"Do you think there's any chance?"
Susan Bones looked at her watch. Straight after breakfast, she had raced upstairs to station herself by the window overlooking the front gates. In two hours, the Hogwarts Express would be leaving—without her on it. Mother and Father were calmly going about their business in the house and grounds, as though a Ministry delegation arriving on the doorstep at any moment wasn't even a possibility.
Over the last twelve months, while Susan had been at school, the large house had been transformed from its usual domestic order. Precious family belongings had been Transfigured and packed away in secure chests in the cellar of one of the outbuildings. For weeks now, in the heat of high summer, Susan had assisted her mother and father with the final stages of securing and concealing the property. This morning she was meant to be making up beds in the attics.
The same thought she'd been worrying over for days ran through her mind again. If only she'd succeeded in making contact a few weeks earlier—before the announcement, before the rumours that rounding up of Muggle-borns had begun in earnest. Every day, they had checked the published lists of those who failed to present themselves for registration, terrified of seeing a familiar name. Letter after letter had been returned unopened. The family owl, Itzal, had looked at her with exhausted reproach when she'd sent him off again the previous evening. She had hardened her heart, giving him an owl treat to send him on his way. It was their last chance.
Susan pulled her head back from the sash window and slammed it shut with a rattling crash. "I don't know, Justin. I hope so."
Her father had made a short journey to Kingston upon Thames ten days earlier. Thadeus Bones had made a persuasive case. The Finch-Fletchleys, with a daughter at an expensive private school nearby, had been planning to stand their ground, but the softly-spoken yet authoritative wizard convinced them otherwise. Their son, however, point blank refused to accompany his parents and sister to safety, risking their lives in the process. Justin had been reading the papers. With no intention of accepting any Ministry invitation that might be forthcoming, he had been packed ready to flee at any moment.
Catching hold of Susan's arm before she could hurry away, he said matter-of-factly, "If anyone can get her to leave her dad, it's you."
"If she gets my letter." Susan frowned, considering. "I don't know if that's true anyway. She seems different. Letters are no good – her last one could have been from a stranger, and that was months ago."
"Once she's back with us, it'll be fine. She's been lonely, that's all. And no wonder."
Susan voiced her deepest fear. "What if it's more than that?"
"If they'd got her, we'd know."
"Then why has she stopped writing?"
Justin had no answer to that.
Susan picked up her robes and ran down the back stairs, then along the dusty passage to the entrance hall. Justin followed, making far less noise in his expensive trainers. A few yards short of the heavy front door, she ducked sideways into the dining room, where the breakfast dishes were still waiting to be cleared—another job to ignore until she was satisfied that Hannah wouldn't be coming today.
Every day this week, waiting and watching at the window overlooking the front gate instead of getting on with her chores, her mother had chased her back downstairs, reminding her more than once that she had plenty to keep her mind occupied. Helping to get the house ready for whoever came to ask for help and a place to hide was an important task, Susan knew that. Distracting herself with work wasn't easy, but until this morning she'd just about managed it. Today felt altogether different. With the beginning of the new term, for every school-age wizard or witch who would otherwise have been on the 11 o'clock train from King's Cross, the threat of danger was no longer random and unspecified, but ever-present and—she had no doubt—efficiently organised.
A few weeks earlier, in this room, her father had read aloud at breakfast the news that their choice not to send Susan back to Hogwarts for her seventh year would set them outside the law. The decision had been taken as a family at the beginning of the summer, when she'd returned from school to tell her parents about the circumstances of Professor Dumbledore's death, as far as she knew them—that known Death Eaters had broken into the school, that several had escaped, along with the unexplained disappearance of the Professor Snape and Draco Malfoy. Susan knew it wasn't simple concern for her safety that had influenced her parents' decision. That Hogwarts had proved vulnerable and students had been injured was as nothing compared to the murder of Albus Dumbledore. To them, it was clear nowhere could be considered safe anymore. Within the Bones family, the whispered doubts and suspicions, the hearsay reported as fact in the Daily Prophet had found no purchase.
They had known for three years that it might come to this, that if Dumbledore were defeated the Ministry would be powerless to stop the inexorable rise of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Susan's beloved aunt, who had fought bravely and died without surrendering had known it. Amelia Bones had been murdered for no other reason than as an example of what would happen now to people who spoke out in defiance of injustice, corruption and lies. Confirmation they would be breaking a law of the new regime had come as little surprise. The Bones clan were independent thinkers, and had been persecuted during Dark ages for centuries past.
Standing in front of the low seat under the large bay window, Susan reached for her wand. "Where are you going?" Justin said. "Not outside?"
"I need to see the road," she replied. "I'll stay close to the walls. Mother's going to be busy writing her notices for the Muggles for ages yet. She said she didn't have a clue where to start. You don't have to stay. I thought she asked you to help her?"
"It's OK—she can manage without me."
Susan reversed the series of spells on the window trapping them inside and Vanished the glass. Scrambling up onto the seat, she climbed out awkwardly onto the gravel driveway. Justin's long legs took the window sill in one easy stride.
