Chapter III
Noticing it was almost time for her next Transfiguration class, Minerva heaved a sigh and raised from her chair. The second graders – a handful of Gryffindors and Slytherins, would soon be making their way to her classroom. As usual, she would be waiting there at her desk and try to conjure up some of the enthusiasm she'd always shown in her whole teaching career. It was becoming harder and harder, what with the overall lack of students and the ever-growing list of worries and problems she had no solutions for. Problems not even the genius himself, Albus Dumbledore, had the brains to solve.
Expecting her classroom to be completely vacant, Minerva entered and was surprised to find a tall figure hovering over her desk. With his back turned to her, his hands were stuffed in the pockets of his black robes, his head tilted in contemplation. The full-length windows behind her desk illuminated the whole classroom and cast a light that made the figure seem almost ethereal, holy even.
Minerva didn't have to think too long – it was obvious whom the signature mop of blond hair belonged to. She straightened herself and pursed her lips in annoyance. If there was anything she hated, it was interruptions of her daily routine.
Worsened by the fact that the interruption had come in the form of Draco Malfoy.
"Unless you are here to evaluate my teaching abilities, I believe that an appointment for a meeting in my office would have been far more appropriate, Mr Malfoy."
He jumped slightly, but he seemed calm as he straightened himself, and turned around to face her. His cool eyes met hers and told a story of their own: Minerva knew him well enough to tell that he was anything but calm.
"Given the circumstances, I am in a very short supply of time, which will have to reflect on the duration of this meeting, I'm afraid. I hope you didn't expect anything beyond that."
Minerva believed to have seen a slight roll of his eyes – the only development of his manners, she noted, was that he at least tried to hide his dislike of her. His lack of respect, now disguised under a cover of feigned civility, had always made it very clear to her that he was, in fact, son of Lucius Malfoy. The very same brat of a student she'd had to deal with in her earlier teaching years and who had made sure that his offspring would continue his legacy.
Malfoy gave her a slight nod and stepped closer, his hand outstretched, showing not even the slightest hint of contempt. Lucius wouldn't even have bothered with such pleasantries.
"Professor."
She hesitated but shook his hand eventually.
"Mr Malfoy."
He gave her a soft smile and looked away as he stuffed his hand back into its rightful pocket.
"My apologies, Professor. I would have notified you, but as the situation calls for, I had to come to you immediately. Given the nature of our… problem at hand, I preferred to take no risks and skip the formalities instead. I'm sure you will understand."
There had been a time where Minerva had almost trusted the young man in front of her. But against Albus' judgement – and as she realised, most of his judgements had outed themselves as faulty – she had seen him for what he was: manipulative, cunning, always putting up a front and using the right words on the right occasions. He knew no rights or wrongs - things either led him to his goal, or they didn't. And what he deemed useless might as well be discarded of.
He might have been young when he'd held Dumbledore at wandlength, the curse stuck on the tip of his tongue and Albus' life depending on nothing but his cowardice, but nevertheless, he had chosen what was easier for him and had let the others handle the dirty work. Just like his father, he knew to reap the benefits without soiling his hands with the blood of the innocent. That was, after all, what the brainless savages, the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, were good for; Draco was anything but brainless, and even if it pained Minerva to admit, he'd even been part of the smarter bunch of students at Hogwarts.
A quality that made one a lot more dangerous, as Draco Malfoy had proven on many occasions.
"Whatever problem you might be speaking of, Mr Malfoy, I don't want any part of it, so I don't see why-"
"This isn't about me, Professor," Draco interrupted, a hint of derision colouring his words. Without moving a single finger, he conjured up a piece of rolled up parchment, with its red seal broken neatly. It was a sense of impending doom, trickling down between her spine, aching in the pit of her stomach that she felt as it floated closer and closer, right towards her. She held out both palms facing up, letting the roll slowly descend and come to a final rest.
It felt like she was holding something of the weight of a bloody manticore when it should have felt nothing but feather light. But she knew that he knew, what he knew, and that nothing good could come out of the fact that a man of such power, a man who still pushed some buttons that controlled Wizarding England, had put his hands on information that were never even meant to see the daylight.
Minerva's eyes settled on her former student who, to her surprise, was merely watching her. There was no haughtiness, no arrogance in his sharp features; if anything, she believed to see at least a fraction of the flurry she was experiencing.
"Aren't you going to open it, professor?" he asked, nodding to the weight in her hands. Minerva gulped, but was careful to maintain her usual aloofness as she held her head high, and carefully unrolled the letter. One last glance at Malfoy, and she dedicated her full attention to what had been causing her so much grief lately, a cruel reminder in black and white.
Her eyes snapped shut.
"I'm presuming you already knew about these… hallucinations of his."
