A/N: My thanks to Melenka, who's now caught up, and to the fact that it is raining and the house is quiet. And a bit of a sharp poke in the ribs to TTFS, for the hell of it.
Standing
Because some scars are permanent. Especially those borne of love.
"Harry?"
The sun was just over the horizon as they walked, fingers entwined, back toward the house. "Yeah, Gin?" He pulled her in toward him for yet another kiss.
She smiled afterwards, but it was a serious smile. "There's another meeting this morning, isn't there?"
Harry nodded, and they walked more slowly toward the house.
Ginny grimaced. "I suppose I'll be left at home again. With my French 'nanny.'"
Harry almost laughed, but thought twice. Instead, he looked at the ground, at the mangled ends of his shoelaces, then at the sky, where a wispy cloud was tinged gold by the rising sun. "It's going to happen soon, Gin."
"I'm going to be there with you, Harry. Don't even think about trying to stop me."
He knew better. They stopped walking, and he brought his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to him in a brief but determined hug. "I wouldn't, Gin. I want you there. I need you there."
The look in his eyes would have done much to reassure Lupin; Ginny breathed more easily than she had in a month. "Yes, you do, Harry."
The regarded each other openly, a little searchingly, as if testing the strength of their renewed bond, their resolve. Each saw what they had hoped to, and feared they might not, and, unconsciously, they nodded slightly.
"Tell you what," he said conversationally, holding her hand tightly, swinging it a little, as they crossed the garden. "When we face Voldemort, you cast a Bat-Bogey Hex on him, and I'll do the rest. Deal?"
"We?"
"We," Harry repeated quietly.
Ginny squeezed his hand. "Deal."
/x/
Tonks and Lupin were already at the breakfast table when Harry and Ginny came in. Tonks took one look at their faces, and glanced at Lupin, squeezing his knee under the table.
Lupin looked up to wish them a good morning, and hesitated, a soft smile on his face, before speaking. "Good morning, Harry. Ginny." He glanced sideways at Tonks before taking another swallow of his tea.
They all heard the unmistakable tones of Arthur Weasley singing his way through his morning ablutions, and of Molly's footsteps growing louder on the stairs.
"C'mon, Ginny," Tonks said, rising from the table. "Let's get started on breakfa…"
Tonks' voice trailed off as Molly swept determinedly toward her youngest child. Harry let her hand go, but did not step away.
Molly tilted Ginny's chin up with her finger and searched her face, then looked appraisingly at Harry.
Everyone except for Ginny held their breath.
Molly's face broke into a slow smile, and she nodded. "Yes." A fast hug for Harry, who blushed furiously, and she was at the stove and issuing orders for her unusually willing helpers.
Tonks and Lupin maneuvered to have a corner to themselves as Harry and Ginny set the table.
"Will he be all right, then?" Tonks asked quietly, bending over a bowl of strawberries, from which she was removing the stems.
"I am more certain of that today than yesterday, although I fear…" Lupin's hand stilled on the spoon he was holding. He shook his head and beat the batter with renewed vigor.
"What?" Tonks whispered insistently, nodding her head toward the sideboard, where Ginny was scooping silverware into Harry's waiting hands. "You think he'll get distracted?"
"No. He is too much like James for me to worry on that score. You've seen him play Quidditch?"
Tonks shook her head.
"His focus is unshakable."
"So what is it, then?"
"Remus, is that batter ready?" Molly called from the stove.
Lupin handed her the bowl, then turned to lean on the counter, watching Harry and Ginny arrange the silverware. Harry's hand was under Ginny's hair, his fingers moving on her neck as he straightened the knife she had just placed on the table.
Without breaking the rhythm she'd established with the strawberries, Tonks elbowed Lupin in the hip. "What?" she repeated, the tension audible in her voice.
"Snape."
Tonks' stance shifted automatically to one of readiness, and her eyes grew hard.
"Ease down, woman," Lupin said, placing a careful hand on her shoulder. "He's not billowing through the garden."
Tonks glanced sharply through the window, then realized that she'd shifted unconsciously into Auror-readiness, and dropped her hands briefly to the counter. "There will be enough of us, Remus. We'll take him out before Harry even knows he's there."
Lupin Summoned his mug of tea, nodding thoughtfully as he took a long drink. His eyes did not match the silent assurance he'd given her, but she had already turned away to tip the berries from the cutting board into a waiting bowl.
