Chapter 3:
June 17th, 1996
Berwick-upon-Tweed
Severus Snape wasn't an overly fit man. Long arms, long legs and a gently flaring back complimented his seventy-three-inch stature. The strength he possessed came from his diligence in maintaining his body as best he could, despite the rigors demanded of him by two utterly consuming masters. His musculature didn't exceed his body's frame, but it did fill in the dimensions of his limbs and torso.
It was with this strength that he carefully negotiated the path between Minerva's front lawn and the spare bedroom the woman had sent Draco and Justin to prepare.
At no point did the girl in his arms cease to struggle. Her wriggles were restricted due to being swaddled in his frock coat, but he could feel every shift she made. The girl was still sedated. If pressed for his best guess as to why the Gryffinette continued to writhe, he'd have to say that some aspect the Dreamless Sleep she'd ingested had failed.
Ahead of them, Theo Nott held open doors and shifted furniture so that he wouldn't have to break his stride. The stairs to the second floor were uneven, steep, and narrow – typical of country cottages. From the first riser, he had to turn sideways so that the girl's head or feet didn't bump the walls of the equally narrow stairway as he carefully planted each foot. Behind him, Lupin assisted Minerva up the same stairs, their conversation completely disregarded as his focus stayed on the girl and his internal thoughts. The two were mutually inclusive.
The girl's weight mattered not. Her response to him, Draco, and what caused…this…to happen to her weighed more.
Theo stopped in front an already open door and quickly turned left. Following the boy, Severus, with Hermione Granger carefully cradled in his arms, stepped inside.
The room wasn't overly bright nor was it opulently dressed. The furnishings matched the décor of the rest of the house: Sensible Scottish. A handmade quilt had been folded back, exposing simple cotton sheeting. The pillows plumped, and oil lamps lit. One of the two windows had been opened. A light layer of dust and pollen dulled the wooden surfaces. The only things that seemed out-of-place were the five very different wizards who fanned out around the bed. Their self-imposed perimeter saved him from having to order them to stand back.
With efficient care, he placed her on the bed. Her head lolled to the side as he settled her. It was Minerva who reached around him and gathered the folded edge of the quilt in her free hand. Without her asking, he stepped away so that she could cover the child. The thoughtful gesture Minerva made, to lift the girl's hair free of her shoulders, was a tenderness he wished he could've extended to the child.
The metaphor that the image represented wasn't lost on him or her. Between the two of them, as represented by her quilt and his frock coat, they both provided layers – literally and figuratively – of safety and protection for Miss Granger. The metaphor carried through to the others, those in the room and outside of it, that the two Hogwarts professors wouldn't be the only ones to do so.
It was Lupin who broke the quiet.
"Draco – I'm so sorry…"
"Don't."
The boy's request was as sharp and succinct as the werewolf's words – so typically Gryffindor - of attempted commiseration were un-necessary.
"He doesn't need yours, or anyone else's pity, Lupin." Severus all but snarled at his former schoolmate. He would've been more snide if it weren't for the properly conveyed empathy Minerva extended when she let the hand she placed on his arm say what didn't need to be put into actual words.
Draco's pinched expression spoke for him better than any words the boy could've chosen.
Exercising the Ravenclaw aspect of her Gryffindorness, Minerva ignored the byplay for the matter at hand. She was also one of the few he allowed to touch him, which was why he didn't shake her hand off his shoulder.
"Severus – can you find out what happened?"
He didn't give in to the urge to breathe deeply or sigh heavily. He stamped down those impulses and did his best to settle his emotions.
"Perhaps."
"Please. Try."
He nodded. Preparing himself, he heard Minerva speak to the other wizards.
"Let's leave Professor Snape to get on with it. It won't do for us to be hovering about while he's trying to concentrate."
Absently, he was aware of his colleague ushering everyone else out of the room and down the stairs.
Alone now, he once more gathered his magic and let it pool within his core. His left hand was closer to the girl and would've been more convenient to use, but given her reaction both outside and as he carried her into the cottage to the Dark Marks etched onto his and Draco's skin and, yes, souls, it was with his right hand that he made contact with her temples as his internal voice whispered, "Legilimens."