They stood side by side, facing the cutting wind sweeping in across the flat water meadows from the river. Strands of hair tore loose from Susan's pony tail, whipping across her face. Ignoring her stinging eyes, she wrapped her arms around her elbows. Without asking, Justin unzipped his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. She slipped her arms into it, smiling her thanks.
A long time later, the clock tower on the main street of the nearby Muggle town struck eleven. Almost asleep on her feet, Susan was roused by a faint pop directly in front of her. Her eyes jerked open. Justin was running forward to embrace a shortish, strangely altered yet wonderfully familiar figure.
"Hannah!" she yelled, caution forgotten. "Where on earth did you learn to Apparate?"
Ginny jumped down onto the platform, almost before the train had stopped moving. Chilly rain, the same rain that had been falling in London, trickled down the neck of her school robe. Out of the darkness a post owl swooped down and landed on Neville's shoulder. Luna took Trevor out of his hands while he accepted the letter and deposited payment. Neville peered at the handwriting on the envelope for a few seconds, then stuffed the letter into the pocket of his robes. She opened her mouth to ask who it was from, but at that moment a group of seventh year Slytherins barged past, jeering and catcalling.
They paid no attention until one of the group hung back and the insults became more pointed. "Look it's the Weaslette and her loony losers!" Pansy Parkinson, Ginny thought with intense dislike. Who else?
"I notice you're the last of the blood traitor brood," Pansy taunted. "No older brothers or the famous Potter to watch your back now! Just you wait."
Ginny went for her wand. A second later, not exchanging so much as a glance, Neville and Luna followed suit. Pansy didn't stand her ground, turning tail and vanishing into one of the Thestral-drawn carriages. Ginny, Neville and Luna jumped into the one behind and swung the door shut. They were the last and the carriage moved smoothly off.
She settled back into the padded seat and closed her eyes, relaxing into the lulling, swaying motion. Once again she tried and failed to contemplate the prospect of the year ahead—without any of her brothers, without Hermione…
Without Harry. His absence was too painful to probe deeply, like a fresh bruise from a viciously aimed Bludger. She turned her attention to the here and now. There was no clear picture of what lay ahead, but any sense of normality had left her weeks earlier, the day of Bill's wedding. It was impossible to care in the slightest about timetables, or sixth year privileges, or any of the other trappings of school.
Six hours before at King's Cross, in the unusual crush on Platform Nine and Three Quarters it had been almost impossible to pick familiar faces out of the crowd. Flanks of faceless Ministry workers had been herding students onto the train, ticking names off and marking each trunk with a stamp proclaiming the students' blood status. Ginny scarcely had time to bid her mother and the twins goodbye before being shunted into a packed carriage. Once aboard the Hogwarts Express she had taken the first opportunity to excuse herself from the Gryffindor girls with whom she shared a bedroom and very little else. There had been only two people she wanted to find.
Luna had been the easiest to locate, wandering up and down the corridor by herself, behind the familiar protection of an upside-down Quibbler and her ridiculous goggles. While Ginny updated her on events since the wedding—Luna and her father had managed to escape before the interrogators arrived—they went looking for Neville.
They ran him to ground in a carriage full of tiny first years, not all of whom looked disappointed when he got up to leave. Neville claimed to be delighted to see them. Given the rumours that were sweeping the train and the absence of many familiar faces, Ginny had no reason to wonder why he didn't seem his usual cheerful self.
The packed train felt shorter than usual, and they'd been unable to find a carriage to themselves. Neville hesitated for a second, then walked past an almost-empty one containing a couple of ex-DA members. She didn't press the matter. They could do without nosy interruptions from Zacharias Smith and Ernie MacMillan doing his best to monopolise the conversation. The three of them ended up spending the greater part of the journey being jostled and bumped in the busy corridor. Fortunately, no one bothered them. Fully aware of the surveillance powers of the new regime, Ginny wouldn't have been surprised to find Ministry guards patrolling the train, or even Dementors. From time to time a friend of Ginny's would come past or, occasionally, one of Neville's. Seamus Finnegan joined them for a while, before wandering away again like a lost Puffskein. Mostly they remained undisturbed as they discussed the prospect of Hogwarts with Dumbledore gone and the implications of Voldemort in full possession of the Ministry.
"What are we going to do?" Luna had asked at one point, as the lunch trolley rattled past. Ginny prepared to launch into a long and elaborate list of possibilities. She'd had plenty of thinking time, not least in the hours following the wedding … kicking her heels in the kitchen, waiting for her turn to be called for the fifth, sixth, seventh time to hear the same questions, which she'd answer in the same stony and indifferent monosyllables. However, it was Neville who spoke first.
"Everything," he said simply.
Now, he was absentmindedly turning a small shiny object over in his hands.
"What's that?" she asked.
With an oddly twisted smile, Neville threw the little object at her and she snatched it out of the air one-handed. "No way!" she cried, staring at the red and gold pin in unflattering disbelief. Mentally kicking herself, she made an attempt to recover. "I mean, Head Boy. Wow. Congratulations, Neville—you deserve it."
"Don't get used to it," he said. "I'm not."