She's never seen him duel, he thought with one corner of his mind, while in another, deeper corner, a larger thought rolled over uncomfortably, as though it were trying unsuccessfully to awaken from a disturbing dream.
Lupin frowned, swirling his tea in his mug as he reviewed what they'd learned at yesterday's meeting. Ginny, Albus, Molly. Minerva. Hagrid. Childhood, fatherhood, motherhood... Childhood... He swirled his tea in the opposite direction, a frown growing on his face. Childhood, fatherhood, motherhood... Draco? He reviewed his memories of Draco as a student and his frown deepened. No; his thinking too shallow, too reactive. His hand stilled, and he watched the tea slosh. Someone with connections. Lucius? He shook his head. Lucius' prestige had slipped too far, after the Ministry incident. Someone close, though. Very. Must be someone whom Voldemort trusts... who trusts no one, not without an ironclad - BLAST
He set down his mug and slipped hastily out of the kitchen.
/x/
Minerva looked up from Hermione's notes when she heard the Floo. "Remus?" she said, hastening to the grate. "Is there a problem?"
"It's Snape, isn't it?" he asked her, his eyes clouded with the near-certainty of her answer.
"What-"
"Hermione's contact."
She opened her mouth to speak, but closed it, smoothing one hand on her robes.
"I haven't much time, Minerva – the others are in the kitchen. She's been working with Snape. Hasn't she?" His tone was flat, devoid of emotion.
Minerva glanced up – Dumbledore had appeared in the frame over the fireplace, out of Lupin's line of sight. He nodded once. "Come through, please, Remus," Minerva said, straightening stiffly and standing aside.
In a moment Lupin was dusting the soot off of his robes. He looked up, and Dumbledore smiled at him.
"Remus," the former headmaster nodded. "How wonderful to see you again. I trust you are well? And Nymphadora?"
"Very well, sir, thank you," Remus replied automatically, his eyes wide.
"There is much to explain, and little time. If you would be so good as to provide him with a chair, Minerva? He seems a little pale."
/x/
Tonks looked up in the kitchen, hearing the Floo. She peered around the corner into the living room and sighed. He had his reasons for doing things, and had lived so long alone that he never thought to explain them first.
This was mostly as she liked it, but there were times when she keenly wished it otherwise.
She returned to the kitchen. If the others hadn't heard his departure over the banging of pans and oven doors, or through the invisible barrier around the private universe surrounding Harry and Ginny, she wouldn't enlighten them.
She joined Harry and Ginny by the table. "You might want to stop glowing before Arthur comes down." She cocked a crooked smile at them. "Just a thought."
/x/
Dumbledore regarded Lupin calmly. "Did you never consider the possibility that Severus was acting on my orders?"
Lupin stared thoughtfully at the carved mantel. "I see now that I should have, of course," he began slowly, "but…" He opened his hands.
"Habits, once formed, do make for difficulties, I know." Dumbledore's tone was kind but there was a note in it of something firmer.
"I take your point, Albus," Remus said, shaking his head, his memories of the previous year still shifting, his judgments subtly realigning in his mind. "I will always have a bias against him, I am afraid – it is reflexive. But I hope that my judgment will remain unclouded."
"And that is the most that can be asked. Of anyone, Remus," Dumbledore said, a bit wistfully, perhaps, but also rather pointedly.
Remus nodded. "I shall speak with Molly and Arthur, of course, and Bill, I think?" He glanced the last question toward Dumbledore, who nodded. "The rest…"
"The Aurors need not have their obligations split further, Remus," Minerva said. "And words will never suffice for Alastor."
"And Hagrid?" he asked her.
Dumbledore answered for her. "I will speak to Hagrid myself, after the meeting."
"Any word on a workaround?" Remus asked apprehensively. He'd been worrying that in the back of his mind since the day before.
When Dumbledore and Minerva did not reply, he continued. "I have a thought… logistically complicated, of course, but it may buy us an advantage."
He outlined his thinking briefly, then turned to leave. "I have to get back."
"Not a word to Harry, Remus," Dumbledore told him as he reached for the Floo powder.
"Of course." A moment later, Remus was gone.
Minerva turned to Albus, a touch of concern in her eyes. "He doesn't have much time for reflection, Albus," she began. "Will it be enough?"
"He may not have been your quickest student, Minerva, but he remains one of the steadiest and best minds you have at your side. I trust him to act accordingly, in the end. Do you agree, Minerva?"
His question was a simple one, but Minerva's shoulders seemed to bear more weight as it hung in the air. Then she stood straighter, and nodded. "I do."