Images and emotions swirled chaotically. He felt hideously disorientated. This was vastly different from the last time he ventured into her mind. Before, all her thoughts, emotions, feelings, and memories were neatly compartmentalized. Her magic ran parallel to her psyche and the only dissonance he detected was that of a woman transitioning out of girlhood.
Not now.
Her magic was wildly out-of-synch, her psyche in turmoil. There was no way he could match the two for her. That would have to be something she'd have to do herself.
Darker emotions such as guilt, anger, resentment, failure, and shame over-rode any lighter emotions the girl possessed. There was no sense of accomplishment, no triumph, no positive feeling to light his way as he sought some sort of purchase within her mind.
Why did she feel guilty? What – whom – did she fail? Shame – where did that stem from? Anger – over what, at whom – was it directed?
He broadened his mental reach. It was the only way he'd find the answers they all so desperately needed.
Minerva's lounge wasn't big to begin with. The addition of one more body only made it seem that much smaller.
Two fingers of Scottish Fortification had been doled out to one and all. Lupin leaned against the far edge of the picture window, hand tucked in one pocket while his other hand cradled a tumbler. Minerva, cane at her side, sat in wingback chair. An afghan covered her lap. On the side table next to her sat two tumblers, one of which was untouched. Mister Nott and Draco shared the settee. Hunched forward and head bowed; Theo's fingers also gripped a tumbler that dangled between his spread knees. Ankle across his knee and partially reclined, Draco's head was tipped back as if by will alone he could see through the ceiling and keep watch on the still-sleeping girl.
Another winged-back chair, a match for Minerva's, on the opposite side of the side-table – again, the imagery the placement invoked was as poignant as it was coincidental – awaited him. With grace, he allowed himself the luxury of the comfortable chair, the taste of a well-aged brandy, and the relative security that Minerva's presence afforded.
As the 'first' member of the Affinity, Minerva set three cardinal ground rules.
Rule Number One: no lies. That included no half-truths, no subjective perceptions of the truth as well as if one didn't know what the actual truth of a matter, then it isn't the truth. Rule Number Two: no secrets. Rule Number Three: any information, thoughts, theories, or concerns that had to do with the Affinity was to be brought out into the open and shared.
Minerva personified the 'lead by respect' doctrine. Trust and respect, two commodities that couldn't be fabricated or faked, had to exist between them all. They didn't have to like each other. She wasn't so naïve as to believe that they'd all get along. Despite the reason why they'd been called upon, they were still the people they were before this all started, the result of their respective life experiences. No one was going to go through some mind-altering, personality-transforming epiphany just because Necessity had selected them. But, given what was on-the-line, Minerva did expect them to substitute interpersonal grievances for the necessary trust and respect of each other's roles within the Affinity.
Which was why, even though Lupin hadn't been called on by Necessity per se, Severus recognized the attachment Miss Granger shared with the former DADA teacher. For that reason, Severus was able to re-categorize the werewolf as an 'ally' instead of a beast he'd be glad to stake with one of his silver stirring rods.
Of course, there was one enormous 'but' to the first three rules. The Rules only applied to those who had been selected by Necessity. There was one member, a pivotal member, yet to be brought into the fold.
He's swallowed half his drink before he felt collected enough to share what he'd discovered.
"We seem to be missing someone."
Minerva quirked a small grin at his wry assessment. "I felt it wise to send Mister Finch-Fletchley to Derbyshire. I have every confidence that the Grangers will make sure the boy returns to his home in due time."
If he'd felt more like himself, he would've made some sarcastic comment about 'Puffs and messenger boys. As it was, it was all he could do to nod in agreement that she'd made the correct decision while he'd been upstairs.
"Portkey?'
"Naturally." She actually looked a bit pleased with herself. "I reset the one you originally made." She contemplated the surface of her own drink, then she set it aside. "Draco and Justin gave us an overview of what happened at Chadwick House. Regardless of the verbal flaying that took place between Hermione and her parents, they are still her parents. They need to know that their daughter is now safe and sound."
"She's neither." He felt no compunction over contradicting the older woman so harshly. He tipped the glass against his lips. The liquor coated the back of his throat in the most agreeable manner. His gaze lingered on McGonagall but his words were for everyone in the room. "The girl is a mess."
Lupin pivoted away from the window in the wake of Severus' announcement. "How bad is she?"
