Severus and Minerva were sat on the old-fashioned settee in the living room, Minerva keeping her back straight and stiff while Severus was hunched over and seemed like he wanted to put as much distance between them as possible. David had opted for the armchair and, having tucked his legs under him and practically curled up around his steaming cup of tea, he looked significantly younger, with the distinct air of a fretful child awaiting chastisement from the two adults in the room. Silence set over them like a heavy blanket as they cradled their cups of tea. Irrational as it was, David found it hard to breathe. A glance at Severus confirmed that he, too, was far from comfortable.
"Oh, I don't think we were formally introduced, young man. I had lost all hope of learning your name," Minerva finally broke the silence and extended an arm over the coffee table towards David, who took a moment to uncoil slightly and place his cup down before shaking her hand.
"David Kingston, professor," he replied, grinning sheepishly. Severus' eyes swept over him and moved to Minerva, dark and infuriatingly unreadable. Hers were still red-rimmed and her lips quivered for a moment in anticipation, but the hand that greeted David was steady.
"We used to call him your shadow, Severus. We only caught glimpses of Mr. Kingston—"
"David, please," he interjected.
"Very well, of David around the castle, always in your company. We thought at first that he may be an apprentice, whom you somehow failed to mention. When Headmaster Dumbledore forbade us to ask you any questions—and expertly dodged them himself— we assumed David was there on his orders instead."
"And you were right," David said, stealing a look at Severus. Behind the curtains of black hair, the older wizard listened keenly, nodding whenever it was expected of him. Revealing to Minerva that he had no recollection of David when she clearly did felt like a bad move. He trusted her more than anyone else, but the trust was by no means complete.
David knew Severus believed his story, at least partly, but having his existence in the man's past validated by professor McGonagall—that was invaluable. It was as close to proof as he could get for the time being. "I would occasionally pop by to assist Severus with… different tasks set by the Headmaster."
"Of course, after his death, we assumed you too were a Death Eater," Minerva continued, grimacing involuntarily. She raised a hand to her lips, as if she had just realised who exactly she was having tea with. Severus was suddenly fascinated by the contents of his cup. A slight tremor ran along his arms to his shoulders. David was sure that if he were to touch his arm, he would find Severus' skin covered in goosebumps.
"I can assure you I was not." The words were spoken lightly, but David rolled up his left sleeve and revealed the bare interior of his forearm. "But I understand why you'd think that. My agreement with Headmaster Dumbledore extended well past… past his demise, I suppose."
Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat nervously. Severus hadn't spoken a word past the softly whispered reassurances that had helped her compose herself. He looked, for lack of a better word, caged. The man, who at times seemed larger than life, who hardly needed more than a scalding, yet softly spoken remark to reduce a class-full of students to silence and—she almost smiled remembering—who had teased her time and time again about the Gryffindor Quidditch team substandard performances, looked like he was trying to make himself as small as possible on the opposite end of the settee.
"Severus, we were so horrible to you when you were assigned headmaster… I've thought so many times what I'd say to you if you were still alive, but now… "
Severus placed his cup on the table carefully, then covered Minerva's hand with his for an instant before retreating again. David averted his eyes with the nagging feeling that he was eavesdropping on a conversation that was too private for him to partake in. But Severus had wanted him there—he hoped he still did. At no point during their planning did he express any wish to visit Minerva alone. David had been secretly relieved that he had one less point to argue upon.
"Your behaviour was… understandable."
"But we should have realised that… that you were in fact protecting us, protecting the students. The detentions with Hagrid. Your refusal to let the Carrows discipline the students themselves the majority of times. It's all so obvious, looking back."
Severus, who had experienced his fair share of remorse, winced at the tone of Minerva's words. He shook his head, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary, making the curtains of black hair whip him across the face. It strongly reminded her of a stringy teenager with black, intense eyes, who had a penchant for landing himself into detention every couple of weeks—many of which had been with her.
"The smallest suspicion that I wasn't acting on the Dark Lord's direct orders would have put everyone in danger. He would have had me killed and replaced in an instant with disastrous consequences for the rest of you. So…" Severus looked up, an odd expression on his face. "You did well."
"You were smart. You were always so smart and resilient, even as a child," Minerva said with a smile that surprised even herself. "I can see why Headmaster Dumbledore trusted you out of… well, all of us."
Severus smirked and even though Minerva and David knew next to nothing about each other, they would have agreed that he the expression made him look more like his old self than ever before.
"In a sense, one could say that you misplaced sense of justice—so Gryffindor of you—saved us all, Minerva. If it could only win you the House cup, now that your golden boy isn't a student anymore…"
She chuckled and shook her head, trying to look annoyed by the off-hand comment. "I have complete faith in them, Severus."
"Misguided faith, if one is to analyse history."
"And besides, as headmistress I cannot take sides. I should be proud of whichever house brings the cup home next year—even Hufflepuff."
"Sounds dreadful."
"It rather is."
"Would that mean that you are no longer up for bets?" Severus asked, his voice regaining some of its former silky quality. David sniggered, reveling in the fact that neither of them paid him any mind.
"Not officially, Severus. I couldn't possibly…!"
"Couldn't you now? A batch of Pepper-Ups to last you a winter, if Gryffindor win," he tempted, twirling the teacup on the saucer.
"A year's subscription to the Cambridge Potions Journal if Slytherin are awarded the house cup?" Minerva offered, smiling rather mischievously. "And if Ravenclaw win?"