"That's why you were sitting with those first years earlier," said Luna dreamily. "I think that's very nice."
"Never too early to start recruiting," said Ginny seriously, sticking her tongue out at Neville.
He grinned for the first time that day, then shrugged. "If it's true what Crabbe and Zabini were banging on about, I won't last five minutes."
"It is true," said Luna, rolling up her copy of The Quibbler and Transfiguring the cover carefully to read Witch Weekly before tucking it down the front of her robes. "Snape's our new Headmaster. I read most of the lead article on the front page of Millicent Bulstrode's Daily Prophet."
"Upside down in the queue for the refreshment trolley, I suppose. Nice work, Luna." Ginny sighed. "It was what Dad warned me anyway. We'll need to set up the first meeting as soon as possible, before Snape and his Death Eater cronies have a chance to get the measure of us."
"Snape knows us pretty well already," said Neville gloomily.
"True, but he won't have all the teachers on his side, and he's never been Headmaster before. We can't give up before we've even started."
"I wasn't," said Neville. There was an edge to his voice Ginny had never heard before. He immediately apologised. "Sorry, I didn't mean …"
Before she could tell him she'd been snapped at once or twice in her life and not to worry about it, Neville swung open the door of the carriage. Icy rain and wind rushed in. The two girls huddled in their cloaks and Ginny sent a questioning look in Luna's direction. She smiled back in a tranquil fashion, nodding in understanding as Neville picked up Trevor, who had been snoozing on top of his trunk. Neville knelt by the open door, and placed the toad on the step nearest the ground. As he did so, the carriage bumped over a rut in the road. Ginny reached out and grabbed the back of Neville's robes, not a moment too soon.
"Go on," he said. "Freedom. Get lost."
Breaking the habit of a lifetime, Trevor attempted to jump back into Neville's hands. When that failed, he scrambled up the steps towards the warmth and light. Neville caught hold of his pet again, holding Trevor firmly and looking him in one bulging eye. "You'll be safer on your own for a bit." Neville lay down on the swaying floor of the carriage. "I'll come and find you when it's all over," he said. "I promise."
He let Trevor drop out of his hands into the hedgerows at the side of the road. As he scrambled back up, Ginny avoided his eyes, knowing how he would be feeling. She knew she'd done the right thing leaving Arnold with mum this year, but she missed him anyway.
Five minutes later, as they disembarked for the last time and moved into the Entrance hall with their trunks, Professor McGonagall detached herself from the crowd of first years milling around her skirts. Leaving her charges in the hands of Professor Sprout, she swept over to them. "Straight in to wait for supper, Miss Weasley, Miss Lovegood," she said briskly. "Longbottom, you are to come with me. The ..." Professor McGonagall's expression suggested a bad smell under her nose … "Headmaster wants to see you."
"Yes, Professor," Neville said. He sounded resigned rather than fearful, Ginny was relieved to note.
"He's waiting outside."
"Bring him in."
"Professor Snape, how can you do this?" Minerva McGonagall demanded. "As you know perfectly well, decisions relating to student appointments are taken in accordance with official procedures which have been in place for over eight hundred years. They cannot be overturned!"
Snape's voice was calm, the white face expressionless. "Indeed they can, quite easily, as I'm sure you realise." The low voice took on a sneering note. "The Headmaster's decision is final."
Professor McGonagall gave an angry gasp and her eyes darted upwards. However, the eyes in the painting above the fireplace were closed—Professor Dumbledore's portrait appeared to be sleeping soundly.
The door opened and Neville entered the room, stopping in front of the Headmaster's desk. He was flushed, but his hands hung still by his sides. He didn't speak, staring straight ahead as if contemplating the view of the grounds through the tall window, even though it had been pitch dark for half an hour. The red and gold badge pinned to the front of his robes flashed, catching beams of light from the oil lamps on the mantelpiece.
Professor McGonagall was the one to break the silence. "Professor Snape, if I may …?"
"Be silent. Explanations and excuses for your incompetence are quite unnecessary."
Professor McGonagall stuttered into furious silence. Neville frowned for a second before his face reassumed its impassive expression. Snape continued. "Longbottom, the Acting Headmistress saw fit to place in your inept hands a post of responsibility you most certainly have not earned, and are entirely unfit to hold."
Before Snape had even finished speaking, Neville had unpinned the badge. Holding it, he glanced around, his gaze resting for a second on Professor Dumbledore's portrait. He crossed to the Headmaster's desk in two strides, flinging the badge with a ringing sound onto the polished surface. Then—just as quickly—he stepped back, half-turning in the direction of the open door.
"Can I go now, Professor McGonagall?" he said in a cooler tone of voice than his high colour suggested.
Snape smiled. "As usual, Longbottom, the obvious has failed to penetrate your uncommonly thick skull. Professor McGonagall has resumed her former position as Head of Gryffindor House, such as it is. This is my office, and it is I who shall dismiss you. Is that understood?"
Neville turned back. "Yes," he said warily. "Sir."
"I have an errand for you before you leave." Snape took a green and silver badge from the pocket of his robe and held it out, palm upward. "Once the Head Boy badge is in the hands of a more fitting owner, you may consider yourself relieved of any further responsibilities. Take it to Draco Malfoy at the Slytherin table. If you hurry, you should not miss even a minute of feeding your face."
