him and obliterate him at last.

He stared at the fire, long into the night, the tiny bit of gold and precious stone digging into the palm of his hand where he clenched it tightly. Agony tore through his chest with every breath. Pain, rage. Wild, violent emotions that he refused to give power by naming. Albus said the Dark Lord's name freely; insisting that fear of the name increased fear of the thing itself. He did not understand—naming a thing, recognizing it for what it was—gave it power.

He did not name jealousy. He did not name grief, or love, or loss, or heartbreak.

Severus Snape most certainly did NOT weep.

A/N: Like all tragic things, they must get worse before they can get better. Grief must be processed before there can be healing. Next chapter will reveal what is going on with Order Members out on the raid.

I will not be writing any slash in this story, please forgive me anyone who is offended by this mild reference. I personally have no problem with the genre and enjoy reading slash fanfics myself—I just won't be writing one here.

Thank you to everyone's kind words of compassion and comfort over the loss of my niece. She was a bright, vibrant, shining star in our lives, and will be sorely missed. The story will continue to its completion. Meghan lived life to the fullest, she would not want us to do it any other way.