"We drink for dear old Filius' health. A bottle of fiver year old elven wine, saved just for the very event. Has been sitting on my shelf for a while, I must say," Severus murmured, a rather smug grin playing at his lips.
"And if Hufflepuff happen to take it home?"
"You have my permission to drown me in the Hogwarts lake," Severus replied in a deadpan voice. "I do admire your ingenious use of the word 'happen', Minerva."
Minerva laughed again. "Oh, I wouldn't spare you of the opportunity of congratulating Pomona. I'm sure you'd put your heart into it."
"Oh, a heart, certainly, but not my heart. And you're being rather cruel. Chivalry must truly be dead…"
"Severus—have you considered returning to Hogwarts?"
David's head shot up so forcefully that he saw stars for a few moments. Severus just sighed; the flickering, feeble light ignited by their friendly banter was extinguished and he looked more rundown than when David had found him, imprisoned by the last Death Eaters.
"If your first move as headmistress is to hire the Death Eater who murdered the previous headmaster, then please enlighten me as to how you propose to keep your position for longer than fifteen minutes."
"We know the truth—the members of the Order. We know you were loyal to Albus until the very end," she said and, for a moment, looked tearful again. "And Potter—he has worked harder than anyone to clear your name."
Severus snorted. "The Order is small, Minerva. We were few before, but now… how many of us are left? A handful? What about the rest of the world?"
David could see Severus' features grow stonier; the worry lines on his forehead would never be smooth again. Minerva was silent and in her eyes there was something akin to pity.
"Some people," she murmured, voice cracking ever so slightly under the weight of her words, "think that you got just what you deserved when that foul—when You-Know-Who's familiar attached you. Your status is a topic of debate in all corners of Europe."
"Everyone's entitled to an opinion," Severus almost spat, slamming the saucer and cup on the coffee table; David flinched at the sound. "Reparo!" he then murmured spitefully, when he noticed that the cup had cracked.
"What happened that night, Severus?"
"I was attacked by the snake, as you so eloquently put it," Severus replied, crossing his arms. "And I was left to die."
"But you didn't."
"I didn't."
"And what then?"
"It was only a matter of time until I was found. I had considered it a misfortune when Death Eaters reached me first, but now I'm not so sure. An Auror might have felt duty bound to finish Nagini's job on the spot."
"Severus, how long…?" It was Minerva's turn to take his hand, but she held onto it even when Severus gave a weak try to pull away. His eyes swept across the room, lingering on David. They young man understood that it was time to depart. He stood up hastily and offered his arm; Severus looked in no state to Apparate on his own.
"Three months," David supplied, as he waited for his invitation to be accepted. Severus stood a few moments later and stumbled towards the young man, missing the coffee table by inches.
"Severus, wait!" the witch called as David's arms closed around Severus' middle.
"Apologies for the intrusion, Minerva," Severus replied softly. His legs felt like they were filled with cotton. If David hadn't been there, he would surely have fallen to the ground. Hell, if David hadn't been there, the Death Eaters would still have him—or maybe he would've been dumped into a cell of the lowest levels of Azkaban. This dreadful alternative had only been a suspicion up until then, but now he was certain that there was no place for him on either side. The thought should have driven him to despair, but a curious numbness spread through his body instead. He had hoped, however unlikely, that he could go back, that his actions would be understood when he surrendered his most treasured recollections to Potter. But faced with the truth, he could only regard it with bitter resignation. It could have been worse, he supposed.
Minerva approached the pair and, to his utmost surprise, raised a hand to stroke Severus cheek. "You do have allies, don't forget."
He could only nod silently to show that he'd heard.
"Goodbye, professor."
And Minerva McGonagall was standing alone in the sitting room, three cups of tea on the coffee table, one of which had cracked in two the moment the men disappeared.
That evening David dragged Severus to the pub for dinner and Severus got so shamefully drunk that he had to lean against David or else risk breaking a number of bones during the journey back to the house. David had just smiled at his slurring, passing an arm around his waist and leading him up the slippery slope that, by some unfortunate planning accident, had been designated the village's main road.
Before he could tell what was going on around him, he had been eased out of his day clothes and into pajamas, then left to lay down in David's bed. The young man had followed a couple of minutes later, smelling of mint and looking altogether too sober for Severus' liking. He had crawled under the covers and watched Severus intently until the man acquiesced to roll on his side and lean against him again. That uncertain grin that David wore was burnt into his retina long after Severus closed his eyes. He fell into a fitful sleep, being jolted awake every few hours—nightmares, not only of Voldemort and his followers, but now of Aurors, as well, plagued his sleep. By four in the morning he was wide awake and infuriatingly sober once more. David didn't feel him slip away from his hold, nor heard him slither out of the room.
The cat, however, was in the hallway and made a beeline to him, rubbing furiously against Severus' ankles. He scooped it up and its claws dug into his shoulder as he positioned it (rather inexpertly) in his arms. The sensation was oddly calming, dispelling some of the coldness that had taken hold of him. Severus gave it a few scratches behind its ears and the cat purred in response. They settled in the guest bedroom—his bedroom—Severus with his face angled towards the windows that revealed the inky sky outside. Morning light eventually swept in and the cat wriggled out of his hold; Severus grabbed the pillow in a crushing grip instead. He was vaguely aware of someone standing in the doorway, but instead of turning his head to see who it was, he buried his face in the soft material; it smelled clean and promised to hide him from everyone and everything.