"She'll recover physically." His confidence rang absolute. Once healing spells, topical ointments, and nutritional supplements were administered, which should be done sooner than later, her body would recover. She might have a few new scars when she awoke, but no permanent impairment. "But the psychological damage…." The last of his drink flowed over his teeth. His glass landed on the side table. "She's caught up in a brutal cycle of self-recrimination."
"Why do I get the feeling that you've made a gross understatement, Severus?"
"Because I have, Minerva." He slid a side-ways glance at his godson. Draco's new reality preyed especially viciously, and not just on the girl. "Godric's manky pants!" He swore. If he thought it would do him good, he'd replenish his now-empty glass. More alcohol wasn't what was necessary. Honest discussion was, regardless of feelings of those in the room. "The girl is holding herself personally responsible for all of our altered realities."
Lupin raked a hand through his tousled hair. He might have come in on the middle of things, but he was quick to catch up. "There are two hundred miles between here and Derbyshire."
"And she's had eight days to travel as such." Severus snorted unkindly. "Do the math. For a horse, especially given the fact that she was in a state of flight-at-any-and-all-cost for days on end, that kind of distance in that little time is completely doable."
Theo was further behind than Lupin. He wasn't so quick to catch up. Severus knew that the boy's confusion had nothing to do with Nott's aptitude for deciphering context or intelligence; his academic rank behind that of Draco's and Hermione's by the smallest of percentages. It was evident that the dark-haired Slytherin's heart and mind were still reeling from the fact that he'd been transported from his familial home to a cottage owned by his Transfiguration professor and had to trick someone important to him so that she could be forced into reverting to her human form.
"Will someone please tell us what happened?" He looked to each of them, not caring who answered, just so long as someone started to fill in the proverbial blanks.
By some unspoken consensus, it fell to Severus to translate recent events into some sort of cohesive narrative.
Severus had everyone's attention, whether he wanted it or not.
How did one convey what he saw in Miss Granger's mind?
How could he explain how she felt so trapped within a body that wasn't her own? How she had to learn that walking and running were not – and yet, were – the same as trotting, galloping and cantering? That the world looked different when one stood on four legs? That every noise was heard differently, every thought was processed differently, that every encounter – whether it be with a tree branch, a road, a human, another animal, the wind, or rain – generated a flight-rather-than-fight response? How instinct, rather than experience, made her eat grass, leaves and other flora? In order to drink, she had to bring her head to the source rather than bring a cup or glass to her mouth? That she wasn't herself even though she knew, on some level, she was still Hermione Granger? That only three words, three motivations, run-flee-escape, had propelled her from the heart of the English countryside to the Scottish coast.
Severus spent a long moment separating the experiences he'd absorbed from her from his own perceptions as to what she experienced during the eight days she was trapped in, what would now be, her Animagus form.
He leaned back into his chair and fixed his gaze on a spot on the wall between two paintings. It was the neutrality that spot which enabled him to answer Mister Nott.
"Her mother saw the physical manifestation of Dolohov's curse. During the course of that…discussion…as to how she came to be scarred, Miss Granger's charade was revealed." A sharp inhale from Minerva and a near-growl from Lupin made it necessary to quickly state, "Not the 'how'. No one but us," meaning the Affinity, "know the 'how'." He resumed his fixation with the far wall. "Things quickly escalated. And grew quite heated. The girl's mother wasn't overstating things when she said that the things the three of them – her mother, father, and the girl herself – said to one another were 'awful'. During the worst of it, as things hit a crescendo on the back portico, Miss Granger lost control of her magic."
"Let me guess. Instead of turning her magic on her parents, or releasing it all together-"
"She turned her magic back upon herself." Severus finished Lupin's sentence without acknowledging the sharp looks and non-verbal exclamations that came from Draco and Theo.
"She could have…" Minerva's face and posture mirrored her thoughts as what could've happened to the girl if things had played out differently. As it was, her expression of deep concern included the girl and the girl's state of mind.
"Let's be grateful that her last human thought was to go to someone who wouldn't turn her away."
The implications of his words cut all of them. He angled his body at his godson.
"You think you know why she couldn't go to you, and you're only partially right, Draco. Her rationale is far more personal and deeper than the Dark Lord relocating himself, and those loyal to him, to Wiltshire."
