Snowdrops

"The Snowdrop, in purest white array, First rears her head on Candlemas day."

It was a bleak day. The sky was overcast, and it looked like it might snow again. It had snowed a lot that winter, but it seemed to finally be clearing up. Short blades of yellow-green grass could be seen poking out of the shallow snow, and the snow had almost completely melted off the roofs of Hogsemade Village.

"Marietta! Hurry up and get down here!"

"I'll be right there Aunt Rosie!"

Marietta Edgecombe sighed, tearing her eyes away from the window. As she headed towards the door, her eyes caught on her reflection and she stopped, her breath catching in her chest. It had been almost three years, but it still shocked her to see the marks marring her face.

"SNEAK."

The word had once been written clearly across her face in pimples, and although it was long gone now, some scars still remained as a reminder of what she had done.

Her eyes still trained to her reflection, she gently traced the scars with her fingers. How could she ever forget? She would never forgive that Hermione Granger. She had only done what was right—what she needed to do.

"Marietta!"

"I'm coming!"

After all, family always came first.

She knew now, of course, that Harry and Dumbledore had been right, but that didn't mean she should have been willing to sacrifice her mother's job.

"Sorry, Aunt Rosie," Marietta murmured as she tied an apron around her waist.

She had started working for her mother's older sister, Rosmerta, at the Three Broomsticks that past summer when business had started to get particularly busy. Drinking became a popular sport with so many grieving over the deaths of loved ones.

"I just got distracted. It's February 2nd, you know."

Madam Rosmerta smiled sympathetically at her niece. "Yes, dear, I know." She reached forward and tucked a loose curl of reddish-blonde hair behind Marietta's ear. Her eyes flitted over Marietta's face, lingering on the scars. "There should never be such sadness on such a young, beautiful face. Cheer up; they wouldn't want you to dwell over it."

"I know," Marietta meekly agreed; she cast her eyes towards the floor. She could still feel her aunt's eyes boring into her scars, and no matter what she said about understanding, Marietta knew her aunt still judged her actions.

"I should get to work," she murmured. Eyes still downcast, she slipped past the barmaid and grabbed a rag from a basket under the counter. Silently, she set to work taking down the chairs and wiping down the table. She took care in getting out each smudge, determined that each worn table should shine by the time she was done.

"Is there anything else I can do?" Marietta asked as she threw the rags in a hamper forty-five minutes later.

"Yes," Madam Rosmerta replied; Marietta's heart sank. She had done even more work than usual; what else was there for her to possibly do? She watched with dread as her aunt disappeared around the corner to the storage closet.

A moment later, the older witch returned, her hand in the till box. "Take this and go buy some candles to put in the window," she said, dropping a few galleons in Marietta's unsuspecting hand.

As a response, Marietta stared at her aunt in shock.

"Well get on with it then!" Madam Rosmerta exclaimed, waving a cloth in Marietta's face. "And don't forget to wear a coat; it's cold out there."

Marietta ran upstairs and retrieved her coat and scarf from her closet. A moment later, she was sprinting out the front door of the bar with a grateful smile gracing her mouth. "Thank you Aunt Rosie."

There was a small shop in the village which Marietta knew sold crafts. Passing by, she had seen all sorts of handcrafted items, and, if memory served correctly, candles were among them.

Marietta wandered the streets unsurely, keeping her eyes peeled for the little shop. In her Hogwarts days, she hadn't had much interest in it—why would she with stores like Honeydukes as Zonkos around?—and she had had very little chance to really look around since she started to live there.

She continued on past the Hog's Head and was almost at the Shrieking Shack when she found it at last. A cheerful light was glowing inside and a wooden sign painted green hung above the chipped door. Marietta's hand hovered over the doorknob as she read the sign. "The Craft Basket."

Hesitantly, Marietta stepped through the doorway. A bell rang softly, announcing her entrance. A plump little witch immediately bustled in from the back room, her long blonde hair falling out of its butterfly clip.

"Hello!" she greeted happily, a smile lighting up her moss green eyes.

"Hello." Marietta half-smiled at the woman before proceeding to look around the store. There were beautiful pieces of pottery, each unique in shape and color. There were handcrafted picture frames, each more breathtaking than the last, though Marietta noticed she preferred the more simple wooden ones they had; she liked the simplicity.

There were hand-built shelves, chairs, and tables, as well as hand-widdled instruments. Everything was beautiful; Marietta was stunned by the detail put into the pieces. It was hard to believe they were made manually, but the friendly witch confirmed that they were.