Neville contemplated the object being held out to him. With a tiny movement that could have been a shrug, he drew his wand. "Accio badge," he said tonelessly. It sprang out of the Headmaster's fingers, and zoomed across the room, landing in Neville's outstretched palm. Following its progress, Snape's black eyes betrayed momentary surprise, then anger.
Shoving the Slytherin badge carelessly in his pocket, Neville said, "Is that all—Sir?" The tone remained just on the far side of politeness.
Deliberately, Snape drew his own wand. Professor McGonagall started forward, then halted, as though brought up short by an invisible string.
"Flagellum!" With lightning speed Snape slashed his wand through the air.
Neville stumbled backwards with a muffled cry, hands flying to his face. Professor McGonagall gasped aloud, her own hand twitching towards her wand. Snape flicked a glance her way, and her arms dropped by her sides again, as did Neville's, a second or two later. His face was unmarked, and paler now, but the brown eyes burned with a slow rage.
"Insolence will not be tolerated." Snape gave a thin smile. "After all, it is not as though you are the Chosen One. Get out."
Neville wheeled round, and left the room, clattering down the stone staircase faster than it could move. Snape turned to face his colleague, who looked ready to challenge him to a duel. "The same goes for you, Professor. I will be along in a few moments to begin the feast."
"You go too far, Severus."
Snape looked at her steadily. "I suggest you spend the time considering your position,Professor."
She left almost as quickly as the boy before her.
For a minute, there was silence, except for the scrape of a chair on flagstones. Then a voice said drily, "That was badly done."
Snape lifted his head from his hands and glared at the portrait on the wall, appearing to resist attacking it with great difficulty.
"You must discipline yourself better, Severus. You cannot afford clumsiness, lack of self-control. There is work to be done."
"She…I—" The curtains of black hair dropped again as Snape stammered into silence.
"Yes. It is not easy, but it cannot be helped."
"I know," snarled Snape in a low voice.
"At least you showed sense in getting her out of here quickly, before she did anything that would have forced you to take action."
"Striking the boy …" Snape looked up, and for the first time a tinge of colour crept over the white face. "You understand? I had to … it was a question of authority!"
"Given your long experience as a teacher in this school, you should know that your actions just now displayed a distinct lack of authority. Your instructions were to establish yourself in your new position. I do not recall suggesting that you attack a student. You must keep a certain distance, or your position will become untenable very quickly."
"The Gryffindors … the insolence is intolerable …"
"Pull yourself together, Severus. With Harry Potter gone, I assumed we would be free of this particular difficulty. I was unaware the Longbottom boy detests you quite as violently as his absent contemporary."
"I – I assure you, Albus, I have never before ..."
"Never?" Dumbledore's voice was sceptical. The tinge of colour in Snape's cheeks deepened.
"It will not happen again."
"I am glad to hear it. From now on, you must not allow yourself to be provoked. Sparking open rebellion among the staff will leave the students open to the greatest possible danger."
"I know." Snape's voice was low and angry again.
"Yes," the portrait went on. "It is done now. You had best put it out of your mind. Besides, it will work in our favour. There will be even less danger of suspicion falling on you now. "
By the time the moving steps had carried her sedately to the corridor below there was nothing in Professor McGonagall's expression to betray recent emotion, save for two spots of colour high on the angular cheekbones. Neville had not hurried to fulfil the Headmaster's orders. Instead, he was leaning against the far wall of the passage reading a letter with deep concentration.
"You had better hurry along, Longbottom. Supper won't wait forever."
Neville looked up, holding the parchment in the thumb and forefinger of one hand. Frowning, his other hand went to the wand stashed in his belt.
"What's the matter?" Professor McGonagall said. "Is it the demotion? It was most unjust, but you should not take it personally."
Neville hunched a shoulder. "I meant to say, Professor McGonagall, thank you for choosing me. Gran was really pleased. I—I know it was only because Harry hasn't come back, and I doubt I'd have been up to the job anyway."
As Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to speak, Neville looked again at the parchment he was holding. "It's not the Head Boy thing," he went on, forestalling her. "It's – it's sort of personal …" He ground to a halt.
"We don't have all evening," Professor McGonagall said with dry impatience.
"I don't know what to do with this. I know what Gran would say, but I don't know if I can."
"You're talking in riddles, Longbottom," Professor McGonagall said, taking out her glasses. "I'd rather hoped that now you're seventeen I'd be spared these notes about forgotten pairs of socks every blessed year. What is it this time? Left her copy of Flowers That Fight Back on the compost heap?"
"Not exactly." He gulped. "It's … it's sort of a war matter."
Professor McGonagall looked surprised but said only, "Pass it here." She took the sheet of parchment, scanning the brief note quickly, eyebrows shooting towards her hairline. Neville waited, shuffling his feet and staring at the floor.
