But at least her temper seemed to be cooling after a few harsh words about expecting more from them. She had the right of that, certainly. After all, the students had well needed a united front presented from the teachers of Hogwarts when she had made the fateful announcement, and they had not been present. And too, Minerva was obviously more than a little unsettled and afraid, having the mantle of power and responsibility suddenly thrown upon her shoulders, and that heavily so.
He hardly dared glance at Hermione seated beside him on an overstuffed sofa of MacLaren tartan, didn't dare to give even a hint of what had transpired between them in those dungeons to Minerva. God knew, he didn't regret it, and the thought that she still wanted him for life filled him with a wild, almost unrestrained joy. But that for the moment was too private, too intimate, to shout out to the world. And that world itself was too uncertain and had things much more at the front of the mind than their romance. But it was a secret spot of light; the brightest flare he had felt in his heart and soul in twenty years. He only wondered what price God might choose to exact in return. After all, nothing was free. He didn't want to consider that at the moment though.
He finally looked at her, careful to keep his gaze impassive. Not even a hint. When it's time, we'll tell. I'd go shout it from the bloody Astronomy Tower if she but asked. But not now... She was tired, and even Draco's Tidying Charm hadn't tamed that wild, wavy hair. He noticed the slight hint of a smile about her lips, though, and a slight glow in her eyes. "We three will have to..." Hermione began, glancing at Minerva and then away, sighing heavily and returning to reality. "We'll have to find something else to do in the war here--Voldemort has us ferreted out. He knows Severus and I are Animagi, and I'm sure Lucius Malfoy, bastard though he may be, is not enough of a twit to not figure out precisely who rescued us and how he did it. Draco's in a bad spot too. Our entire," her voice caught, "spy network has just collapsed." That struck him to the core again with a sharp dagger of guilt.
"We'll get to that," Minerva murmured tiredly, rubbing her eyes with careful fingertips. "Draco, you may leave. I wish to speak further with these two." She gave him a small smile. "Thank you for your efforts on their behalf--we owe you a great debt indeed."
He noticed the relieved smile on Draco's face at that. Perhaps the young man felt he had taken a step towards redeeming himself for the one act of darkness three years before, even if he no longer knew what he had done. Severus knew it had still weighed heavy upon him. "Thank you," Draco said, giving the three of them a calm look with silver-blue eyes and quietly leaving, footsteps echoing softly against the stones of the corridor and then fading out.
Murdoch came trotting in just then. Minerva, there's a wee brawl goin' on in the Great Hall--Lowe and Lightoller at it again, and they've drawn that Hufflepuff lad, Andrews, into it as well. The terrier turned brown eyes upon himself and Hermione. Well, ye've finally come back, then? Dinnae pretend ye dinnae hear. I've known about ye as falcon for years, Severus, and young Hermione too. Told Minerva about it, I did.
Ratted out by a terrier. There was some irony to that thought. Still, it had left them with some less explaining to do, so that was perhaps a bit of a relief, and he had not gotten any sort of lecture about endangering Hermione's life in her seventh year by allowing her to spy. Or maybe Minerva, being Gryffindor herself, realized that when Hermione had made up her mind, he couldn't have stopped her. The only recourse had been to make sure she did it, and did it under his supervision and care. "How did you find out?" he asked Murdoch idly, still pondering it.
Ye've got a rather chatty falcon, and yer lass has a chatty kit, indeed.
"My lass?" he repeated disbelievingly, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you say so?"
Oh, sod off. Rest of the humans may ignore ye, but anyone who bothers to look at ye can see ye love her.
He felt himself blush, mortified. He half-turned to look at Hermione. She sat there, face a study in calmness, but he could see the tension in the set of her shoulders, the stiffness of her spine. A faint shadow was in her eyes. A distinct warning, that, from how he knew her. Deny me and that's it. She felt too deeply and completely, trusted too much, to recover easily if he said he felt nothing now when an hour ago he had told her he loved her. And God, how he had meant it. It had taken all his courage to tell her that, and to still offer her the choice to walk away.
He had always avoided difficult choices if ever he could, because it seemed no matter how he chose, someone had ended up hurt. They may have thought him a heartless bastard, but he had lain awake nights agonizing over the choices he had made and the paths they had led him to. The choice to deny his past and create a new, British wizard-born in its place. The choice to ignore Aislinn. The choice to leave the Death Eaters and surrender himself to Dumbledore's mercy or condemnation. All his life he had thought seeing such Rubicons upcoming and neatly sidestepping them had been foresight, prudence. Perhaps it had been cowardice, though, in avoiding things that were difficult and would hurt. The decisions almost always caught up and forced themselves to be made anyhow.