"'Course, we get some help from magic, my husband and I, to speed things up, but we do the hard parts—the details, the painting—ourselves. We like it better that way. Makes it more personal."

"They're exquisite," Marietta commented, flashing the witch a real smile that time. She knew she would never have the patience to sit down and do something like this herself.

"Thank you," the woman beamed. "I'm sorry, I've forgotten my manners! Can I help you find anything?"

"Yes, actually. I passed by here once, and I thought you carried candles. Do you…?"

"Oh yes! Here, let me show them to you!"

She hurried around the counter and led Marietta to an area she hadn't had time yet to explore. There, there was a whole array of candles. Tall ones; short ones; thin ones; fat ones; blue ones; white ones; green ones; red, purple, yellow, orange ones. There were some that were spiraled and others of various shapes. Some were even bewitched to change shape; others bewitched to change colors.

The witch hovered over Marietta observed them all. She wanted very simple candles, that she already knew, but that didn't make the others any less intriguing.

"My daughter has the same scarf," the woman commented. "Ravenclaw, were you?"

Marietta glanced down at the blue and bronze scarf which hung loosely around her neck. "Yes, I was."

"How long ago was that? Surely not more'n a couple years?"

"Just two years ago."

"So you might know my daughter then. Ivory Weems? She's a sixth year now."

The name did sound familiar, but she couldn't find a face to place with it. Rather than telling her that, though, Marietta just nodded. "Oh, yes. I knew who she was."

Mrs. Weems was positively beaming as she bustled back over to the counter. Marietta followed after her a moment later carrying an assortment of white candles. Laying them out on the counter, she retrieved the galleons from her pocket and placed them down as well.

"Anything else, dear?"

"No, I just need the candles, today."

It was only a matter of time before he came in, though Marietta had to give him credit— it was taking him longer each time.

He had been pacing back and forth in front of the pub for a good ten minutes. Marietta watched him through the window as she set up the two-dozen candles she had purchased. She knew a lot of people thought he was a horrible, brooding guy, but she knew better than that.

At last, the door opened, and in he walked, carrying a chilly breeze with him.

"Good afternoon!" Marietta chirped; it was her duty to welcome customers when her aunt wasn't present, and she had to sound chipper. "I'll be right with you."

Pulling out her wand from her apron pocket, she whispered, "Incendio," and half of the candles lit up. With another wave, the rest were flickering merrily as well.

"The usual, Marcus?" Marietta said, walking around the bar. Grabbing a mug from beneath the counter, she quickly filled it with firewhiskey and slid it over to him.

"Thanks," he grumbled. He gripped the handle so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Marietta watched with concern as he downed the entire pint in one long swig.

"Are you al—"

"Another," he interrupted, slamming the mug down on the counter.

Marietta took the mug from his hand and refilled it from the tap. Sliding it over to him, she leaned against the bar, her eyes filling with concern as he chugged the second pint just as quickly as the first.

"What's wrong today, Marcus?" she asked. She silently accepted his mug and filled it a third time.

"It's February 2nd," he said as way of response. Already, his cheeks were looking a little flushed. Firewhiskey was a strong drink, stronger than Marietta liked, and very commonly had fast results with its drinkers.

"I know," she said softly in reply.

"Bad day," he grumbled.

"What happened?"

He turned sharply towards her, his dark brown eyes flashing in a way which suggested that he didn't want to talk about it. Marietta knew better than to press him; Marcus Flint had always had a reputation of being aggressive when sober; there was no telling what he'd be like with a few drinks in him.

For his fourth drink, Marietta gave him a pint of butterbeer; he was already too far gone to tell the difference.

"So, tell me Marcus," she began, leaning towards him with a teasing smile on her face, "what happened on your date last night?"

"She dumped me," Marcus said bluntly, taking another swig of his butterbeer.

"What happened?" Marietta exclaimed, astounded. "You two were doing so well! From what you told me, she seemed to really like you."

"Turns out," Marcus burped, "she doesn't like ex-Death Eaters."

"But you never were—"

"I KNOW!" he roared angrily. "I told her! I told her I never was a bloody Death Eater, but she didn't believe me. Thought I bribed the Wizengamot to let me out free. Couldn't believe that I was being honest. Thought since I was a Slytherin, I must be into that whole blood-purity bit. And, since my parents were supporters of him, I must be, too."

"But you were into blood purity," Marietta pointed out. This earned her a snarl—not her first from him—and a view of his large, crooked teeth.

"Was. Past tense," he said. The snarl was replaced by a deep frown; he stared down at his hands with sad gray eyes.