Severus wasn't eager to rehash what took place between himself and Lucius Malfoy's heir, so he didn't. Nor did he want to relive the moments where a then-fifteen-year-old Draco was dragged, kicking and screaming, in front of the Dark Lord and forced to take the Dark Mark.
"She blames herself, completely and utterly, for your father's incarceration and your subsequent subjugation."
He fished in his pockets for a handkerchief, of which he silently passed to Minerva. The woman needed it more than he did. He allowed her to shed the tears he couldn't.
"The showdown with her parents was the catalyst for her loss of control. There is no singular cause," he folded his hands so that he could grip his fingers tight enough to cause himself enough physical pain to distract himself from the residual effects of experiencing her emotional pain, "for her transformation."
"You said she blames herself?" Lupin asked.
"She does." Severus confirmed. He'd know; he had yet to find a way to exorcise his own demons. Guilt, self-recrimination, and culpability were just a few of the darker colours that stained his aura. Of course he'd recognize the symptoms in someone else. "For everything that happened to everyone that night, she has assumed responsibility."
"Which would explain why she didn't show up at Longbottom Park." Augusta's grandson didn't walk away unscathed, mentally or physically, from the Ministry. Minerva grimaced at her own sense of failure instead of at anyone seated – or standing – in her lounge.
Severus wanted to tell Minerva that she shouldn't hold herself accountable for not realizing the extent of her cub's distress, but that would be a lie. They were all responsible for being so caught up in the fallout that none of them saw just how affected their girl actually was.
"We all know why she can't-"
"Won't."
"Won't," Severus accepted, and agreed with, Nott's choice of word in regards to Miss Granger's jaded perception of Dumbledore's favourite red-headed family, "go to the Weasley's."
"She's not the only one who feels something amiss, Severus." Lupin frowned. He, too, was fully aware of the Granger girl's stance on that matter. "I'm not one of you all," he waved at the others in the room, "but my senses are such that even I'm feeling like she's being cornered into something with the Weasley boy."
"Of course she is!" Draco surged to his feet. "There's no way that mangy ginger is…" He fought to put his thoughts into viable words. His arms swung open, a non-verbal challenge to the absentee boy. "He's just not." He clapped the back of one hand into his other palm, punctuating his reasoning. "The rules say: opposite but equal. In no way is he 'opposite but equal' to her!"
Severus and the rest watched as Draco proved his point.
"Look. As much as I don't like the thought of sharing anything, least of all her, with…him." The name Potter never echoed so loudly in a room without being actually said. "It makes sense that he's the other member of our – eventual – triad. The rule states: opposite but equal, right?
"Potter is an orphan. Granger has two parents. That would mean that the other 'husband' would have to have grown up with parents that were 'there' but 'weren't'. Granger grew up with money and position and responsibilities, but never flaunted it or utilized it. Potter grew up with no position but with the expectation of saving the whole blasted Wizarding world – if that doesn't scream 'responsibility', I don't know what does!" He didn't list the fact that he'd had money, position and responsibilities thrust upon him and wielded all three since he left the cradle. "Not to mention that it's a well-known fact that Charlus Potter died with a full vault and Potter's father never lived long enough to spend it."
No one interrupted Draco's verbal treatise.
"Granger is Muggleborn. She didn't know squat about magic until you," he swung his arm at Minerva, "knocked on her door. Potter is Wizard-kind, but grew up without knowing the least iota about magic until that creature-hugging oaf," he didn't need to say Rubeus Hagrid for everyone to know who he referred to, "literally knocked down his door. And none of us, from the moment we were born, had a chance at living our own lives.
"Out of any of us, how does Ronald Buggered-in-the-Brain Weasley factor into this equation? The kid comes from a HUGE family. Land-rich, I'll give him that much, but the kid doesn't have so much as two Knuts to rub together. There's no way in the seven hells that he knows a thing about responsibility aside from shovelling food into his never-empty stomach! Longbottom might share in Potter's fate, but he's no match for her intellect or her magical capability. Blaise is 'ruled out' as he has just as many siblings as Weasley and is close to his mother but doesn't have a father. The only one of us that even comes close to meeting the criteria is Theo here, and he's clearly her Keeper, alongside Finch-Fletchley. You think I don't know that I was conceived the second she was born? There are only nine months between September and June. Or that, of those among the Affinity, only the three of us have titles?"