"Sensible advice on all counts, I would say." Professor McGonagall refolded the letter, and glanced over her shoulder at the slowly-revolving staircase. "I would do as the letter suggests—much the safest course for sender and recipient." She handed the parchment back. "I will add that I'm impressed by the responsible conduct of both parties. It can't have been an easy letter to write—or to show me for that matter." She touched Neville's arm briefly, and he looked at her hand, blinking.
Professor McGonagall cleared her throat. "We really must be getting to the feast, but before we do … You're a seventh year now, Longbottom," she said more quietly. "You and your contemporaries are adults, not children, and you will find that most of the teachers you have known for seven years will treat you accordingly."
"Er—right," said Neville, shuffling his feet. He took out his wand, then looked at the parchment in his hand rather helplessly. Professor McGonagall nodded, and conjured a metal waste paper basket. Neville dropped the letter in the bin and set fire to it, watching the edges begin to curl and disintegrate. Then, with a violent flick of his wand, he reversed the incantation and just as swiftly cast an Aguamenti charm. When the flames were doused, he grabbed for the piece of sodden parchment and squinted at it desperately.
"Allow me." Professor McGonagall drew her wand again and siphoned off as much of the water as possible.
"I—I'm sorry Professor. I just couldn't …"
"I understand. I suggest you Transfigure it into something commonplace that you can carry on your person." There was a brief pause. "Or ask a friend who is taking the subject at N.E.W.T. level." Neville nodded, and tucked the remains of the letter carefully into the pocket of his robe.
"Longbottom?"
"Yes, Professor?"
"You suggested that if Potter had returned to school he would have been selected as Head Boy." Neville nodded his fervent support of this statement. "I daresay," Professor McGonagall went on, "Your grandmother has taught you that wondering what might have been—and all woolly thinking of that kind—is unprofitable at best, dangerous at worst." At this, Neville looked doubtful and Professor McGonagall sighed impatiently. "What I can tell you is that when the Heads of Houses met to decide student appointments for the coming year—a meeting which took place very recently, but nevertheless before certain other appointments were made—there were candidates from each House in the running for the position of Head Boy. The result of the vote was three to one in your favour."
Neville blushed scarlet. "Really? I—I mean, um, thanks. Er—?"
"I'm telling you this for a reason, young man. Are you listening carefully?"
He nodded emphatically.
"This year, I suspect the latent qualities we believe you possess may have occasion to come to the fore. Am I making myself clear?"
This time, confusion was replaced by a dawning comprehension.
"Now hurry along."
Neville disappeared in the direction of the Great Hall at a run, his expression at least momentarily brighter. Professor McGonagall followed him at a swift pace, without turning her head at the sound of the staircase moving behind her.
Draco Malfoy, elbows propped on the Slytherin table in a manner his mother would not approve, slouched head in hands, trying to ignore the yells and squeals of his fellow housemates. They seemed even noisier than was usual for the beginning of a school year. This was in contrast to the tables belonging to the other Houses, which were not only emptier than the Slytherin table, but far more subdued. There was only one gap in the ranks of Draco's classmates—Theodore Nott was missing. With a glimmer of curiosity, Draco wondered at his absence. Ill, or met with an accident, he supposed. There could be no other explanation. He couldn't decide if he cared enough to make it his business to find out.
The prospect of a decent meal without feeling too knotted up and sick to taste the food was the only thing that made being back at school tolerable. He felt about ten years older than any of the seventh years that lined the benches either side of him. Pansy was twittering incessantly in his ear. Sowhat if the Weasel wasn't back? He was probably making some stupid stand about not attending without the mudblood. It had been rumoured that one or two families were planning to defy the decree of compulsory attendance. It would go worse for them in the end. Draco wondered briefly if the two lackeys had accompanied Potter when he'd gone on the run, then dismissed the idea. Not even Gryffindors were that stupid.
He glanced up and caught the eye of Alecto Carrow. She gave a brief nod of acknowledgement and he let his gaze slide across her as though it hadn't registered. For Salazar's sake, some people were thicker than Potter and his pals. His stomach groaned emptily and he glowered at the two empty places behind the dais. Where the hell was McGonagall? More to the point, where was Snape?
He felt a flicker of smug amusement, looking forward to watching the reactions of the other Houses when Snape took his place in Dumbledore's old spot. Then, looking at the vacant spaces at the staff table, two faces flashed into his mind, along with the expressions they'd held in the moment before death had arrived, shockingly swiftly. Draco had enough imagination to picture the same thing happening to him. He even had an inkling of the kind of pain involved. His empty belly dropped and he swallowed the rush of saliva that flooded his mouth.
He wondered what would happen if it came down to a direct order from his master—kill or be killed. He needed to face facts. He had no courage, only fear. Next time, there might not be anyone on hand to help him. Snape was his friend. His mother had told him how she had made Snape vow to save Draco, and he had done it. Facts deserted him. What if his mother was dead the next time Draco was ordered to kill? What if she was dead now?
He choked off the rising panic at source, emptying his mind in the way he'd been taught, and his breathing grew calmer. He looked around at his classmates. No one appeared to have noticed anything, not even Pansy, who was now sidling up to him and trying to worm her sweaty little paw into his. He snatched his hand away. Yes, all things considered, he was definitely better off here, out of harm's way, as mother had said that morning when she kissed him goodbye. He hadn't let her kiss him in years, but this morning, for some reason, he'd wanted her to.