Marietta had known him to be compared to a troll, but he really wasn't so bad when he wasn't sneering or snarling. In fact, he was actually quite handsome, in Marietta's opinion. He was tall and muscular, and, unlike in his Hogwarts years, he took care of his hygiene. His coarse black hair was always clean, he never had any food in his teeth, and he never smelt. He had a chin strap, but it was well attended to. He was nothing like the Marcus Flint everyone had seemed to fear back at Hogwarts.

"Well, when did that stop?" Marietta asked, curious. She had talked to Marcus a lot since she started working for her aunt, but only ever about the present, never the past. They had talked about his trial, had gone over time and time again that he was not a Death Eater, nor would he ever be, had talked about his failing love life. They never brought up Hogwarts or the interval between then and the present.

"Another drink—I don't care what."

Marietta served him another pint of butterbeer along with a bowl of pretzels, but she wasn't about to let the subject drop as easily as that. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"When did you stop caring about blood purity? At Hogwarts, you used to be one of the worst. You couldn't stand anyone who was muggle-born; thought they were all worthless slime."

He stared at her a long time, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He was constantly forgetting that they went to school together, since she was four years his junior and from Ravenclaw. Marietta Edgecombe had not been a name many knew, and if they did, it was only in association with Cho Chang. Until the end of her sixth year, that was.

Instinctively, her finger started to trace the pattern of the scars, connecting to the dots.

"SNEAK."

Thankfully, the marks were shallow, and not all of the pimples had scarred, but when Marietta looked at her reflection, she could still see the word spelt out clear as day.

Marcus popped a pretzel into his mouth and chewed it slowly, mulling over Marietta's question.

"When I fell in love."

Marietta froze, the drink she was pouring into a mug for another customer quickly overflowing. Realizing what had happened when it started to drip onto her shoes, she quickly released the tap and pulled out her wand. "Scourgify."

"Here's your drink, sir. Sorry about that." She smiled sincerely at the middle-aged drunkard who had collapsed on the bar stool and handed him a napkin with his oak-matured meade.

Having fulfilled her bar-maid duties, she turned back to Marcus, her eyes wide in shock. Marcus Flint in love? She acknowledged that he had improved and he was no longer a heartless git, but she never would have thought it possible. She had thought he had just started to casually date as he continued to mature; she didn't realize he was trying to get over something.

Passing him another butterbeer and some more pretzels, she found herself asking, "What happened?"

Marcus's eyes flashed dangerously, his ears burned scarlet, and his mouth was set in a line so thin it put shame to Professor McGonagall. Marietta instinctively stepped back, wringing her hands anxiously.

"I mean…what was she like?"

"Her name was Tatum Wright." He took another long swig of his butterbeer. When he put his mug back down, his face looked much less harsh than it had before. "She was beautiful." Another gulp and he shook his head. "I need something stronger than this. This isn't nearly—isn't nearly enough."

Sighing, Marietta got him a new mug and filled it with the Oak-Matured Meade, hoping that that would satisfy him. She didn't want to see him get so drunk he would pass out; he was already much worse than she'd even seen him. He usually was good at holding his liquor, but Marietta had a feeling he had had a few drinks before he got here.

"Tell me more."

"She had eyes like sapphires; her hair was the most beautiful auburn color. She had it cut short—just at her jaw." He was beginning to slur and Marietta was having a hard time understanding his words. "Jaw?" He pointed at his jaw as if he was unsure what the word for it was.

"Yes, that's your jaw."

"Right-o! What were we talking about?"

"Tatum."

His gray eyes turned misty, and it looked like there was going to be a rain shower soon. Marietta grabbed a clean rag, just in case.

"She had eyes like sapphires."

"Yes, you said that."

"Did I?" He moved to take another swig, but it was empty. Marietta took it silently and replaced it with a goblet of water.

"Drink it," she insisted. "And eat some pretzels."

His ears grew an angry shade of red and he used some choice words, but Marietta wouldn't get him a new drink. She shoved the bowl of pretzels closer to him, threatening to feed them to him if he wouldn't eat them.

"Fine, fine," he grumbled, shoving a handful in his mouth. "Patum bub beaupibul," he said through his full mouth. Marietta grimaced at the sight.

"Tell me more about her."

"I first noticed her smile. She had a light of—a light of? A lot of teeth. Perfect, shining teeth. Not like mine. I have horrible teeth," he hiccupped, pointing at his nose.