And so in hopes of being the man she saw him to be, the man he wanted to be, he smiled slightly and met Minerva's eyes. "I do." He heard the quiet sigh of relief beside him. Well, no sense in telling the half of it. "What's more," he went on, "we're married."
It was one of the first times he had actually seen Minerva McGonagall unsettled and obviously shocked. Well, there had been that time in his fifth year when Slytherin had beaten Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup, and he had looked down during the Slytherin victory lap and seen her sitting there, dumbfounded and forlorn in her Gryffindor scarf...well, enough of that memory. She was no longer the enemy as he had thought then. "You're serious, Severus?" she asked, her tone carefully controlled, but something was obviously wrong.
"He is," Hermione assured her, a note of either amusement or incipient hysteria quivering in her voice.
"But...when? How?" She still looked completely lost, and her tone was turning sharper.
"It's done, Minerva," Hermione said almost gently. "Never mind the wheres and whens. I love him and I've married him, with or without your approval."
Approval? Good God, since when does one need approval to marry? Is there something against it? After all, some of the other teachers were married.
Aylmeri's husband bred birds to be wizard familiars: Tosca had been one of his chicks. Athol's wife was an ambassador for the merpeople. Minerva's own husband was a Pembroke Welsh corgi Animagus and Chief Mediwizard at St. Mungo's. His mind interrupted the recitation of information about his fellow teachers' spouses gleaned over the years with the cold, numbing fear that he was going to lose the one thing that mattered more than anything ever had before in his rather sorry life.
"Is there anything," he cleared his throat, hearing the faint croak in it, "against it...?" The look of near-panic in Minerva's eyes sent his heart racing. He tried not to let it show how much it mattered to him, how he could be shattered by just a word right then. One simple "Yes" could break him far more than twenty bouts of Cruciatus. Something came back to him from his hungrily devouring every wizarding book he could get his hands on in his years at Hogwarts. Andropous and French...oh, dear God.
Minerva sighed, massaging her temples and not looking up. Hermione gave him a look of horror, both of them obviously just realizing what they had done, and how what they had thought to be a last comfort now had great and possibly dire effect upon their lives. "Yes, there is. It's in Hogwarts: A History. Just a little note. Esmeralda French, the DADA teacher, married," her voice dropping low, "Justinian Andropous, the Potions teacher. It was just after the Anglo-Celt Wizard Wars broke out, and many newly licensed graduates died in the wars. Whether it was true or not, they accused Andropous and French of spending all their time...erm...in bed rather than thinking of teaching, and that the students had been inadequately prepared to fight due to it. They outlawed any romances between teachers in times of war--kind of like the Muggle military, you know? Two members of the same unit or on the same ship can't be married...it endangers everyone..." She kept saying something, but his mind barely registered.
It was like some sick parody repeating itself. The DADA teacher and the Potions master married in a time of war. He stared at Minerva. "The penalty?" he asked, half to himself. He remembered then. "Breaking of the wand and exile from the world of magic." He closed his eyes, not wanting to acknowledge it. Damnation. The fight needed all of them. They didn't need to be lost to some arcane regulations...
Dimly he was aware of Hermione asking, her voice rising slightly, "But...but the Holmeses were married and teaching here during the war against Grindelwald..."
"They were long married...some fifty years, I believe," he said wearily. "I think the point is to prevent the complete infatuation of newlyweds..."
Minerva cleared her throat pointedly. "Now, tell me Severus," she said, voice almost unnaturally even, "how were you two married? The Ministry would not have performed such a ceremony, knowing you two to both be teachers here at Hogwarts, and Gwalch is not in denial of this being a time of war as Fudge was. So you were married in a Muggle ceremony?"
"Not precisely...it was last night. We said vows..." He trailed off, realizing what she was getting at. He was more grateful that he would have liked to think for the understanding and compassion in Minerva's eyes at that.
"There are no records?" Her voice was flooding with relief. "Then there is no worry. You two realize that I cannot afford to lose you now, especially not for something like this. You may not be able to spy, but I have no doubt you will be of great help." She gave thema sympathetic look. "I know that you will have to hide this away until this is all over."