Severus agreed with every point his godson made. Draco was the likeliest candidate. The boy wasn't wrong in his interpretations of their respective birthdays.
He had his own thoughts on the issue at hand.
"Jealousy for Potter aside, the Weasley boy resents Granger on several different levels. He'd never admit it, not in those words, but it's clearly evident in the way he ridicules her academic passion, her lack of interest in athletics in any capacity other than spectator, her commitment to Potter, and her dedication to bettering herself." It was only in company such as this that he could admit his conviction in the girl's capabilities. "Given the right encouragements, access, and support, there's every reason to expect that she'll have her own footnote in the Wizarding Annuls."
"I have nothing against the Weasley boy, per se. But he isn't the right one for her. The bickering alone!" Minerva clucked her tongue. "Salt of the earth, he is. But, like salt, moderation is best. Ronald Weasley wants his own version of his mother; someone who'll be content with the minimum and find her fulfilment within the boundaries of her home."
"Are you sure about that?" Lupin asked. He leaned against the window's moulding and angled his upper body towards those seated.
Severus couldn't help but agree with the werewolf's scepticism.
"What do you mean, Remus?"
"Molly – being a happy homemaker and all that." The man was mentally reviewing his interactions with the woman over the past couple of years. "Haven't you ever felt something 'off' about her, Minerva?"
"Again, not to be redundant, but what do you mean, Lupin?" Severus couldn't help but hope that the former Marauder had come to a similar conclusion he himself had drawn about the Weasley matriarch.
"I haven't figured it out just yet, but there's something about that woman that just seems…off."
Clearly that wasn't the word the man wanted to use, but it was the only word that came out of his mouth. Severus couldn't resist taking a poke. "Articulate as always, Lupin."
Draco, though he'd paid attention to the bit of doubt Lupin raised over Weasley's mother, was still caught up in his need to have everyone agree with him. "We've got to do something! Weaselbee's not right for her!"
"Och - of course he's not!" On that, she was emphatic. Equally emphatic, she continued. "But until we can firmly fix the boy's place – and make no doubt that the lad does have a place in all this," Minerva channelled assurance and pragmatism to the emotional blond and overlooked the childish name-calling, "we can't discount him. Nor can we do anything to arouse anyone else's suspicions."
"I bet Dumbledore has something to do with it," Theo offered his own thoughts on the matter.
"To borrow from Severus: what do you mean, Mister Nott?"
"I don't know the how or why. Professor McGonagall, you and Professor Snape have done everything possible to make Hermione Granger seem like your everyday, garden-variety, Muggleborn. Which, truly, isn't too far from the truth." He shrugged, unable to give any more reasons for his suspicions. "It just feels like his hand, that's all. Like, maybe, he wants to tie Potter to Weasley through Granger."
"Do you think he'd do that?"
Minerva's question was rhetorical, but Severus found himself answering nonetheless.
"History has proved that Albus Dumbledore's moral compass is permanently skewed to what he deems to be in his best interests, regardless of the means by which he achieves his ends. Not to mention that his definition of, 'The Greater Good', is entirely subjective to whatever overall plan he has for each and every one of us.
"As long as we all continue to play our perceived parts, as 'assigned' by our illustrious Headmaster, our actual parts will remain safely concealed." Elbows on the padded armrests of his chair, Severus steepled his fingers as he reminded them all how much was at stake.
"Which, as you all know, is imperative." She looked at each one of them over the rim of her glasses. "If Albus were to see Miss Granger, or any of you for that matter, other than as you are, he would take her from us in a heartbeat. I shudder when I think of what he'd then plan for the rest of you."
Minerva's protectiveness wasn't just for show or the empty personification of a House trait. The woman had sought justice on his behalf during his Hogwarts years, albeit under some ruse or another. For every instance that Dumbledore overlooked the cruelty heaped on him by the quartet of Gryffindors, Minerva sentenced The Marauders to mucking out Threstal stalls, detailing carriages, and scrubbing staircases in remote sections of the castle. Sans magic. Nor had her protectiveness ended with his graduation. She'd been the one that had found what was left of him, and helped piece him back together, after Albus Dumbledore shackled his mind and body to the preservation of Lily Potter nee Evans child and the 'at any cost' defeat of the man formally known as Tom Marvolo Riddle.
