Friendship?

Draco stared at her in silence. Her breathing reverberated noisy like a behemoth's in Astoria's ears.

At last Draco shook his head. His low laughter was as silvery and sad as the ghost himself. "What is it with you Hufflepuffs, I wonder …"

He drifted closer. A shiver raced down Astoria's back, and her nipples pulsed against the fabric of her robes. Were he alive, she would have felt his breath on her neck. Since he was not, she could see the bookshelves lining his office through his smile as if shrouded in mist. She held her breath.

Sefer Raziel HaMalakh. Liber incantationum, exorcismorum et fascinationum variarum. Ġāyat al-Ḥakīm. The Tales of Beedle the Bard?!

Suddenly time started again. Astoria gasped. Draco drew back.

"Tori, this is not a good idea. You cannot save me anymore; I am already dead."

"Does that mean we can't be friends?" Her lower lip started to tremble.

Draco rolled his eyes. "We are friends. Neither life nor death will ever change that."

Another long silence. This time, thoughtful. Almost peaceful.

A cup of herbal tea appeared before Astoria. Lavender and mint, a hint of honey, a dash of lemon. Again, the contours of the dungeons grew hazy, this time obscured by warm wisps of fragrant steam.

"Your mother," Draco said abruptly. "She's still friends with my mother, is she?"

Astoria put her cup down. "Like you said, some friendships neither life nor death can destroy. Some withstand even Azkaban and the Wizengamot."

His sigh dispersed the hot air above her tea. "Do you ever see her?"

"Yes," Astoria said. "Now and again." She swallowed hard. "Your father, too."

The already chilly dungeon grew icy. But Astoria forced herself to continue: "They…both…miss you."

She took a deep breath. "We've been invited for dinner at the Manor next Friday."

Yet another silence. Draco drifted over to the fish tank with the lobalug. Astoria concentrated on the titles of Draco's books. That fish was giving her the jimjams.

"Would you…tell—" With a flick of its fat tail the fish hid in its cave. "—would you tell my…parents that I…think of them?"

oooOooo

Stiffly Minerva stumbled from the Floo. Luckily one armchair was positioned just right for a cosy evening in front of the fire, or she might have fallen. Minerva slumped down and watched the green tinge bleed from the flames, leaving them red and golden, pure and innocent.

With a grunt she pushed herself back on her feet.

"Pride and grace dwell ne'er in ae place," she muttered and pulled out her lion-headed cane from behind the whisky-cupboard. While she liked to think of herself as a witch still in her prime, she knew better than to try and negotiate the steep staircases of Hogwarts without help, exhausted as she was.

The descent to the Great Hall seemed endless tonight. She found Professor Weasley in the staff-room, buried behind a pile of essays—a fearsome sight with his ragged scars and scowling so fiercely.

"I'm back," she sighed, settling down laboriously at the opposite side of the table. "Did anything happen while I was gone?"

Bill put down his quill. "Nothing out of the ordinary. I caught the Little Knights up on the Astronomy Tower. Coming up with detentions for all fourteen of them was a challenge, but I managed. What about the meeting? Anything I should know?"

Minerva nodded. "Yes, indeed…"

oooOooo

Alina was sulking. Sure, cleaning bed-pans with your hands was bad. She didn't envy Crudass that job. But having to darn sheets the Muggle way was ten times worse. Especially since it wreaked havoc on her concentration and she couldn't keep her damn parchment afloat and her effing quill writing while she was pricking herself in the finger with that bloody needle every blasted stitch.

And to top things off, Crudass was talking non-stop and so fast that she couldn't keep up with the movements of his lips.

On the other hand—just going by the gist of his tirade—maybe she was better off missing most of it.

oooOooo

"…and you're always hanging around with Cato these days! I thought we were friends! We never do anything together anymore. That's some faithful knight you are!" Barret spat. He knew he was being unfair and that Alina was having trouble to understand him. But for once he didn't care. Turning around with another dirty bucket in his hands, he stumbled over Alina's bulging book bag.

"Bloody buggering blasted hell!" he exclaimed. Why did she have to keep lugging that monstrous thing with her everywhere she went? He aimed a hefty kick at the bag.

Deadly, absolute cold shot up his leg, gripped his heart, clutched his throat like a vice, froze damp lashes of eyes solid that he squeezed tight against the pain.

Somewhere far away he could hear a violin playing.

oooOooo

"…I am grateful the rituals for renewing the wards are already scheduled," Minerva concluded. "Augusta will come to tea on Wednesday. Abbé Nihel made an appointment with Severus for Friday.—Are you satisfied with your own progress in this?"

"I am," Bill nodded. "But, Headmistress—"

He stopped. Suddenly his ears reddened with the typical Weasley flush.

"Hmm? Well, out with it, what's bathering ye?"

"Headmistress, you do look very tired and—"

Warm affection for the lad filled Minerva. "Are you telling me to go to bed, Professor Weasley?"

The DADA professor cleared his throat. "Possibly," he admitted with a sheepish grin.

"I shall get rest as soon as I may," she told him. "And I even promise to stop by the hospital wing and get a potion and a lotion from Poppy to soothe my aches and pains."

His swift smile Charmed away his scars for a split-second. "Well, that's all right then. I have rounds, and then I think I'll wait for Severus."

Minerva nodded. Then, leaning heavily on her cane, she made her way up the stairs to the first floor. A kingdom for a lift, she thought.

oooOooo

A/N: The titles of the books Astoria sees in Draco's office are all famous medieval or Renaissance grimoires. With the exception of "The Tales of Beedle the Bard", of course, which belong to JKR.