CHAPTER 20
Ultimatums
The end of the school year loomed on the horizon, just three short weeks away. The fifth- and seventh-year students were easy to spot these days--they were the ones walking round the school muttering under their breath: lists of potion ingredients, dates of famous wars, charms for levitation, and the like. During free periods in the Great Hall, random objects could be seen suddenly transfiguring into completely different items--evidence of frantic last-minute practice for O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations.
When Professor McGonagall found herself, one morning at breakfast, faced not with the flowered teacup she had been holding only moments before but instead nose to nose with an indignant white mouse, Dumbledore (manfully hiding a snort of laughter) was moved to decree that practice must be reserved for non-meal times, in order to maintain a semblance of decorum.
Harry and Ron, being sixth-year students and therefore subject to neither of these formal examinations this year, watched sympathetically but, it must be said, somewhat smugly. Hermione, on the other hand, was as driven as any of the O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. students. When Ron unwisely told her she ought to take life a bit easier since they only had to take the regular end-of-year exams, she rounded on him incredulously.
"Only?" she exclaimed. "Only, nothing! I haven't worked this hard to only get Acceptable marks this year, Ron!" She looked at the two boys as they sprawled against the castle bailey's stone wall. "Do you two really have so little interest in your futures that you won't make an effort to do well in your exams? It's not just the marks--I know you think that's all I care about, but it's not. What we're learning here may be something you'll find you desperately need to know later on. Don't you get it?" She stood, hands on hips, frustrated by their seemingly careless attitude about their future prospects.
Ron sniggered. "I don't know how critical it'll be for us to know how to concoct half the potions Snape's had us making this year," he said. "And who's ever going to be in mortal danger because they didn't know the dates of the last Troll war?" He winked at her cockily. "Besides, if I do ever need to know any of that stuff, I can always ask you, right?" He grinned, having, as he supposed, neatly sidestepped the problem, and looked to Harry for his agreement. But Harry, seeing the look on Hermione's face at Ron's words, looked away uncomfortably. Ron, having finally realized he had somehow offended, looked back at Hermione.
"Oh, of course," she said in an odd voice. "You can always ask me, can't you?" Ron, uncertain of her mood, remained warily silent.
"Tell me, Ron--where do you see yourself in, say, ten years?" Hermione asked suddenly.
He shrugged. "I dunno. Never really thought that far ahead. Why?" Harry cringed inwardly, having a fairly good idea where Hermione was headed with her question.
"Well, how about after next year, when we graduate from Hogwarts?" she persisted. "What will you do then?"
"Go to university, I suppose. Why--what are you going to do?"
Hermione said, "I've decided to go to university to become a Healer. I think someday, when Madam Pomfrey retires, I'd rather like to return to Hogwarts as the school's Medi-witch." She looked Ron in the eye. "I don't know where you'll be," she said slowly. "Somehow I can't imagine you wanting to spend any great amount of time in an institution of learning. So...I don't know, of course, but it seems quite likely our lives will go in different directions after we leave here, doesn't it?" She ran her quill through her fingers repeatedly, looking for something in his eyes that she seemed to not find.
Ron listened to her with a vague feeling of panic. Various unpleasant suppositions raced through his mind, each one worse than the last. What was she getting at?
"Here, what are you getting at, Hermione?" he asked finally. He was afraid to ask--but he had to know. "Are you--are you--" He couldn't bring himself to voice the dreadful thought aloud.
But the horrified look on his face spoke for itself. On some level, it gave Hermione a feeling of satisfaction to see it. Ron wasn't easily able to express any tender emotions he might feel; for him, saying even this little told her how much he cared about her. She hoped those feelings would spur him on to do something with his life; she didn't want to tread a lonely path through the rest of her life without him. So...
"Am I breaking up with you, do you mean?" she asked quietly. Ron gulped and nodded, a suspicious hint of brightness in his eyes. Hermione steeled herself to not offer him an easy out. She thought it was high time he found out what he was made of.
