Chapter 3. Rose Weasley.
You are an angel trapped in pitch-dark midnight.
I can't forget or hide away or flee.
And I don't know what my life will be,
If suddenly your dark dissolves in sunlight…
You are an angel, by the dark confined.
And I shall not attempt to break the chains:
But wind myself around the harsh restraints
So you can't tell who it is that they bind…
Yes, you are dark, but I am all aflame,
I need no glamor and no glitz galore.
There was a reason for our true rapport:
Both dawn and midnight dazzle us the same…
She often recalled the morning that became, for both of them, the beginning of something new and special. That morning after the battle, when the feeling of security was still too new to be taken for granted; when hearts were still pounding with anxiety. The morning when the enemies of Harry Potter had once again been soundly defeated, and friends and family went home to regroup, look around, and see what was left after the battle, and what become of them after it.
For some reason she always thought of that morning as the morning of the Dawn, because she was sat on the windowsill and watched the sun rise from behind the hills, its rays falling on the stern face of Theodic Mancilli.
A healer, a legilement, a talented wizard – none of that was news to her. What was new were the look in his eyes and his arms around her. And his pain, hidden from everyone for years: the years of being a "bastard"; of waiting for his father to return, as his mother had promised; the years after her "betrayal", when she got married, having lost faith in his father coming back. And in all these years of waiting, his father revealed himself only once – in the depths of a Pensieve, on Theo's eleventh birthday.
Pain was something he was used to, a part of him, of his life and of his thoughts. Yet, on that morning that pain was going away because he had learned a lot about his father: of his parents' chance meeting, of the man's drunken stupor, of the woman's inexplicable desire to help, and of the Oblivion that forever put them asunder. He now knew that he was the son of Severus Snape; he had seen his portrait, talked to him. Theo was still feeling the pain, dull and familiar, and he did not want to part with it; yet, part with it he must – because SHE, Rose was with him; because she kissed him for the first time ever…
Because he loved her as she loved him.
No, he did not declare it by screaming her name off the top of the Astronomy Tower; did not write fiery words on the walls; did not give her extravagant gifts. He was simply there, with her, often wordlessly sharing his inner world, heretofore closed off to everyone. They could remain silent for hours, or discuss some trivial potion, and yet, it was the most either of them could have wished for at that moment.
The four years of their relationship have merely strengthened their connection, merely showed how similar they were, and how much they enjoyed finding differences. Discovering a whole new world – not that of reason, but of feelings, unfamiliar, deep, sincere; feelings that defied words.
They have been living together for a year and a half: ever since Theo opened a private clinic upon his departure from Hogwarts. She loved their little house at the end of a quiet street where both wizards and Muggles resided… All in all, she was glad that their tastes and priorities were so in synch…
Nothing grand, nothing flashy, nothing loud…
It became clear to her gradually, from his rare remarks, from his facial expressions.
Still, in many ways he remained an enigma to her, one she so enjoyed figuring out. Fitting keys, breaking codes, finding combinations for the thousand locks that protected his inner world. And every time when she succeeded even a little bit, she was happy as a child, even though she knew immediately that every solved puzzle revealed a dozen new ones. This was what had always been missing in the rational and transparent world of Rose Weasley.
The girl quietly entered the house, gladly breathing in his scent: potions, clean laundry and toasted bread. This reminded her of The Burrow and Grandma Molly.
The large windows in the foyer let in the sunlight of the last days of summer. The door that led to the exam room and Theo's study was ajar. Rose set down her books and notepads, quietly kicked off her shoes, hung up her handbag, and walked over to the door, following his , as silly as it seemed, the smell of potions, alcohol and ink has by now been absorbed by his skin that she often kissed, breathing in his essense.
Rose quietly entered the study, which was also bright, despite the drawn curtains he used in his old habit of separating himself from the world. Cots, screens, a shelf holding his books and records, and his desk, which was always tidy.
Rose tiptoed to him, bent over his notes, his brow furrowed in concentration. She held back her hair, leaned over his back and tenderly touched her lips to his cheekbone, putting her arms around his shoulders. He did not start or flinch: merely covered her left hand with his as his lips twitched, but she knew he was glad to see her. She knew him well now and could tell what he was feeling at the moment by as little as a slightest movement of his eyelashes.
"Tired," he was not asking, but stating, his head still bent over his notes, but his fingers playing with hers, wrapped around him. He seldom asked questions. And he was never given to sentimental outbursts, which did not upset Rose in the least – because that made even more precious to her his splashes of passion, his arms tightening around her, his burning eyes. And it was even more precious because no one but her ever saw him that way…
"Hello," she pressed her cheek to his, snaking her arms around his neck. "Are you hungry?"
He shook his head. Rose smiled slightly – she was now used to their silent conversations, to his curt replies. More often his response was in his body language, hands, lips, a turn of his head.
She drew back, walked around him and sat on the corner of the desk, waiting for him to finish writing. Rose was smiling tenderly, watching, studying him, although she had long had a feeling that she knew him inside out, completely. Every movement, every line. Like he knew her.
"Theo…"
He looked up, and she immediately understood by almost imperceptible to others signs that something had happened. Something that moved him. No, neither tension nor anxiety showed in his face. It's just that he, as always, was vulnerable before her, and she used that because that was what he wanted.
Her eyes fell on an envelope laid neatly next to the stack of patient files. Under his unflinching stare she straightened up and picked up the letter, her nails scratching slightly against the smooth desk surface.
The Ministry seal, a generic name of a low-grade bureaucrat. Rose carefully took the piece of parchment out and scanned it. A moment later the letter fell from her hand as she threw herself at Theo, forcing him to lean back in his char. He pressed her to him, thrusting his hands, smelling of ink and alcohol into her unruly hair.
"Mr. Snape," she whispered, looking straight into his dark, impenetrable eyes. He did not need any more words, she knew. Could words describe the true feelings of a man who had waited for this moment for nearly four years: the moment when he would, finally, after all those years, claim his father, his life-long dream? Only she and she alone knew how eagerly he awaited this document, how he would momentarily hold his breath when picking up the post…
Rose kissed his cool lips with the taste of cinnamon that he put in his tea. A deep kiss that no one ever witnessed, the kiss that was only for them… When he suddenly looked disoriented, when his face lit up, the wrinkle on his forehead smoothed out, when he closed his eyes… Only the two of them, alone… It was their secret. He – like that – was her secret, her enigma, something that she did not want to share with anyone.
"I shall make us something to eat," Rose traced his eyebrows with her finger. He merely shook his head, pulling back and raising one hand with the closed fist. His fingers opened, and on his big palm with a fresh potion burn she saw a small, plain signet ring, with a graceful "S" engraved on it.
He did not pose the question, and she did not reply, because any words would sound off at that moment. Silence spoke for them. Her hand trembled as he put the ring on her slim finger.
"Theo," how she loved to say his name out loud.
And how she loved getting in return his muted:
"Rose."
She smiled, feeling his ring on her hand and the letter "S", so important to him, the son of Severus Snape…