His relationship with the Scottish woman was a precious blend of aunt, sister, friend and Devil's Advocate. She held Albus Dumbledore accountable for numerous crimes, most of which the old wizard had committed against the man Minerva perceived to be a nephew, brother, friend and Devil's Advocate.
Never would she forgive Dumbledore for enslaving him.
Severus remembered the night that he'd gone to the man seeking a means to gain absolution and redemption. He crawled away with naught but a shredded soul and utter disillusionment. Albus didn't need to bind him to Lily's child. He would have done it anyway, because the child was Lily's. By taking away his choice, by forcing him to take an Unbreakable Vow, it only bred anger, resentment, and loathing - emotions that thrived to this day - towards a child that didn't deserve such deeply-rooted animosity. The Vow perpetuated the loathing and animosity generated by years of bullying he'd endured at the hands of the boy's father and friends, ensuring that Severus would never be able to forgive or let go of his turbulent childhood, or the guilt that stemmed from a need to belong that, ultimately, Albus Dumbledore had long denied. Yes. It was because of Albus that Severus Snape succumbed to the lure of power and the promise of justice that Voldemort offered. That night of his initiation, he stepped forward and took Voldemort's Dark Mark with the sincere intentions of making sure no one else would have to live through a similar childhood or suffer just because he or she possessed an inclination towards the Darker side of magic.
"Of course, Professor." Even after all these years, Lupin occasionally referred to the Gryffindor matriarch by her title. He brought the topic back to Miss Granger's flight. "As you were saying, Severus?"
Trading one set of macabre thoughts for another, he picked up where he left off before they all got sidetracked by Draco's outburst. "Miss Granger's sudden transformation is also the reason why none of us could sense her."
"Will that happen every time she changes?" Theo's concern was something they all had reason to be uneasy about. No one liked the idea that Granger would be insulated from the Affinity while as an Andalusian or Aethonon.
"I suspect that the reason why none of us, in spite of our mutual Affinity, could sense her was because the poor girl never knew what happened to her."
Minerva was anything but blithe. If anything, the older woman shuddered at what the first moments of the change, and the subsequent eight days, must've been like for the girl.
"Normally it takes years for a witch or wizard to master an Animagus transformation. One of the most difficult aspects of the training is learning how to mate your human mind to the animal your magic selected. Once you've shifted, you move as that animal, you behave as that animal, you respond as that animal." Her voice transitioned from lecture-mode to personal recollection. "I remember the first time I reverted back to my human form with strands of rodent fur jammed between my teeth! To this day, voles repeat on me something awful! Not to mention the mental revulsion I felt as my felineness revelled in the wake of my first kill." She looked at each of them knowingly. "The only thing that counters your animalness is the retention of your human mind.
"For our girl, the change was brought on by extreme emotional and magical distress – isn't that right, Severus?"
"That's correct, Minerva." From everything he'd gleaned from his foray into her mind, 'distress' was a gross understatement.
She pursed her lips as she continued her line of thought. "For her, her whole perspective of, well, everything, changed. Also, her shift provided an exceptional means of distancing herself from, well, everything. It wasn't so much as her running away from her problems as it was an extreme means of self-preservation brought on by crisis. By hurting herself, she saved herself from the psychological backlash if she had hurt her parents with her magic. The side effect of being separated from everything she knew as Hermione Granger was as detrimental as it was beneficial.
"Her Animagus form put her into a kind of 'limbo'; neither completely horse nor completely human. I'm not saying that the near constant state of terror or paranoia she experienced won't have too many long-standing effects."
"Like the fact that her Animagus form shifted to that of a magical creature right before our eyes?" Draco had taken his place back next to Theo, but the way he sat at the edge of the settee left no doubt that he'd be on his feet again in no time. The resentfulness he felt over feeling protective of the girl radiated off of the Malfoy heir.
"Hence the caveat about 'long-standing effects', Mister Malfoy." Minerva frowned at his impetuousness. "Her most desperate moment brought about a profound change: horse to Aethonon. But, also, somehow her magic reached out and, quite literally, plucked Mister Nott from where he stood to my front lawn. I'd interpret that to mean that she never truly left us. If she could, even subconsciously, reach out to us, there's every reason to believe that, in the end, all will end well."
"I don't think that was the case."
"Why do you think that, Mister Nott?"