Draco snapped out of his reverie as Pansy dug him sharply in the ribs, tittering. "Someone to see you, Draco," she simpered. "A Gryffindor." He looked up. The Loser Longbottom, of all people.
"What do you want, prat?" he said, unable to summon much heat.
Longbottom looked at him with equal indifference. What a nerve, thought Draco idly. He'd have to get Crabbe and Goyle to …
"I've come to give you this," Longbottom said, holding something out on the palm of his grubby hand.
"What could I possibly …?"
The Gryffindor shrugged. "Just take it, ferret face." He dropped the object on the table where it bounced onto the floor.
"Ooh, Draco! I think it's your Head Boy badge." squeaked Pansy, diving for it. "I told you it must have been lost in the post. What's he doing with it?" Draco moved his legs swiftly out of the way of her scrabbling hands.
"Watch your mouth, oik," he said to the figure looming over him, as menacingly as he dared. Crabbe and Goyle were watching with mild curiosity on their pudding-like faces, apparently disinclined to leap to his defence.
"No, you watch it." Longbottom's voice was shaking a little, Draco noted with satisfaction. Then in a lower tone so that not even Pansy, somewhere by Draco's knees, could hear his next words, Longbottom said, "We know what you are, Malfoy. Stay out of our way, and we'll stay out of yours. Got that?"
Longbottom swung round and marched over to the depleted Gryffindor table. Draco watched him take his place between the blood traitor Weaslette and the Irish mongrel. In a fit of petulance at having been bested by the biggest loser in the year, Draco kicked out and connected.
"Ow!" yelled Pansy, emerging from under the table and looking at him like a sick crup. "That was my head."
"Can't have hurt much, there's nothing in it," he snapped, in a bid to restore his sense of natural superiority in the order of things. He ruffled Pansy's hair and she preened in the spotlight of his attention. At least one person still looked up to him.
"I found the badge!" she said eagerly. "Here … let me pin it on." He submitted, feeling decidedly resentful about the whole deal. Why couldn't Snape have picked someone who cared? Maybe he could shove it onto Nott when he got back. As McGonagall finally walked through the doors, closely followed by Snape, Draco shrugged and turned his attention back to thoughts of supper.
"So, where have you been all summer?" demanded Susan, preparing to set her teeth in and hang on until she got an answer.
It was nearly midnight. After giving Hannah a brisk welcome Susan's mother had done her best to work all three of them into an early grave, on the principle that tired teenagers had no time to brood and gave no trouble. Susan, Justin and Hannah were now collapsed in exhaustion on two camp beds in one of the smallest attics. Susan would be sharing with Hannah, having given up her own room to an old friend of her Aunt Amelia, who had arrived that afternoon.
Justin joined in the interrogation. "Yes, come on, tell us. What gives?" Hannah's eyes slid from one to the other.
"I really can't say." She dropped her head to examine what Susan assumed was a particularly fascinating knothole in the unpainted floorboards. She was startled anew at the alteration in her friend's appearance. Why would Hannah cut off all her hair? It made her feel uncomfortable.
"Can't, or won't?"
"Why not?" The two questions came out almost in unison.
"I just think it's safer."
Hannah's face closed in a way Susan didn't remember at all. It was forbidding, frightening almost. But her voice, when she spoke again, was just the same. "Susie, I can't tell you how thankful I was to get your letter. I didn't know what to do for the best. I wasn't going to the Ministry to 'present myself for registration.'" She raised her head and looked directly at Justin on the opposite bunk. "They must think we're all morons."
Justin gave a shout of laughter. It was a sound that usually made Susan feel warm all over—had done since the first time she'd sat across from him at the feast after their Sorting. However, recently there was an edge to it that made her stomach twist in the same way as when she looked at Hannah's strangely shorn head.
"You gave me somewhere to aim for," finished Hannah.
Susan gave a small shrug. People were always thanking her, or asking her to pass thanks on to her mum or dad. She wished they wouldn't. It wasn't a question of gratitude. "What about all my other letters?" she demanded. "You didn't come to Professor Dumbledore's funeral, and I hadn't heard from you for months before that. We were worried."
Hannah's head dropped again. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "Please believe me, I—I missed you so much, all of you. Letters aren't the same. I just … couldn't, not then. I wasn't myself."
Susan jumped up and ran across the room. "Shut up." She flung herself down next to Hannah and hugged her fiercely. "I'm the one who should be sorry. It was horrible, the way Professor Sprout had to take you away like that, and we didn't even get to say goodbye." Tears sprang to her eyes. "Hannah, I'm so, so sorry about your mum."
Hannah hugged her back, patting her on the shoulder. "It's OK." Susan had the strange feeling that she was the one being comforted, not the other way around. In the past, she'd always felt like the older one in their partnership, despite the fact that Hannah had a month on her and had been Professor Sprout's first choice for prefect. No longer. The wide-eyed, sweetly-smiling Hannah with her ready tears and flights of nerves who Susan knew so well had gone somewhere. In her place was this wan stranger with a ragged haircut. After everything she'd been through, how could Susan blame her for being a bit touchy?
