August 5, 1995
"Hold it!" Ron breathed, flinging out an arm to stop Harry and Hermione walking any further. "They're still in the hall, we might be able to hear something."
The three of them looked cautiously over the banisters. The gloomy hallway below was packed with witches and wizards, including all of Harry's guard. They were whispering excitedly together. In the very centre of the group Harry saw the dark, greasy-haired head and prominent nose of his least favourite teacher at Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Harry leant further over the banisters. He was very interested in what Snape was doing for the Order of the Phoenix…
"Don't look now, but the Weasley twins are trying to eavesdrop again," Civia muttered to Severus. Both looked up to find an Extendable Ear descending from a landing several floors up.
Civia chuckled while Snape scowled. "Dunderheads," he muttered.
"At least they seem to be reasonably clever," she replied smoothly.
"If only they used that cleverness for good," the professor sniped, and Civia laughed again. "I must be going," he added and turned to leave.
After the debacle involving the screaming portrait, Civia found herself in the hall beside Sirius and Remus, and the students coming downstairs to their left, as her distant cousin greeted his godson warmly.
Her back was rigid in discomfort. She turned to Molly quickly, and said, "Thank you for the invitation to dinner, Molly, but I really must decline…"
"Nonsense, dear!" the Weasley matriarchy announced loudly. "You're looking far too peaky, Civia, you're staying! You're nearly as bad as Professor Snape, I swear!"
She sighed and admitted defeat, looking up to find the students looking at her with interest.
"Er—hi," Harry said awkwardly, his conversation with Sirius concluded.
"Hello, Harry," she replied stiffly.
Remus stepped in quickly, nervous. "Harry, this is Civia, she's—"
"In the Order, yes, I think the boy got that," she laughed smoothly. "Thank you, Remus."
His gaze turned to her in confusion, but he pursed his lips and nodded.
"Well!" Mrs. Weasley said loudly, "Dinner time, come along!"
They hurried into the kitchen at her command. Somehow, Civia found herself between Nymphadora Tonks and Sirius.
The girls—Ginny and Hermione, if she remembers correctly (of course she does)—were amused by Tonks' usual antics for quite some time, and soon the other students joined in the fun, but it was not long before Harry's attention slipped away to Civia.
"So, you're Civia," he began awkwardly.
"Yes," she responded slowly, ready for an inquisition. "I'm Sirius' cousin. Distantly."
Hermione turned toward Civia, and her eyebrows rose. "You're in the Black family?"
"…yes, I am," she agreed hesitantly. "But so is Tonks, though not by name."
Hermione nodded, accepting the answer, though the curiosity in her eyes had not dimmed.
"What do you do?" the Potter boy asked.
"I'm a Potions Mistress," she responded vaguely.
Tonks snorted loudly. "A Potions Mistress, she says—she's one of the best minds in the wizarding academic world! A brilliant potioneer, and one of the only Potions Mistresses of the century!"
"Thank you, Tonks," she replied lowly, rubbing her forehead in exasperation at the proclamation of her accomplishments.
"Like Snape?"
She laughed slightly at Harry's question. "Well, he's technically a Potions Master, but yes, otherwise."
"Civia's going to be at Hogwarts!" Hermione threw in excitedly. "She's a Researcher in Residence, courtesy of Dumbledore's invitation."
The older witch shrugged humbly. "It's more to have another set of eyes at Hogwarts for the Order."
"Why would you need an extra set of eyes?" Harry asked. "It's Hogwarts, I mean. What could happen there?" Civia exchanged a glance with Sirius, which Harry saw. "What is it? What don't I know?"
Sirius sighed. "Harry…Hogwarts is Dumbledore's stronghold. Voldemort knows this. It's a target, no matter who's there…and we're not willing to take risks."
Discussing this mysterious weapon with Ron and the twins, Harry didn't quite know what to think…
"…What'd'ya think of Civia?" Fred asked suddenly.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"Civia," George repeated, motioning with his hands. "About ye tall, bit plain but pretty, sharp as a dagger, I think. Perfectly shag-able, I reckon. Ring a bell?"
"Oh." He didn't know what to think of the mysterious witch, either. "I, er, dunno. What about her?"
Ron shrugged. "She shows up for the meetings. Hangs out with Sirius and Lupin a lot. Tonks too, but not nearly as much. But we barely know anything about her."
"Is that so strange?" Harry asked. "I mean, she's in the Order. They all seem kinda mysterious, don't they?"
Fred and George snorted. "Yeah, sure," Fred said. "What's her surname?"
"I—er," he stuttered, trying to remember, but coming up blank. "Dunno."
"Exactly. She says she's a cousin of Sirius', but there's no Civia in the Black family tree. So it's a stretch at best, a lie at worst," George said.
Harry's eyebrows knit together. "Er, that's interesting and everything, but…why does it matter?"
"Well, we barely know anything—but knowing who's in the Order is all we've got. Most of the others are willing to talk with us—besides Snape, of course—but she actively avoids us," Fred explained. "I'm surprised she agreed to have dinner with all of us tonight."
"She's a Potions Mistress," Ron added. "One of the best apparently, but Hermione reads those potions articles all the time, especially the recent ones—she's never heard of a Civia."
Harry paused. Okay, he thought, it was suspicious…
"Shh!" said Fred, half-rising from the bed. "Listen!"