"I don't know," she said earnestly. "I don't want to break up, certainly. But nor do I really want to think of a life with you when you don't know what you want to do with yourself. You have to make a decision sometime, Ron. Not today, of course--but you don't even seem to have a vague idea about what you want! I'm just saying you'd better buck up and start thinking about it. I don't intend to spend the next few years in limbo, waiting for you to make up your mind to grow up and find something to do."
She stood up. The sun was disappearing behind the hills and the breeze suddenly felt a bit chilly. She waited for a long, agonized moment for the boys to get up as well, but Harry and Ron were so taken aback by her outburst that they remained sitting there stupidly. Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder, and with an impatient sigh she left, dragging her feet and sending many a backward glance over her shoulder.
Harry finally stood up, brushing grass and dirt from his trousers. Ron stared into space with the dazed expression of someone who has witnessed a catastrophe and isn't quite sure what has just happened. Harry bent down and offered his hand. "Come on," he said. Ron stared at Harry's hand blankly for a moment and then grasped it and pulled himself up.
"What on earth was that all about?" he said piteously. "Where did all that come from?" He was completely bewildered. Harry decided it was time for a little heart-to-heart with his oblivious friend.
"Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this," he said uneasily. Ron looked at him suspiciously, but Harry forged on.
"She's right, you know." There was an outraged squeak from Ron. "No, really, Ron. Haven't you noticed how Hermione's always hinting for you to show her how you feel? How she tries to get you to talk about what you're interested in so she can get closer to you? She's really trying to--you know--" he rolled his eyes, hating the clichéd phrase--"take your relationship to the next level." He looked at Ron to see if any of this was sinking in. But it was hard to tell.
Ron snorted. "The next level? And what does that mean, might I ask?" He shook his head in disgust. "Sounds like you've been reading too many ladies' magazines, mate."
"Okay, Ron, then let me ask you: where do you see yourself in ten years? As far as you and Hermione are concerned, I mean."
"Well, ten years, that's such a long time, Harry. I don't know--married, of course, maybe a couple of kids by then. But why worry about it now? That's so far off."
Harry spread his hands. "See? That's what I mean--she's trying to get you to move in that direction, but I think she's worried you're going to just kind of drift along, never deciding what you want to do and never making a definite move toward growing up or marriage or responsibility--just living at the Burrow indefinitely and waiting for something to happen."
Ron gave him a look. "Oh, come on, Harry. She can't possibly think so little of me. After all--well, we are engaged. Why would she have agreed to that if I'm such a slacker as all that?"
Harry shrugged. "I don't know. She's changed this year--she's got a lot more serious. Maybe she thinks you haven't." He paused for a moment. "Do you have any idea at all what you want to do after Hogwarts? I mean, you said university--but to what end?"
Ron shuffled his feet a bit. His face grew red under Harry's scrutiny. "Well," he said defiantly, "Mum and Dad expect me to go to university. I don't really want to--years more of classes and such, it sounds like a drag--but I don't see a way out of it. I know what I'd really like to do, and I can tell you it doesn't involve university at all. But it'll never happen," he said, finishing on a glum note.
"Why not?" asked Harry curiously. "What is it?"
"You'll laugh," said Ron.
"I won't laugh. Honest."
"Oh, you will, when you hear what it is," Ron assured him stubbornly. He sighed and reluctantly met Harry's eyes. "I want to play Quidditch professionally," he said, watching Harry carefully for any signs of incipient laughter. "I know what you're thinking," he added wryly.
"What?" Harry protested. "I know you like Quidditch a lot. Makes sense to me. But...do you think you could really do it?"
Ron's mouth twisted sourly. "I pretty much know I can't do it," he said dully. "Well, you know it, too--you've seen me play!" His shoulders slumped as he thought of his less-than-professional-caliber Quidditch ability.
"Oh, you're not as bad as all that," Harry said, not wanting to crush Ron completely but leery of encouraging any false hopes. A sudden thought struck him. "Have you ever considered teaching?"
