Dear Richard,

I'm writing to let you know that I won't be able to make tonight's pub crawl after all. Turns out my grandmother is having one of her snob dinners and I am officially invited, which means I can't back out without losing face. She's so bloody high up in the bloody hierarchy that opposing her would be social suicide. I don't suppose I can do that after what Mum's and Dad's divorce did to the family name.

Admittedly, just to follow our truth truce, I have been rather intent on staying home these days anyway, particularly on the evening of the dinner ever since I found out that a certain someone is going to be there. Oh, incidentally, what I was going to tell you – I'll have a lot less free time in the course of the next weeks, because my grandparents are currently hosting a special guest who has suffered severe injury from the last war – some kind of battle at Hogwarts, apparently. (Mum won't tell me.) He needs attendance for as long as it takes and will get it from us. Mum's idea, of course. Problem is that, since I live here without paying any rent and stuff, I'm honour-bound to take care of Severus when his usual babysitter (a nurse by the inspiring name of Livius Toke) isn't here for a change. Severus is a pest to look after, but apparently he's got some kind of magical system inside, which will kill him if he leaves the range of the ninth level time-turner my granddad uses for his work. That means he can't leave, is in constant danger of collapses, has read all the Potions books in our library, and been cranky like hell ever since he arrived here. Seriously, that man is an emotional wreck. I keep trying to get him to do something entertaining, but all he ever wants to do is read and eat. Oh, and lately he's started playing around with some weird kind of dish, which he keeps prodding with his useless wand all the time to make silver stuff come out – pretty pathetic, but I'm not supposed to stress him out too much, so I try to remain my usual social self.

What else is bad – oh, I know. Mum thinks I'm in love with him, so she's getting all over-protective and tries to mollycuddle me – which is actually sweet, in its very own objectionable way – but boy, if I didn't know any better, I'd think she wanted him for herself.

On a happier note, I'll be able to be in London practically 24/7 next weekend because our house will remain firmly rooted in this time (for a bloody change) and I'll be able to use the floo network to just zap back and forth between Scotland and Piccadilly.

I'll let you know what happens.

Love,

Morgana.

Keeping A Promise

The next few days were filled with work. Minerva had returned to Hogwarts, but informed McGillivray Manor's inhabitants that she would be back for the weekend, if only to make a few last arrangements concerning the therapy sessions with Toke and Severus during her absence. Severus had seemed both, disgruntled that she was leaving without him and nervous about the imminent dinner at the same time. Minerva had reassured him that there was nothing, really, to be worried about, and left in the belief that someone who had steered himself though Death Eater waters would not be brought to his knees by one of her mother's social gatherings.

On the afternoon of the dinner, several hours before the festivities would start, Minerva left her office on the first floor to take a walk around the Hogwarts lake. It was a habit she had taken up years ago, but abandoned for the sake of last minute term preparations when He Who Must Not Be Named had gained power again. Once each term, in the early years of teaching, she would take a look at the ancient castle from the other side of the water, allowing herself one or two hours at its shore either entirely by herself or, like today, accompanied by her best friend and colleague Pomona Sprout.

"One does get rather too comfortable when summoning charms become habit, don't you agree?"

The two women had found themselves a fallen tree trunk close to the water and Pomona had summoned a tray with two cups and a pot of tea. She gave Minerva's observation a solemn nod of agreement, apparently without really processing her friend's words. Minerva left it at that.

"So," said the plump Herbology witch after a moment's luxurious silence, "what is he like?"

Minerva raised her prominent eyebrows. "Beg your pardon?"

"Your new lover," said her friend, a mischievous grin playing around the corners of her small mouth. "Or why is it that you have been glowing with happy pride all afternoon?"

Minerva side-glanced. "I have?"

"Absolutely," confirmed Pomona, lifting her robes a little to expose a round leg, which still featured thick bandages concealing a formerly severed limb. Some things healed slower at an advanced age.

Minerva sipped some tea. The cups and the small teapot were covered in green and brown maple leaves, a little like Pomona's robes, which always resembled the time of year, except during term time, which forced all the teachers into black scholar's robes. Minerva realised that she saw Pomona far too rarely in her usual clothing.

"You will be disappointed to hear that there is no lover," she then forced herself to say. Her gaze did not leave the glistening surface of the Hogwarts lake, which was beginning to look very menacing indeed now that the sun was disappearing behind the Western mountain range, sending only traces of gold across a vast, dark green mass. "Though there is... someone on my mind these days, I'll admit."

It was incredibly hard all of a sudden. For the last six years or so, Pomona and Minerva had shared many secrets and almost all recent events that had occurred at their common working place had been thoroughly discussed, at least the ones which required it. Others had occasionally been ridiculed, more often than not if they involved a member of the other sex. For this reason, Minerva realised, she was finding herself in an unusual and very unplasant situation now, having to conceal Severus's whereabouts to one of her oldest and most intimate friends. She twisted her fingers this way and that a little and pointedly followed the sun with her gaze as it was gliding out of sight. Pomona looked as though her curiosity was going to make her explode.

"Someone?" she persisted.

"Someone – it is difficult," Minerva said tensely. "He is not a lover. He is not a love interest, Pomona. Please don't look as though I'll have to mop you off the floor if I withhold this bit of information. There is something I promised I wouldn't tell anyone, so I can't, I'm afraid. But the situation at home is... complicated and I'll be extremely grateful for any organisational support you can give me once the term has started."

There was one thing to be said about Pomona Sprout – she was an excellent best friend even when her inborn curiosity was disappointed. She dutifully promised to assist with any tasks school life usually held, including exceptional ones, seeing as this year was likely to be the first in almost three decades without an imminent threat looming somewhere on the horizon. She also, of course, continued to look curious and excited about the fact that there were news and that her instincthad led her in the right direction, conversation-wise, but she did not press the matter. Minerva suddenly felt immensely grateful for this.