They fell silent. Footsteps were coming up the stairs.
"Mum," said George and without further ado there was a loud crack and Harry felt the weight vanish from the end of his bed…
October 1998
Taking stock of the potions left in the hospital wing's supply, Civia frowned. "Poppy?" she called.
The matron returned quickly to the store room. "Yes, dear?"
"Why are we going through Calming Draughts so quickly?" she asked. "Dreamless Sleep too?"
Poppy Pomfrey sighed. "It's the older students, Civia. They have night terrors, panic attacks. I've been handing those potions out like candy. Thank goodness they're not addictive."
Her brow furrowed. "Can you name those students?"
"Of course. It's mostly the DA, really—the ones that fought in the Battle of Hogwarts—but a handful of younger students who were given a rough time by the Carrows, too."
Well.
Something would have to be done about that.
And just like that, Civia began to plot.
Before she knew it, however, the date for the Order of Merlin awards ceremony was approaching.
Minerva had given her permission to take the students who would be attending the ceremony to Hogsmeade to find appropriate dress one Saturday early in October, so that was what she found herself doing, trying to herd the group to the correct shop and keep them from distraction. Severus trailed behind, happy to let her corral the students.
"Let them be," he eventually murmured softly. "They're responsible."
She grinned. "Never thought I'd hear you say that about students," she teased, before calling for the students' attention so as to coordinate a meeting place in three hours' time.
The Potions Mistress was unsurprised to see them wander off to the Three Broomsticks, happy for the opportunity to skive off and have fun.
"Shall we get our robes first?" she asked Severus.
"If we are to avoid the rush of students when they realize they don't have much time left to do so, then yes I suppose we shall."
The seamstress was more than happy to help them find appropriate robes for the Order of Merlin ceremony, she was delighted in fact.
"It's not every day heroes of the Wizarding World come into my shop—much less the spies of Hogwarts!" she exclaimed heartily.
"The spies of Hogwarts?" repeated Severus softly into Civia's ear.
She shrugged easily. "Well, I mean…we are, Severus," she admitted quietly.
"So who shall we start with?" asked the seamstress, as she reentered from the back with armfuls of robes.
Civia grinned. "Him!" she cried, shoving him forward with a laugh, even as he glared half-heartedly over his shoulder.
It was a week later that the ceremony was held at the Ministry, in the formal ballroom. The Golden Trio, Civia, Severus, and several others of the Order were awarded Orders of Merlin, First Class, while several more were given Second Class.
The ceremony, solemn and formal, was followed by a celebratory ball, which found Civia and Severus hiding in the corner, avoiding fans, reporters, and fame-seekers. Many of the war heroes were being monopolized by the aforementioned groups, but the spies had cast a discrete Notice Me Not charm upon themselves, leaving them to drink in peace.
Severus had found a set of dark green robes, so dark they were only a shade away from black, which complemented his skin nicely, if you asked Civia.
The witch had found silvery grey dress robes, with emerald accents—a truly Slytherin dress, as if she was unveiling her true colors for the first time. They had a high neck, thankfully hiding the almost grotesque scarring upon her neck and shoulder, and draped nicely upon her figure. They were flattering, though not truly stunning or attention grabbing; that was enough for her.
The look on Severus's face had been reward enough when he had first seen her in them at the shop, but she refused to dwell on that thought.
Eventually, however, their chatting was interrupted by the Minister himself.
"Evening, Kingsley," the witch greeted.
"Come now, my friends," the wizard implored. "Can't you dance, at least once? Why hide and skulk in the corners? You are heroes, both of you—celebrate, be merry, have fun!"
"What makes you think we aren't having fun as it is?" Civia queried, a knowing smirk curling her red lips. "We were having a wonderful conversation about the uses of aconite…"
"Just once," Kingsley repeated. "A favor, please?"
"Oh, very well," the Potions Master sighed, standing and offering his arm to Civia. "Shall we?"
"Alright," she sighed, placing her hand on his proffered arm. "Shall we dance?"
The Ministry watched, laughing fondly, as the two spies swept to the center of the ballroom, sending the skittish away in their wake, and many of the edgier dancers to take a break.
Regardless of responses, all of the attendees were watching the spies, all eyes upon their regal forms: Severus, clad in the darkest of emeralds, and Civia, in the lightest of greys—like dusk and dawn, clashing, only to find themselves paired with an equal.
But the pair were oblivious to the eyes watching them. They were already wrapped up in a conversation with each other, Kingsley realized, surely discussing some potions innovation or idea.
And just like that, watching the pair gracefully navigate the dancefloor, the Minister of Magic thought: oh.
Quickly, he found Minerva, whom he had come to call a close friend because of their work together in leading the Order.
"Quite a match, don't you think?" he asked lowly, nodding to the dancing couple.
She grinned, catlike. "A perfect match, in many respects, one would think."
"Are they…?" the Minister paused, thinking, watching and observing the couple—his hand at a respectful place on her back, their hands gently clasped, the formal distance between their bodies. "No, they aren't…"
"Not yet," Minerva agreed, smiling happily. "Not yet."
"Interesting," Kingsley mused.
The Headmistress nodded. "Filius, Pomona, Poppy, and I have a pool going. Care to take a bet?"