"Yes, I did." Albus had been witness of Harry's ramblings about how he kept dreaming about him, the guest of his body since the curse had struck him on that fateful night, could still feel him inside him. But they had all written it off as post-war trauma, depression, anxiety, had never taken his concerns and warnings seriously. Voldemort was dead. They had all seen it, right in front of their very eyes. How could one ever be wrong about something as ultimate, as unmistakable as death?
He was supposed to be gone.
"And you never really considered that Potter might have been onto something, did you? That these hallucinations-
"What exactly is it that you want, Mr Malfoy?" Minerva snapped, giving him her one of her glares that usually made her students stammer, cower in fear. Of course, Malfoy had made an exception, and even now, he merely raised one eyebrow. "My patience is wearing quite thin, and my students are about to be here any second."
Malfoy bit his lip but failed to bite back the smile that was slowly conquering his whole face. Even his eyes, until now anxious, sparkled with wickedness and mischief. Turning his face away from her, he licked his lips before he spoke.
"You're still trying to contact Ronald Weasley, if I'm not mistaken? Who's currently residing in- "
"I'm not sure why this should be of any relevance to- "
"While you have been on the lookout for the remaining third of the golden trio, I recently made a discovery that might be of huge relevance to you."
"Concerning what?"
He wasn't smiling anymore. His eyes locked with hers, almost imploringly; Minerva had never seen him behave this way towards anyone, a behaviour that indicated that his life was solely depending on the outcome of this discussion. It irked her, the fact that she was dealing with someone seemingly familiar, but at the same time different altogether. She knew him well enough to read him, to see that his neutral face, the stance of his body bore more than it dared to show to anyone. A walking enigma nobody dared to solve, either.
"Mr Malfoy," Minerva said quietly, her voice carrying no semblance of her usual bossiness. But he kept watching her as if trying to figure her out, her reaction to what he wanted, needed to say. Minerva's worries multiplied; how bad could it be that he kept stalling, taking up more of her time than was needed? Finally, Draco lifted his chin in decisiveness, his eyes no more pleading with hers. That was the Malfoy she was used to: oozing power, strength and pride, all at once.
Even though none of it was genuine.
He smirked and uttered the words that would change everything.
"He's alive."
Minerva blinked; one, twice and thrice. Rooted to the spot, she stood still, waiting for further explanations that didn't come. Malfoy merely looked at her, clearly relishing in her fuddled expression and in the fact that he had all of her attention now.
"Alive?" Minerva asked, unnerved by his silence. "Who are you talking about?"
"I reckon his portrait is hanging in your office, Professor? Next to all the other previous, deceased headmasters?"
"Dumbledore? Of course, he has been vacating his portrait since he…" Fell from the Astronomy Tower, where the boy- no, man, standing opposite her, had intended to kill him? Minerva shuddered and fell silent, but also noticed that Malfoy had flinched slightly at her exclamation. He was no longer smiling, his face an empty canvas, bearing no emotion at all. Maybe he did feel some remorse, or maybe he was simply ashamed of his failure. There was no way of telling; all Minerva felt was gratification at his visible discomfort.
"No," Malfoy said, his voice a mere whisper, "I'm talking about Snape. Is his portrait in your office?"
"Why, yes, but it wouldn't make any difference if his portrait weren't in my office at all. He is not the most... talkative portrait among them all. Why do you ask, Mr Malfoy?"
Malfoy hummed in understanding, then pressed his lips together as Minerva waited for an explanation. After ten excruciatingly long seconds, he finally spoke up.
"May I see it? His portrait?"
Minerva sniffed; the idea was absurd, taking Malfoy up to her office for him to take a look at his deceased Potions teacher. She pondered about the probability of Snape talking at the sight of his Protégé but shook this notion off as soon as it came.
"I don't see what this has anything to do with this", she gave the crumpled parchment a slight wave, "or with someone being supposedly alive. My students will be arriving any minute now, so I suggest we delay this conversation to another time, if utmost necessary."
Footsteps, and the chattering of Minerva's students drew nearer and nearer; Malfoy glanced at the wooden door, seemingly annoyed at the interruption, and turned his attention back to Minerva. She was surprised to find him looking at her anxiously, almost pleadingly.
"I would be most grateful if we could continue today, perhaps in your office, where we won't be disturbed. Please."
To say that Minerva was most intrigued by the man in front of her and what he so desperately seemed to need to convey to her would have been an understatement. She frowned, but ultimately knew that she couldn't refuse him.
She walked towards the door, then turned around to face him. This better be worth my time, Minerva thought as she nodded timidly.
"I'm expecting you at my office in an hour. You will have thirty minutes to say what you want to say, no more."
Malfoy blinked, as if not sure if he'd heard correctly; then, relief spread over his pale face followed by a curt nod. Minerva took this as a sign to dismiss him; she opened the door, at which the commotion in front of the classroom suddenly subsided. She watched him leave in long strides, didn't even bother to hush the fervent whisperings that broke out at the mere sight of Draco Malfoy, Ex-Death Eater, coming out of Minerva McGonagall's classroom.