Ron looked at him as if he'd sprouted wings. "Teaching?" He laughed bitterly. "Me? Harry, if you're just going to make bad jokes, let's drop the subject right now."
"No, I'm serious," Harry insisted. "Actually, it's the perfect solution." Ron looked at him askance. "No, just listen, Ron. Hermione wants to end up back at Hogwarts for her career, right? Well, what could be better than both of you being teachers here?" He warmed to his subject. "She'd be in the Infirmary, and you'd be teaching. It'd be great!" He looked at Ron, expecting to see his enthusiasm reflected there.
But Ron was gaping at Harry as if he'd just suggested robbing Gringotts--or worse. "You're mental!" he said at last. "Pure mental!" When Harry opened his mouth to protest this view of his grand plan, Ron held up his hand to stop him.
"Just tell me one thing: exactly what do you imagine I'd be teaching, in this rosy picture you're painting?" he demanded. "You know I'm not all that great at classes, so what--exactly--do you see me teaching? Potions?" He laughed. "Have to be over Snape's dead body, don't you think? And Charms--good grief, Harry, I'd probably kill someone my first day! In fact, if I tried to teach any subject, people could be in grave danger. You know what a lousy student I am. How can you even suggest such a stupid thing?" He turned and began trudging back to the castle. Harry hurried to catch up.
"Come on, Ron," he said bracingly. "I didn't mean to get you all depressed. Besides, I wasn't thinking of anything like that. Quidditch--that's what I could see you teaching."
Ron snorted inelegantly. "Oh, right--me being such a star player and all, you mean?" He shook his head, truly puzzled by Harry's obtuseness in refusing to see reality.
"You may not be a star player but that's only because you're not very confident," Harry said. "Remember the day you won for Gryffindor? You won, Ron--you were brilliant!"
Ron looked a bit less gloomy at the memory of that one golden day. "Yeah, all right--I guess I did play pretty well," he admitted. "But, Harry, it's only one match. It's not like it's ever happened before. It was just a fluke. I wouldn't have any business teaching others how to play."
"I disagree. You, Ron, are Quidditch-mad. You know everything there is to know about the game. You may not be the world's best Keeper, or fastest flyer, but you know a good player when you see one. You taught Ginny how to play. She said you were a much better teacher than Bill or the twins, because you were patient with her and gave her a lot of encouragement. Well, that's what a teacher does, Ron--in case you hadn't noticed. Besides, how many teachers do you know who are superstars? If they were, they wouldn't be teaching. You could encourage a whole new generation of Quidditch players. Maybe one of them would even turn out to be a champion someday. Just think about it, Ron, that's all." He fell silent. Ron looked more thoughtful and less sulky now, so Harry had reason to hope his words hadn't fallen on deaf ears.
Finally, at the castle doors, Ron spoke. "Well--I dunno, Harry. It seems way too much like fun to be a real job."
"Why can't a job be fun?" Harry wanted to know.
"I--well--" Obviously it was something Ron hadn't considered before. Teaching was work--and since when was work fun?
Harry laughed. "Just think about it, okay? You never know." Ron nodded absently, his mind already busy imagining himself as Professor Weasley, beloved Hogwarts Quidditch master.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Professor Lovejoy ambled along the corridor slowly, reluctant to spend the evening marking essays. She looked lingeringly out of each window she passed, the soft early-evening light beckoning to her--come out and play, Trillium, you know you want to. She sighed. It was proving to be every bit as difficult for her to buckle down and be responsible and hard-working during these final few weeks of school as it was for the students; they had her full sympathy. It was nearly impossible to concentrate on schoolwork when the weather was fine and romance was in the air.
Because romance was--most definitely--in the air.
It never failed: the closer it got to end of term, the more frantic the students seemed to be to pair off before being separated for the summer. Some very unexpected and downright odd couples were formed during the last weeks of school. Some lasted the summer and were continued the next autumn; others were of a more transitory nature, existing only to satisfy the need of the moment to have someone to stroll the grounds with, or watch the stars with--in short, someone with whom to share the nebulous feeling that was Romance, generated by soft breezes, balmy night air, and the realization that separation was nearly upon them. It was teenage hormones at their finest.