"They're not so bad," Marietta said soothingly, patting him on the hand. He retracted his hand immediately, but she didn't mind. She had suspected as much, really. He wasn't a touchy-feely sort of guy.

"She smiled at me a lot. I loved her so much," he whimpered. Marietta gently placed the rag beside him, but this only made him angry. "I don't need a hanky!" he roared. He picked it up and threw it back at her, but the motion made him nearly fall off his stool.

"How did you meet her?"

"I went to…to…" He paused, scrunching his face up thoughtfully. "Who?"

"Tatum. How did you meet Tatum?"

"Tatum! She was beautiful. Lovely smile. Her teeth were very straight, you know."

"Were they?"

"Oh, yes." He hiccupped and threw some more pretzels in his mouth. "She worked for the Daily Prophet. I met her at—" he paused to gulp down some water "—try-outs for the Caerphilly Catapults Quidditch team. She was writing an article for it—she had a pencil stuck behind her ear. I thought it was so cute…I was auditioning for Keeper—no, Chaser. I'm a Chaser. Did you know that?"

"I did."

"Well, I made it on as a reserve, though I'm thinking of leaving…there's a try-out for the Appleby Arrows I think I could make…" he trailed off. Then, blinking, he was back. "It was love at first sight for me. I asked her to dinner, and she accepted. When I found out she was Muggle-born, it didn't matter. Didn't matter…" He hiccupped again.

"That's great!"

"So in love…I was so in love…we were so in love. Gonna get married, we were. But then she died."

Marietta hadn't seen that coming, though thinking back on it, she should have. She gasped, her eyes going wide. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

"It's February 2nd. Did you know that?"

"Yes, I did."

"She died on February 2nd last year. They killed her. Killed her dead." He drained his goblet. When he put it back down, it was as if all the water had gone straight to his eyes. Tears pooled in them, but he refused to let them fall. With a sniffle, he dabbed at his eyes with his sleeve.

"Who killed her?" Marietta asked, but she dreaded she already knew the answer.

"The Death Eaters o'course. Those ruddy, no good Death Eaters killed my Tatum. I hate them," he spat. "She was on the list of unregistered Muggle-borns. We were in hiding together, but then…She told me to go—to go. Thought it'd be easier to hide alone. I was stupid—so bloody stupid—and I went. The very next day, she was dead. February the second."

Marietta didn't know what to say. His eyes were red, and the tears he refused to shed had returned. He stared ahead with lifeless eyes—bleak, cold gray eyes like the sky outside. Without thinking, Marietta reached for his hand again, and as she did so, her eyes caught sight of the flames flickering welcomingly in the window.

"Come with me," she found herself saying. He turned his lifeless gaze onto her and stared silently into her eyes for a moment before saying anything.

"You have eyes like hers, you know."

Marietta felt as if someone had inserted a hand into her stomach and had proceeded to twist her insides. There were no words to say to something like that. So, instead, she just repeated herself. "Come with me."

Not letting go of his hand, she walked around the bar to him, grabbing her coat from its hook on her way.

"Aunt Rosie!" she called. "I'm taking my break!"

"Okay!" Marietta heard her aunt respond from the store room.

Using all of her strength, Marietta forced Marcus off the bar stool. He was a big guy—at least twice her size, though possibly more—and it was difficult to manage his weight, but somehow she managed.

Once on the street, he stumbled along after her, for the most part silent. At one point, he started to lash out, insisting that she let him go. His free arm swung around and he knocked her head against a street lamp, but Marietta said nothing, just continued to guide him through the village.

It seemed they had been walking forever when, at last, they arrived at the point she had been looking for—the shores of the Black Lake. Looking across, you could see Hogwarts School standing prominently on its rocks, its windows glowing warmly into the gloomy afternoon. Looking across, you would never know that half of it had been destroyed in a battle just that past June.

"Why are we here? I don't want to be here," Marcus said coolly, his words slurring together.

"I want to show you something," Marietta calmly replied. Tightening her grip on his hand, she guided him slowly across the grassy beach. He grumbled in protest, but she ignored him, too busy searching to pay any attention.

"Ah! Here it is; I knew I'd find some." She bent down and carefully a pulled a delicate plant from the ground. It was a small flower resembling a bell with snow-white petals. "Here." She gingerly placed it in Marcus's meaty palm, at last releasing his fingers from her grip.

He held it up to his face and nearly went cross eyed staring at it. "What is it?" he asked thickly.

"It's called a Snowdrop," Marietta replied. She pulled another one and placed it beside the other. "It's a symbol of hope—hope that winter will give way to spring." She smiled at him, but he just stared blankly back at her.