"We're really happy you got here anyway." Justin leaned forward, holding out his hands to both of them. He was so tall he could reach them without even standing up. The three of them clasped hands in a circle, smiling, and for a minute it was as though they'd never left the Hufflepuff common room, and if Susan looked up she'd see Ernie and Zacharias coming through the picture, bickering as usual.
She hesitated, then decided to deal with the next point that was troubling her head-on. "Where's your dad, Hannah?"
"Somewhere. Not at home. We lost the house."
"Oh, I say," interjected Justin. "That's awful."
"It's hardly the end of the world," Hannah said flatly, but her voice was bitter. "Yeah, Dad did a bunk, a few weeks ago, just before all this Muggle-born stuff started coming out. I had a letter from him. He's a long way off, so he should be OK as long as he stays put."
"He left you?" Susan said incredulously.
"I wasn't on my own then. It's not his fault."
Justin stayed tactfully silent.
"It's probably for the best," Susan said, with some nervousness. They all knew Hannah's dad was a bit weird, even before Hannah's mum had been attacked. "Soft in the head" had been Zach's bluntly expressed opinion, and in the privacy of her own thoughts Susan had tended to agree with him, although she would never have voiced it aloud.
She wanted to ask again about where Hannah had been, if not at home. She found she was less anxious to know why Hannah's mother, a Muggle, had been targeted by Death Eaters. It had been a topic that consumed them for weeks after Hannah had left Hogwarts but, given the way the wind was blowing, perhaps the truth was simple—and uglier even than they had supposed. Yes, it was definitely for the best that Hannah's dad had left his home, and that Justin's family were now safely in France.
In his diplomatic way, Justin was getting up, murmuring about having to be up in the morning for the British Telecom engineer and needing some shut-eye. A few days earlier, Susan's mother had been worrying aloud about how to tell the local Muggles to get in touch if they were being harrassed, given that the house and grounds were under every protection that could be thrown at them. Justin had suggested little tear-off strips with a secret number code at the bottom of each of the notices they were nailing to all the trees in the local area. Susan had been delighted at the good impression he'd made on her parents, even when mother ticked her off later for not coming up with the idea herself, which was hardly fair. Muggle Studies had never been Susan's strong point.
Excusing herself, she followed Justin out to the narrow passage between the attics. The minute, stiflingly hot room next to the laundry where he slept was down three flights of stairs.
"Hannah's going to be all right now. You mustn't worry." How did he always know what she was thinking before she knew it herself?
Justin smoothed her hair in its centre parting with both hands, running them down her face to cup her cheeks, tilting her chin up towards him. His grey eyes shone in the semi-darkness. "You brought her here in the end. And me. You're my guardian angel."
"Why are you still talking?" she whispered.
A few minutes later, she let herself back into the attic room. Hannah was staring at herself in a hand mirror. "I look like a scarecrow. With a pumpkin for a head."
"It's not so bad," Susan said with unabashed dishonesty. "But really, what did you think you were doing?"
"Disguise, of a sort," Hannah said gloomily.
"You had it in pigtails again, I suppose. I thought I'd cured you of that in second year."
"It's easier, all right? If you had hair like mine …"
"Oh, be quiet, I've heard it all before. Honestly, it looks like you just hacked them off with your wand."
"That's exactly what I did." Hannah pulled at the short, fuzzy locks that were sticking out almost at right-angles to her ears.
"For heaven's sake, come here." Susan took out her wand and began Severing the disaster that was Hannah's head into a close neat crop.
"Are congratulations in order?"
Susan wasn't a blusher. "For what?"
"Oh, I don't know, let's think …"
Hannah tilted her head on one side, and Susan pushed it firmly back into place, a grin creeping across her face. She went on the attack. "Anyway, what about you? You can't fool me. Who were you really staying with?"
Hannah went from laughing to serious again in a second. Susan pressed her advantage. "I know it wasn't Ernie, or Zach. I heard from both of them last week. But it must have been a wizarding family. And you don't know anyone I don't!" She could hear the note of frustration in her voice. Hannah had never been secretive with her before.
"Really, there's nothing to tell. I might never see him again."
"So it was a boy."
"Yes. But don't ask me again. Please." Hannah's voice was hollow. "I've lost everything."
For a moment Susan felt like she'd been slapped. Who had they ever needed before apart from each other? Then she remembered her friend's mother was dead, and her father was gone. Presumably the boy – whoever he was – was in no danger of being called for Registration.
"You haven't lost me," she said as definitely as she knew how. "Or Justin. My family knows we're at war, and we're going to protect you both. We're going to fight."
"I missed you, Suse."
"I missed you too."
They hugged for a long time, balanced on the edge of the rickety camp bed. Again, Susan expected tears—she felt like crying again herself—but Hannah remained dry-eyed. After a few minutes, she pointed to a sheet pinned to the wall. On it was a list of instructions entitled 'In Case of Emergency.' "Tell me how this all works?"