However, the students were by no means the only ones affected by that "certain something" in the air. Far from it.
Professor McGonagall was heard to hum--actually hum!--as she passed out homework assignments in fifth-year Transfiguration. Professor Binns, ghost though he was, was more animated than usual in his discussions of ancient battles of the goblin wars, actually getting up from his desk to pace up and down the room, now and then stopping to stare longingly out of a window. He invariably forgot what he had been saying and would begin again on an entirely different subject, which variously frustrated and amused his students.
So perhaps Professor Lovejoy could be excused for her inattentiveness to duty, and her sudden decision to take an evening stroll by the lake. She wondered where Snape might be--and even as she thought of him, he appeared around a corner at the far end of the corridor, walking toward her. He, too, cast envious glances out of the windows at the students who littered the grounds as they took advantage of the last of the light.
Suddenly looking up, he caught sight of Professor Lovejoy and his eyes lit up. He could feel a ridiculous smile spreading across his face. He couldn't stop it, he knew, even if he tried. But these days he wasn't so sure he cared if people caught him looking happy. Why shouldn't he be happy? He'd waited long enough, certainly. Well, then, let the whole blasted world know it! Let them look, if they had nothing better to do. He was--
"Severus."
Professor Lovejoy interrupted his meandering thoughts. Her voice was like ice-cold water being poured over his parched, sun-baked soul. It was delicious--she was delicious. He drank in the sight of her, unable to get enough.
"Lovejoy."
His voice made her want to hug herself. It rolled softly over her, blanketing her in warmth.
"What are you up to this fine evening?" she asked, her face dimpling in a friendly smile.
Snape was mesmerized by those dimples. Every time he saw them he wanted to touch them. His hand actually started to lift when a roar of laughter from a group of students outside recalled him to his surroundings. He looked startled, as though he had just come awake, and stared at his hand for a moment in puzzlement.
"Ah..." he began, staring at Professor Lovejoy in bemusement.
"I should be marking essays right now," she said. "But I really would rather be outside, enjoying the evening. Wouldn't you?" Her eyes were inviting.
Snape's lips twitched. "As you say," he agreed.
"Perhaps...a brief stroll by the lakeside?"
He eyed the sky. "It will have to be brief, indeed. The sun will be going down soon."
"Well, then...?"
Snape gave a courtly bow--for him, a playful gesture indeed. "I am at your service," he purred. He held out his arm. "Shall we?"
"We shall!" she said delightedly, taking his arm. Feeling inordinately pleased with themselves, they descended a short stairway into the courtyard and made their way among small groups of students to the outer wall. They passed through the arch and made for the near shore of the lake.
"There's hardly anyone about down here," commented Trillium. She hugged Snape's arm to her and smiled up at him. "All the better for us."
He looked down at her with that same silly grin playing about his mouth. "As you say," he replied. They strolled in silence for a bit, enjoying each other's closeness. Eventually they approached the broken boulder and, by tacit agreement, sat on the broad, flat piece.
Trillium spoke softly. "Back where it all started, eh?" she said slyly. "It appears there is room for two here, after all."
"Well--" Severus said consideringly-- "A lot has changed this year, hasn't it? I mean, there were two...and now there are Two." He hardly bothered to glance about for watching eyes before putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close. In an excess of good feeling, brought on collectively by the fine evening, the chance to be alone with Trillium, and that indefinable something-in-the-air called Romance--not to mention the fact that for once he was having a rather good hair day--he laid his cheek on her hair, pressed a kiss there, and said something that surprised even him.
"There's nothing I wouldn't share with you, Trillium."
Even as he heard himself say it, he felt her freeze. Oh, damn, he thought. Why did I have to say that? What will she possibly think? It's too soon. She'll think me presumptuous. Damn, damn, damn.