"Even in the darkest of times, there's always the promise that things will get better. All you need is a little something to give you hope."

Marcus remained silent, but by the way he stared, Marietta knew that she had gotten through to him.

"February 2nd isn't a good day for me, either," she whispered, staring out over the lake. "It used to be. When I was little, it was my favorite day of the year."

"Why?" Marcus asked. His eyes were red-rimmed and his voice was thick, but it was clearing up. He recovered remarkably fast from his drinks.

"It's Candlemas Day. It's this Christian holiday from way-back-when. My dad was Muggle-born and grew up celebrating it, so we celebrated it, too. It was when you had your candles blessed at church. It was supposed to ward of illness and famine. But the candles were also a sign of hope for them—the light in the darkness."

Marietta took a deep breath and turned towards Marcus. He was staring at her with such intensity it unnerved her.

"Every Candlemas, we would turn off all our lights and just use candles that had been blessed. That night we'd have a big meal. But my favorite part was…this." She lifted another Snowdrop flower and held it up to the sky, a sad smile flitting across her face. "My dad and I would go out in search of these little flowers. Once we gathered all we could find, we'd go look for people who looked like they could use some hope."

"Why's it a bad day now?"

Marietta stared down at the little flower; her hands were shaking, but not from the cold.

"In the Battle of Hogwarts, my dad died. He was an Auror—or had been before Voldemort took over. He had to go into hiding after that. Disappeared one day without saying a word to me or my mom. Then I saw him again—at the battle. We were fighting together, and then he ran off to go help someone. The next time I saw him, he was lying on a table, dead."

"My mum's in the insanity ward at St. Mungo's because of it. I've been living with my aunt here to help her out, but she's helping me out, too." Marietta took a deep, steadying breath, refusing to let the tears fall. "It's not the same without dad, but I've lit the candles. They haven't been blessed, but…it's the best I can do."

Marcus stooped down and gingerly pulled a Snowdrop from the ground with a meaty hand. His boots crunched in the snow as he silently walked over to Marietta. Grabbing one of her dry hands, he pressed the flower into it.

Marietta's stomach gave a lurch, and she attempted a trembling smile. There was a prickling in the back of her throat, and tears pooled in her eyes; like Marcus, she attempted to wipe them away with her sleeve, but there were too many for her to collect, and a tear spilled over. Then another…and another…soon they were all streaming down her face silently. She sniffled, attempting to draw them back, but they would have none of it.

And then she heard another sniffle.

Looking over at Marcus, she saw that he had finally allowed the tears to spill over, and they were trailing down his cheeks by the thousands.

Marietta wordlessly grabbed his hand, interlocking his fingers with her own. He didn't pull away or protest in any way, just continued to squint up at the sky. Marietta followed his gaze and found that a small beam of light was shining through the dreary gray clouds, brightening the sky. Despite herself, she felt a smile tugging at her lips.

All you needed was a little hope.

a/n I hope you liked this. I had the idea when I was searching for something for my story You'd be on My Pro List. I found the Snowdrop flower in my search, and I thought I would use it for something. I had also been looking up something about Marcus Flint for the same story, and I decided I wanted to write something about him. Because, well...I actually sort of like him, though why I can't explain. Anyway, so they don't say anything about his life after Hogwarts, so I thought I'd make things up.

Speaking of things I made up...I made up the relation between Madam Rosmerta and Marietta, as you probably knew. And, also, Ivory Weems is my own creation from my story The Irish Eyes. What else was I going to say...Oh, yes! Candlemas Day. I've never actually celebrated it, so I don't know how it is really celebrated. I just know that the candles are blessed. What I wrote is just how they celebrate it.

And as for why I chose Marietta...I wanted to use a canon character. I didn't want to use a Slytherin, and although he had changed, I didn't think it would be right to put him with Hufflepuff or a Gryffindor. So I was thinking of Cho, and then I remembered Marietta. And I thought, why not?

I was also considering having him actually fall for a muggle, but I then decided that wouldn't be realistic. He would immediately be able to spot a muggle, and as prejudiced as he was, there would be no way he'd allow himself to fall for one. Whereas you can't tell a wizard or witch's blood status just by looking at them. I hope you agree with my choice.

I also hope you liked this one-shot :) Review, please, and tell me your opinion.

xoxox

Oh, yeah. I also realize the semi-recovery from the alcohol was unrealistically fast, but I didn't want him to be drunk for that. It's hard to write a drunk person, and I am not sure how well I did with that. It was a first for me.