"Small sacrifice," Hermione murmured. "We're all making them right now." Something within him sagged a trifle at that. Just when he would have been happy to proclaim himself to the world, it was forced to be clandestine. There was a sharply biting irony in that, to be sure. Spent all his life hiding things, and when he didn't want to, he was forced to it. They'd have to be careful in exhibiting anything remotely like romance. Word seemed to get to the Ministry no matter what you did, and Gwalch was a stickler to the rulebook. One slip, one kiss witnessed, and they'd be lost to the war and the wizarding world. Can there be a period in my life that I'm not toeing the line in one form or another? he thought wearily.
"As to that, was there any discussion towards any action last night before you were caught?"
It came back to him with horrible clarity. "With Dumbledore out of the way, he says the final plans can be made..."
For awhile they discussed all they had seen and heard at Death Eaters meetings in the past six months. It felt pitifully little. Voldemort spoke very little of strategy, especially when he had to be aware he was being spied upon.
Still, as they sat there and his tense nerves slowly eased themselves down somewhat. Gravely Minerva absorbed all they told her. "Let us help you," Hermione said urgently. "We know him...as well as anyone can. Draco and Ron also..."
Minerva nodded slightly. "What do you suggest?"
"We need to plan," he spoke up. "He will know that we will tell everything we have found out. But he will proably also plan on us being so paralyzed by losing the Headmaster that we won't know what to do. He'll expect to find us huddled like hares trapped in their burrow, easily caught and killed. We need to be ready, Minerva. He'll be coming for us. Dumbledore can't help us, but we're not lost."
"We shall call a meeting tomorrow," she said, nodding. "Begin preparations. What is your estimation of...when?"
"I really don't know. But he's nothing if not careful. He'll take awhile to plan, but he'll strike while he still figures us reeling from the loss. A month, two months...I'd wager it being before this school year is out. We must move, and quickly. If the students have been working hard, they must do so twice as much."
"They're already worn out and on the edge," Hermione protested. He looked at her and tried to gentle his voice.
"Better they break now in the safety of Hogwarts than in the line of battle. They must be ready." It was said, hard and unfeeling as it was. It was the simple truth. For a fighter to find they could not handle what was required during the battle would be a disaster.
"I believe," Minerva nodded, "that we must declare Hogwarts under martial law." He knew what that meant. All efforts concentrated towards cramming students full of practical knowledge: Potions, DADA, Charms, and the sort. All extraneous classes such as Astronomy and Divination temporarily suspended and physical practice of the day's lessons taken instead. Rules tightened to an almost unbearable degree. The harshest and most Spartan of conditions; effectively a military training camp. Students being hammered with the realization that they were being drilled for being on the front lines within a month or so, particularly sixth and seventh years. But it had to be done. "It is Saturday tomorrow. We can take the weekend to formulate our plan, then announce it on Monday."
"All right, then."
"Oh, and Hermione? As I am Headmistress, you are now head of Gryffindor. Under martial law, that means you'll be responsible for weekly reviews of your student's progress, making certain they're ready...though I'm sure you know the duties well enough. I think you have the rule book memorized," Minerva said somewhat dryly. It was only natural, as Hermione, Minerva, and Albus had been the only Gryffindors on staff at Hogwarts. He felt a small frisson of pride for her, though. Minerva wasn't finished. "You're now Deputy Headmaster, Severus. No, don't argue." He didn't, though it took him more than a little aback. Himself? The former Death Eater? The trust implied in that proclamation was no small thing.
They made general sounds of agreement and accepted Minerva's congratulations. She had one last thing to say. "Now, I had best go save young Lowe and Lightoller from each other. They will be sent to you as Heads of House in the morning for their discipline. But I suggest that you two be careful. Hogwarts has eyes and ears all over."
He felt himself going pink to the tips of his ears. Chastened like some silly seventh year. He sighed and took it as well as he could, though the idea of Minerva even considering his newly-discovered sex life was beyond embarrassing.
Still, he didn't protest when Hermione followed him to his quarters. "I don't want to be alone tonight," she murmured. He understood well enough. He'd had enough nightmares from Death Eaters himself, and their near brush with death wasn't something to face alone.
She went to perhaps unbutton his robes, but he laughed lightly and stepped back. "Oh, this time I do mean it when I say I won't. Not 'till I can marry you properly." Not 'till they all know I love you and I've done it right, instead of something half-fearful, hidden in the dark. I owe nothing less. "Besides," he murmured, "we can't set the paintings talking, can we now?"
She laughed at that and gave his hand a squeeze. Feeling her asleep in his bed beside him was a little strange, but not unpleasant. A man could get used to this... The events of the last few days finally caught up with him and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.