"What for? It's perfectly straightforward."
"I know what it says … but I still don't see how it's not putting your family in danger, having us staying here like this."
"It's simple. Like Dad said at supper, we're hiding you in plain sight. Everyone knows we live here, the Ministry are expecting us to be awkward. The plan is for them to believe that not sending me to school and casting protections on Muggle houses is the extent of it."
"Passive resistance."
"What are you on about?" Susan grinned. The boys would have said things were back to normal. She didn't wait for an answer. "The Intruder Charms are set all round the house. If anyone enters who doesn't live here—like the Ministry officials who are bound to turn up in the next day or two—the Concealments will be triggered automatically. Don't leave anything lying around, get inside the nearest hidden room, and you'll be fine."
"Show me."
"Now?" She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed. "It's fine, honestly. It's all written down …"
"Please." Hannah still looked tense and in need of reassurance. "I won't sleep unless I've seen what happens with my own eyes." In some ways, Susan realised with a mixture of relief and impatience, her best friend hadn't changed at all.
"All right. Just this room and pray to Merlin it doesn't set anything else off. Put that mirror away. You can leave stuff on the bed or the dressing table, but nothing on the floor." Susan dragged herself to her feet and Hannah followed. She took out her wand and waved it in a long, sweeping motion, concentrating on casting the complicated charm non-verbally like her mother had taught her.
The camp beds folded up against the wall and disappeared, taking Hannah's rucksack and Susan's nightclothes with them. The dressing table moved backwards and disappeared into the faded flower-patterned wallpaper. In a few seconds, the room looked like a bare and dusty attic that hadn't been occupied in years.
Hannah was suitably impressed. "Wow. What's the spell? It looked like …"
"Packing spell, combined with the Disillusionment Charm."
"You were always good at that sort of thing. I couldn't cast those without a lot of practice."
"No need. Like I said, the alarms are automatic. The nearest hiding place is just across the passage. It's cramped, but the ventilation's OK and there's food in there to last a few days."
"You've thought of everything."
"Team effort. I didn't come up with the idea, just helped with the set up." Susan shrugged again. "We all have to do our bit. Dad says we're going to resist as long as we can, but eventually they'll force me back to Hogwarts. I just hope it won't be until you and Justin, and as many other Muggle-borns as possible, are safely away. Until then, I'm just glad to be doing something real. Finite Incantatem." Silently, the room righted itself and she flung herself back down on her bed.
"I feel so useless."
Susan said nothing. What was there to say? They had to be pragmatic. Hannah's hair was now sticking up in angry spikes. Susan guessed her friend didn't have everything under control after all and was secretly glad. It made her seem more like the old Hannah.
In a louder voice, Hannah said, "I want to fight."
Susan yawned, then sat up straight as something occurred to her. "Do you think they'll fight back at Hogwarts?"
Hannah nodded emphatically. "Of course. It's Dumbledore's stronghold. They have to start up Dumbledore's Army again."
"But who?" said Susan in puzzlement. "Harry Potter's on the run. His friends might try, I suppose, but Hermione Granger's the one with the brains. Goodness knows where she is. Daddy tried to get a message to her family, but there wasn't a trace to be found."
"Someone will do something." Hannah hair was lying flat again. "Harry Potter isn't the only one with the guts to stand up for what's right. Look at what you're doing, and all your family." She spoke with a calm confidence which Susan found reassuring.
"I hope you're right. I'm worried about Ernie, without you or Justin. He wandered around like a lost sheep for weeks after you'd gone."
Hannah smiled. "When you go back, you'll have to look after him for us."
"I'll try, but he thinks I'm frivolous, you know he does. I just know he and Zach will fight, and I've never been able to keep them in line like you."
"You must keep trying, and not give up. You all need each other, so you have to stand together."
"I'll do my best."
Susan fell silent and began to unbutton her robes in preparation for sleep. All the worries that had been pushed to the back of her mind by more pressing fears about first Justin and then Hannah's immediate safety were now crowding in on her. Three of them were together for now, and stronger for it, but how long would it last? And how safe was Hogwarts now, for the others?
"Suse? Look at this …" Hannah's voice called her back from the Hufflepuff common room to the shadowy, draughty attic with the sound of mice scurrying around under the floorboards. Her friend was holding out a heavy, round coin. "Do you still have your Galleon?"
"Yes, somewhere … why?"
"Find it, quickly!"
Susan yanked open the drawer of the dressing table, rummaging until she found the jewellery box she'd shoved to the back when she'd moved her things.
"Here it is … wait … it's hot!"
"I know … and look at what it says!"
Susan's grabbed her wand and pointed it at the coin she was holding and muttered, "Lumos!Meet …"—she read slowly—"Wednesday … Greenhouse … Three … 8pm. Hannah!"
"I know!"
"They're actually doing it …" She clutched her friend's arm. Hannah's eyes were shining in the light from her upheld wand. Susan felt a rush of pure happiness and optimism that was such a change from her previous mood that she felt almost giddy.
"Come on," said Hannah, in her bossiest prefect voice. Susan found to her surprise that she'd missed even that. "Let's get some sleep."