"Would you like me to do the Quidditch timetable for you?" remarked the Herbologist as though in an off-hand manner. The two witches exchanged a glance and Minerva caught herself responding with a sudden smile. She was usually reluctant to give up this particular privilege, but she had said she wanted help and Pomona would know that the Quidditch timetable was definitely a more delegable task. Doubtless, the inner conflict would have been entertaining to watch – had there been any. She told her friend that she was sorry, but the timetable had been finished some time ago, along with the decision who was to be the new Gryffindor Quidditch captain. Pomona grinned.

"I didn't really expect to get a shot," she admitted. "But you keep complaining how it is the greatest workload of them all, so I thought I should ask."

"I never complained," said Minerva sternly.

"True, you didn't," her friend replied. "But back when Severus was still alive -"

And she stopped.

This was it. The moment Minerva had been dreading.

She could live with the knowledge that people supposed Severus dead. She could live with her colleagues acting as though he had never existed. But the pain in Pomona's eyes was real, though she averted them quickly. It was a cold and dreadful pain. Pomona, like Filius, like all the others, suffered from Severus's death as much as Minerva herself had, not too long ago, suffered from Dumbledore's. Should she have to subject her best friend to this kind of pain? Was it not easier to let her best friend at least in on the burden she was carrying every day of her postwar life now that Severus had so unexpectedly joined the number of homebound problems she usually carried? The temptation was great, Minerva admitted, and took a few quick steps away from her and Pomona's previously comfortable seat.

"Let's go," she said stiffly. "It's getting cold. September again, I suppose."

"Yes," Pomona hurried to agree, getting up with some difficulty because of her injury. "Let's return. There were some things I wanted to get done before the staff meeting tomorrow. Incidentally, did the headmaster say he was going to be there?"

"I hope so – for his sake," Minerva replied darkly. "We shall have to discuss quite a few things. I cannot believe the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher has not arrived. It seems things are going to continue exactly as they used to be before the war. The position was not cursed by You Know Who. It is a curse in itself."

They passed Hogsmeade Station in silence. The road, on which the Thestral-powered carriages would take the students to the castle the following night, gave way to a trodden path, which lead towards the shore. The witches followed it until they arrived at the little pier, where Hagrid had dutifully positioned the first year boats in preparation for their annual usage.

"Strange to think that school life will continue as usual," Pomona said quietly, letting her gaze glide over the now unlit water surface. "What with our number of students being reduced to just barely two hundred."

"There are plenty of first years," replied Minerva, as quietly, her hands in her pockets. "Trust me. I wrote the letters."

"As every year," mumbled Pomona distractedly. "I was wondering, you know, when we passed the graveyard just now. There are so many losses... will things really be like usual? Can they?"

"It is not our aim to make things as they were," said Minerva quietly. "Our new headmaster is planning to bring an entirely new breeze to this school and I must say I agree. We have had quite enough experimenting already. Hogwarts will benefit from a new direction in leadership, don't you agree?"

"I thought last year's new directions were quite enough to last for a lifetime," Pomona said, shaking her greying curls. "You know, I must have gained ten pounds of weight over the worry of not letting the Carrows get too near to my Hufflepuffs."

"You don't say," sighed Minerva. "I was never more relieved that the Weasley twins were gone. Mind you, their sister Ginny was hardly any better, of course. Proud though I am of Longbottom's and her efforts to keep the school spirit up – I wish they had not taken quite so much risk of personal bodily harm for the mere sake of keeping everyone in good spirits. The number of time I had to speak to the headmaster about them because one of the Carrows made me – the number of times he had to pretend to punish them..."

"It is odd, is it not," said Pomona, visibly nervous about the conversation drifting back to the topic of Severus, "that he pretended... all this time..."

"Had to," said Minerva automatically. She turned her gaze towards the forest, intending to continue her way. Pomona followed suit. "You know," the deputy headmistress then said, careful to give away only that kind of detail which she could have heard from young Potter or one of his friends, "I think he was more worried about our safety than we all give him credit for. He certainly worried more about me being tortured for information, in case he let me in on his secret, than about the risk of me challenging him to a duel, possibly killing him in the process."

"Well, it was his job to live on the verge of death, of course," Pomona replied, sounding would-be-casual. Minerva gave a tense nod.

"Not to mention his Slytherin arrogance telling him that he would win such a duel no matter what," Pomona added with a forced smile, leaving unmentioned the fact that Severus had a tendency to win duels, no matter how arrogant his colleagues had always deemed him.

When they arrived at the little door leading through the Hogwarts wall onto the grounds again, she produced a small, blue key, which glistened in the upcoming darkness, and eventually sprung from her hand to insert itself into the door's rusty keyhole. Minerva turned it twice.

"Incidentally," continued Pomona when they crossed the vegetable pitch, "I am sorry to bring the topic up again, but I have been meaning to ask you for a while now – where is Severus's grave situated exactly? I was looking for it the other day, unable to find -"

"Hold on," Minerva said, stopping in her tracks and staring ahead, then pointing at Hagrid's dimly lit hut. "Hagrid is… home?"

"He must have finished with his chores," Pomona said doubtfully, scratching her neck. "As I was saying..."

"Let's pay him a visit," said Minerva quickly in a voice of high-pitched fake cheerfulness, her steps quickening. "Knowing him, he will be delighted to have company at this time of the year. No students to illegally visit him after hours."

Pomona sighed.

"Fine," she conceded, deciding against the retrieval of information and in favour of the upholding of a pleasant mood, "but not too long. I have not overseen the common room cleaning yet and House-Elves are often rather sloppy with everyday tasks not related to Gryffindor or Slytherin."