Covert Communications

Chapter 2

July 1997

Minerva opened the Daily Prophet to find that Charity Burbage had gone missing. Charity had, apparently, been missing for several days now and the suspicion was that she'd been abducted.

She remembered a couple of weeks ago, when Charity had published an article championing Muggle and magical relationships. Charity had said that Muggles weren't all that different from witches and wizards, and that they should be allowed to reproduce together. Minerva winced at her Muggle Studies teacher's courage - or maybe it was stupidity.

No sensible person would write such an article in the current climate, and not for the first time, she wished Albus were still alive.

She'd guess that Charity had been abducted by the Death Eaters: such an article flew in the face of everything they, and Voldemort, believed in.

Probably they were torturing her, taking their time in making her suffer, before finally killing her.

She sighed again, something she seemed to be doing something more of. It would be a safe guess to say that she'd need a new Muggle Studies teacher, one who wouldn't be praising Muggles and their lives. There was nothing she could do to help Charity, even though she wanted to. She hated the thought that one of her staff was being punished and tortured for simply having an opinion.

On the other hand, she'd wait another week or two. If Charity didn't turn up, she would go ahead and send out the notice that she was looking for a new teacher.

It occurred to her that maybe she was being very pessimistic. Maybe Charity had written the article, published it, and then disappeared before the repercussions could catch up to her. Maybe in a few days she'd Floo in and explain her absence. If so, maybe Minerva could persuade her to write some kind of retraction. Have Charity say she'd written the article when she was drunk, or that she'd had some kind of reaction to a potion.

Even as she thought it, she was certain she was being ridiculous. Charity was probably not going to do any of those things. Voldemort was far from forgiving transgressions, no matter how minor: Minerva knew that from when Severus had been a spy and she'd seen him sometimes stumble in, hands shaking from the Cruciatus or tensely explaining to the Order Voldemort's latest bout of insanity.

She tried not to think about Severus. His betrayal was so strange, somehow. He hadn't liked many people, but Albus had been one of the people he respected and admired. And after James and Lily had died, he'd come back to Albus and asked for another chance. She didn't know all the details - it had never been any of her business what had been said or what the reasons were, and she respected that, but she was certain that it was around that time that he'd agreed to spy for the Order. No matter how much she tried to make sense of it, she couldn't. Even asking Albus' portrait didn't reveal anything useful; he went selectively deaf and then began talking about some other thing Minerva would have to take care of as Headmistress.

Finally she gave up on trying to figure it all out and went to Filius with the letter-addressing quill and a stack of names. He promised to get onto it right away and started on the first letter.

The days passed. A few of the staff had to visit the families of Muggle-borns, explaining to them all about the letter and demonstrating a piece of magic that would convince the children that magic was real. Minerva had had her doubts about doing so: once Voldemort took the Ministry he would surely pass a law banning all Muggle-borns from Hogwarts.

She wondered which of his minions he would have as Minister. He was too paranoid to take up such a public post himself; he was intelligent enough to know that there would probably be someone who tried to assassinate him. Besides, he was more interested in dominating the world, not meeting with ministers and teachers. Still, the Ministry was hanging on and that was some very slight consolation. Of course, he was gaining power by the day.

She had a sudden, hysterical sort of delusion in which she, as Headmistress, had to meet with him in order to discuss educational goals for the students. After a rigorous recital of her family history to prove her blood status, she was allowed into his office, which was decorated like a cave. Seated on a tall, rigid mahogany chair with no cushions, she tried to meet his red eyes as little as possible while secretly checking her tea for poisons. He didn't offer her anything other than tea, and she did her best to make sure her voice didn't shake or sound frightened. After the meeting she backed carefully out of the office, trying not to do anything that might trigger the guards to curse her. Once out of the stifling wards she shifted into cat form and ran, not caring about how undignified she might look.

Minerva was snapped back to reality by a knock on the door. It swung open to reveal Filius, who had just taken the letters to the owlery.

"Has there been any news of Charity recently?" he asked, tense for the worst. She sighed, not troubling to hide her fear – he could read her well enough after decades of working together. "No, nothing yet," she replied dully.

The usually cheerful professor didn't make much effort to hide his worry, and it seemed that he shared her thought that she was currently being held hostage.

Once Filius was gone, Minerva wondered briefly what would become of her students. Hermione had left, probably for safety as much as anything. Minerva wondered what she planned to do; likely she'd be with Harry and Ronald. This thought did reassure her a bit: the three of them had been virtually inseparable for years and protected each other through all kinds of trouble.

Charity still hadn't returned, nor had she made any effort to contact anyone. This, more than anything, told Minerva that she hadn't gone anywhere of her own free will. Even if Charity were on the run, she would surely find some way to get some little message to someone.

Minerva was not a religious woman – years of being a witch had tamped down her religious beliefs somewhat – but as she wrote letters and memos to her staff, she made no effort to quiet the prayer in the back of her mind.