Theo cut his gaze at his Head of House. "Because, Professor, it didn't feel like 'her' who Summoned me."
"Who did it feel like?" Minerva's interest was piqued.
Draco answered for his Housemate. "I felt the pull, too. And Theo's right. I don't think it came from Granger."
"I believe that it was Justin. I'm his match; Pureblood to his Muggleborn, my father to Lucius, his father to Mr. Granger, Gryffindorish Hufflepuff to my Ravenclawish Slytherin, etcetera; separate but equal. He's her other Keeper. He recognized, on some level, that none of us couldn't help her, reach her, or connect with her, because of some reason or another, so he called me to do what he – we – couldn't."
"It makes sense." Lupin looked at the boy, impressed with the reedy lad's sensitivity to the different magical signatures each of them radiated.
"Indeed." Severus intoned. The boy's reasoning was sound. And, more than likely, correct.
"Like I need one more obstacle to overcome." Draco's despondency underscored his barely perceptible murmur, which had everything to do with the recently cast tattoo on his arm and nothing to do with anyone else, besides Severus, who was in the room.
A stretch of overdue silence gave them all a chance to process the multitude of information that had been shared.
Draco's last comment hit a little too close to 'home'. Severus reached across the side table and filched Minerva's unfinished drink. In one go, he tossed back the last few ounces. Setting the glass back down, he pushed himself to his feet. A few long strides had him taking Lupin's place at the window and Lupin, for his part, settled in chair Severus vacated.
"Since we're all here, there's something you all should know."
"What's that, Severus?"
He kept his head turned towards the view her window afforded. Minerva did live in a pretty stretch of country. The rural splendour was a stark contrast to his home in urban Manchester.
"I believe it's time to bring Potter up to speed."
He knew that would cause them to stir. And not in a bad way. They'd been waiting years to do this, always hindered by the boy's devotion to Dumbledore.
"It was while the girl was still in hospital. Dumbledore called Potter to his office. The man had the…temerity…to apologize to Potter for 'the mistakes of an old man' in regards to how Potter's life has thus played out."
He could tell Lupin knew something of what had transpired in the Headmaster's office, but not everything.
"Miss Granger isn't the only one who's had difficulty controlling her magic in the wake of emotional distress. Potter destroyed Albus' office." Severus wished he'd been present to witness that. Hearing it second-hand from Phineas Black still managed to put a wicked grin on his face. "He called out the Headmaster on every point, including the death of Sirius Black. It is safe to say that the boy no longer has any faith nor does he believe in the 'nearly-omniscient' Albus Dumbledore."
Minerva didn't like to hear that the boy had been so duly riled, but she didn't conceal her relief at hearing such news.
Draco seemed resigned. The boy hadn't come to terms that he and the Muggleborn were tied-at-the-destiny to be together, let alone the fact that he was, and is, held accountable for his father's mistakes. Theo, for his part, his priorities rested with Granger and Draco.
"There's more." Lupin chimed.
The man leaned forward and braced his forearms against his thighs.
"I had a chance to talk to Harry before the Express left Hogsmeade for Kings Cross. What started out to be a conversation about Sirius segued into how he felt when each of his friends got hurt during the skirmish. When Hermione went down, he said that he felt like he couldn't breathe; that he froze. He didn't feel that way about anyone else." He hastily added, "Not to say that he didn't care. He did. Neville's busted nose, Ginny's broken ankle, the brains that attacked Ron, and the mental anguish Lovegood girl had to have sustained – he felt bad for them, but you should have heard his voice when he was talking about Hermione. It was all I could do not to push him into acknowledging why he felt like he did."
"I almost wish you had, Remus." Minerva intoned. Her hopefulness was contagious. "Perhaps more has happened that we don't know about?"
"We'll endeavour to discover it, Minerva."
"Yes, we will, Severus." She paused, only to redirect the conversation one more time. "I believe there's more?"
Severus scrubbed his face with his hand. His left hand.
His subtle signal was Draco's cue to leave. What he had to say, his godson had already lived through. It would only make the blond boy even more self-conscious when he recounted what had happened that night on the South Lawn of Malfoy Manor.
Okay - so not a new chapter, per se... But a significantly cleaned-up chapter.
I'm working on the next chapter right now! Wish me luck!
Let me know what you think - please?!