And Trillium thought, now why did he say that? Does he mean--is he going to--well, it is rather soon, but--heavens, I never thought he'd do it! She waited breathlessly for what would follow.
Except that quite a bit of time passed, and Severus said nothing. Finally Trillium pulled away from him and turned to look at him. He wouldn't--quite--meet her eyes. But she wouldn't--couldn't--let him backslide.
"Nothing, Severus?" she prompted, bringing his hand up and laying it against her cheek. She turned her head just a little and kissed his palm. His eyes closed as if he was in pain. She waited. Finally he opened his eyes and she saw the torment in them. She clung to his hand, willing him to say more.
"There's nothing I wouldn't share with you--if I could," he said heavily. "But the Dark Lord still owns my life, Trillium. As long as he exists, I have nothing to share with you. Nothing, that is," he said starkly, "except danger and uncertainty. Nothing you would want. Nothing you should have to put up with."
"I would put up with just about anything to share your life, Severus," Trillium said boldly. He did meet her eyes then. "Yes, I suppose it is a bit forward of me to come right out and say it. But I'm afraid if I don't make you see just how much I care about you, you'll get all noble and disappear out of my life." His eyes scooted away again. "Oh, yes, I know you, Severus. That's what you tried to do before, but I battered my way past your defenses. And I'll do it again, if you make me."
He laughed. "I have no doubt you would." He stood and moved a few feet away to the water's edge, kicking pebbles into the water, hands curled into fists at his sides. "But I don't know what to tell you. I don't know how to defeat the Dark Lord--or, really, if he even can be defeated. After all, if anyone could do it, I would think Dumbledore could--and he hasn't, has he?" He resumed his rock-kicking.
Something sparked in Trillium's mind. "If anyone could do it--but Severus, it's not Dumbledore who's supposed to vanquish Voldemort. Don't you remember? It's Harry--or at least that's what the prophecy seems to say."
He turned to stare at her in amazement. "How in blazes do you know about the prophecy?"
"Oh," she said, smoothing her dress with a smug expression, "I hear things. People talk, you know." He crossed his arms and tapped one toe ominously. She laughed. "Oh, very well. If you must know, Dumbledore and Minerva told me when they were interviewing me for this position last summer. They knew I was Harry's aunt, so I suppose they thought I had a right to know."
"Oh." For a moment, Severus had forgotten about her relationship to Harry. "Well, we all know how wonderful Potter is," he sneered, "but I don't see him vanquishing anyone. And after five chances, at that!" He harrumphed noisily, as if daring her to come to Harry's defense.
"No," she said quietly. "Voldemort is still with us. But perhaps it's time for Harry to try again." He looked up sharply as she continued. "Well, you must admit, Severus, Harry has become much more adept in all of his skills this year. I don't want to knowingly send him into mortal danger any more than you do--" she met his gaze squarely and he colored guiltily-- "and certainly not just because I want to hurry up and smooth the way for you and I to share a life together." She sighed.
"Have you--mentioned this idea to Dumbledore?" Severus asked hesitantly.
She shook her head. "No. But I've been thinking about it a lot lately. It just seems unconscionable to put Harry in harm's way like that. I can't see how the prophecy can possibly be true...but then, as you say, no one else is leaping forward to take Voldemort on."
"So once again Potter comes between us," Severus said sourly.
"What?"
"Well, it's true. Even you admit he's probably intended to be the means of Voldemort's destruction, but you can't see past the danger to him because he's your nephew and--you like him."
"Actually, Severus, I love him. Dearly!"
"Fine. You love him. You see what it's come down to, don't you, Trillium? I always knew this would happen in the end--that it would come down to your choosing one of us--him...or me." His lips twisted with something like rage, but she knew he was hurt. Justifiable or not, he continued to see all odds stacked against him, in every way possible. She had no idea what to say to make it better. He turned on his heel and began to walk away.
Trillium jumped up from her seat on the rock and said sharply, "You stop right there, Severus Snape!" Startled by the unaccustomed edge of anger in her voice, he stopped and turned to face her, his face unreadable.