She returned to her office and set her elbows on the desk, steepling her fingers. Addressing the collection of former headmasters and headmistresses, she began, "So. We have a small logistical problem, on which we would welcome your collective wisdom and advice…"
As one, the portraits sat straighter. It was rare they were all called upon at once; without exception, they welcomed the break in the monotony.
/x/
Mrs. Black looked up, startled, at the vacuum where Phineas Nigellus had been a moment before. "Well," she cackled. "That doesn't happen every day!"
Severus swung the door open from the kitchen and strode gracefully into the hall, his cloak flowing behind him. "What dosn't?" he asked, raising his coffee mug to his lips.
"Oooh, the bat looks pleased with himself today," Mrs. Black observed, peering at him with undisguised calculation. "Standing a little taller, are we?"
His eyes narrowed, but he flicked his eyebrows upwards, to the top of her frame. "Those of us who have that option are entitled to exercise it occasionally." His eyes sparkled wickedly. "Don't you agree?"
Mrs. Black sniffed.
"And how is my dear, departed cousin faring in the absence of her current sparring partner? I do hope you aren't suffering unduly from not being able to listen at the keyhole, so to speak?"
Mrs. Black looked at him sharply on hearing the word "cousin." "Not at all an accurate label, as you well know."
Severus smiled blandly.
"Oooh," she huffed.
His smile took a darker cast, and the glint in his eyes sharpened. "I have not, of course, had your idle decades to contemplate the wand-tip burns on your tapestry – a pastime called, I believe, 'connect the dots' by young Muggle children who for some reason find it an amusing diversion - but I have of course long been aware of the connection between your family and my mother's. 'Cousin' suffices for everyday conversation among civilized people. Or so I have heard," he finished nonchalantly, taking another sip of coffee.
Mrs. Black stared openly at him, then reached some decision. She nodded stiffly. "Cousin."
He bowed formally, his care not to spill his coffee adding just the right hint of mockery. "So. Phineas has been called to Hogwarts, has he?" His tone was casual but there was a guarded edge buried within it, an edge held within easy reach.
"A collective summons."
Severus sipped his coffee, but his mind was instantly working the possibilities. Nodding once to Mrs. Black, he placed his palm on the door and rejoined Hermione in the kitchen.
She looked up at him from over the plate of scones she had just retrieved from the hearth. "What is it?" she asked, sitting at the table.
"Minerva is conferencing with all of the former Heads of Hogwarts." He did not sit.
Hermione's hand hovered over the plate. "What does that mean, exactly?"
He didn't answer, but walked to the window, sipping his coffee carefully. Hermione's eyes followed him, a look of apprehension growing on her face.
Tracking Tayet as she bothered the butterflies, he said, "I'm not certain." He turned to glance at Hermione. Seeing her hand still poised over the scones, he said, "You may as well eat, Hermione."
She nodded, choosing a scone. "No porridge this morning, I see," she said, attempting to divert herself from the present uncertainty. "Enough scones for…"
Her hand froze again, and her eyes grew wide as she turned to him.
He nodded slowly.
"So she… so they… Minerva…" Hermione's mind flew, settling on the unhelpful realization that at this moment she had no idea what to do with her hands.
"It seems so," he said, unmoving.
"Oh, dear," she said. "Oh, dear."
Severus did not say anything, but his lips firmed in a determined line.
"So they know," Hermione said, her tone growing fierce.
"Not everyone, certainly," he said evenly.
"No, of course not. Not Harry… nor Ron, Ginny, nor Fred and George, Charlie, maybe…" her eyes flicked from scone to scone as she considered the lines of communication within the Order. "And how much? Severus, how much do they know?"
He sighed and leaned against the windowsill. Tayet had alighted on a lily frond and was eyeing a beetle hungrily. He watched the phoenix for a few moments before turning once again to Hermione. She was still looking at him, awaiting his answer, a dangerous glint growing in her eyes.
"Hermione," he said carefully, "Do you really think that Molly Weasley would send breakfast for me if she as much as suspected the possibility that I might serve it to you in bed?"
Hermione gulped a small amount of air, then hiccoughed. "No," she began, "… no, I suppose not." The glint in her eye deepened. "It's an interesting thought, though." She straightened in her chair and reached for a scone.
Severus looked at her for a moment, uncertain whether the direction of her mood would change again. When he was certain that it would not, he chuckled. "Indeed."
In the garden, Tayet drew herself to her full height, unfurled her wings silently, and pounced.