"How dare you say that?" she breathed as she advanced on him. "I have never--ever--" punctuating her words with sharp little pokes in his chest-- "heard anything so ridiculous. Why can't you get it through your thick head--" more poking-- "that I love both of you? I have no intention of choosing between the two of you, ever." He looked dubious. She stopped poking him and just stared at him, her chest rising and falling quickly in agitation.
"You are the man I want to spend the rest of my life with, Severus. There, I've said it. I can't be plainer than that. I want to be with you forever, always, whatever it takes because--I love you. When will you see th--"
But he broke off her tirade in mid-word by the simple expedient of pulling her to him and claiming her lips in a hard kiss. When he finally released her, she stood dazed for a moment. He looked at her--eyes bright, cheeks pink with indignation--and had to smile.
"Severus," she said sternly, not swayed by the smile or, apparently, by the kiss, "you must come to terms with this jealousy if we're to have a future together. Harry is no threat to you. He's a relation. But you--you're my other half." She looked pleadingly into his eyes. "You are the man I love above everyone else. If you can't bring yourself to believe that, then...well, then I'll just have to give up on you. Believe me," she assured him upon seeing his worried look, "I don't want to. But as much as I want a life with you, I won't have one filled with jealousy and empty of harmony. Because Harry will be a part of my life from now on, too."
She gently removed herself from his grasp. "I think you'd better give some serious thought to what you really want, Severus. I know what I want, but maybe I shall have to face that I just can't have it." He opened his mouth to speak, and she shook her head sharply. "Don't say anything now. I don't want to hear 'But, Trillium' from you. I want you to think about this. I want you in my life, for the rest of my life. I'll do anything to make that happen. But Harry is family, Severus. He's part of the package. He's part of me, just as you are. You need to decide if you can live with that. I really hope you can. But I don't just want words from you. You need to be sure. When you are...come find me."
She slipped past him, and he didn't stop her. Her skirts billowed in the evening breeze as she made her way back to the castle through the twilight, her heart aching with the knowledge that adding Harry to Snape's already-heavy burden of Voldemort's control over his life could quite possibly be too much for him to accept.
Snape knew an ultimatum when he heard it. As much as it pained him to admit it, he knew the potential headache of being related to Harry Potter was insignificant next to the empty pit his life would be without Trillium. Really, there was only one thing any sane man could do.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
As Trillium approached the main staircase, resigned to returning to her quarters to spend the night trying in vain to sleep, she heard footsteps ringing on the floor behind her. She turned to see Severus pounding down the corridor toward her.
"Trillium, wait!" he panted. He came up to her and puffed, "You're right. Why are you always right? But you are. Of course you are. I've been an ass." She swallowed a smile and regarded him somberly. He held out a hand. "Come. Let's go see Dumbledore. It's time to come up with a plan."
Hesitantly she put her hand in his. "A plan for...?"
"For vanquishing the Dark Lord."
She looked a question at him.
"With Potter's--Harry's--help." Yes. Yes! she thought.
"Are you sure?" she asked him.
"Completely. Trillium, you--you are the love of my life." He smoothed the hair off her face with one hand. A pair of passing Ravenclaw third-year girls gawked to see the Potions master doing something so unheard-of, but he didn't even notice them. "You're willing to take on Voldemort to spend a lifetime with me--how can I do any less for you with Pot--with Harry?"
She smiled up at him, but clearly was not quite convinced.
"Truly," he said earnestly. "I will make an effort to--to see him the way you do. It may take some time, you understand. But I'll make an honest effort, you'll see. I can't let you go. With you I can face any number of Dark Lords--but only if you're there with me."
She was satisfied. "Then what are we waiting for?" she said. They walked the few steps further to the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's office. Trillium said firmly, "Fizzing Whizbee!" The gargoyle moved aside to allow them to step onto the revolving stairway.
Time to plan the downfall of the Dark Lord.