Where There is Love There is Life

"Severus!" Draco floated over to the Potions Master.

Professor Snape dusted off his robes. He scowled. "Draco." He frowned. "Miss Greengrass."

"—and where is Potter?" he added, apparently an afterthought.

Draco seemed genuinely happy to see his former head of House; Astoria would have preferred to turn into a mouse and disappear in the next-best hole.

"Harry's not here. He nipped out early to catch a Portkey to Rome and take little Jam to his mum. Is something wrong?" The ghost's form darkened with worry. "Have a cuppa.—You can't go to St Mungo's looking that peaky."

"Your keen observation skills never cease to astonish me," Professor Snape retorted dryly. "Kindly remember you're a ghost and not my—dead—mother." But he did sit down in the other visitor's chair. When a steaming mug of very black tea with a deep smoky scent appeared, he reached for it with a sigh.

The ghost hovered. Professor Snape took a deep swallow, then rolled his eyes at Draco. "Just a minor emergency at Hogwarts, right after the Order meeting. That's all."

With a small inflation that Astoria interpreted as a ghostly sniff, Draco floated back behind his desk and lowered himself above his chair. "What happened?"

"The Cruddace boy and Alina had an argument during detention. Idiot Gryffindor kicked a dangerous book in a temper. Was nearly the last thing he did."

"Kicked?!" Astoria clapped her hands to her mouth. She hadn't meant to say anything! But to treat a book like that, any book—

"He kicked the Book of the—"

"Draco!"

Clearly, it was time to go. Astoria rose to her feet and curtsied slightly. "I am sorry, but I have to leave. My mother will be waiting for me. Draco, thank you for the tea. Professor Snape, it was nice to see you again."

The Potions Master rose and dropped a hint of a kiss into the air above her extended hand. "My regards to your mother, Miss Greengrass."

Suddenly silvery mist enveloped her. "Tori…"

"It's all right, Draco. See you tomorrow."

oooOooo

After the whoosh of the Floo in the office outside died down, confirming that Astoria had indeed left, Severus rounded on Draco, his expression forbidding, his tone harsh. "What in Merlin's magic-forsaken name are you thinking, Draco? Has death finally addled what meagre modicum of mind you possess? That girl is in love with you!"

Turning his back on Severus, Draco glided over to the fish tank with the lobalug. The fish was hiding in its cave. Draco watched how the silvery outline of what once was his body glittered in the dark water.

"Draco…"

The sudden softness of Severus' voice was worse than his accusations. The lobalug seemed to feel its master's proximity. Its snout appeared, all ten inches of it. The rounded sac brimming with venom dragged gently across the sandy bottom of its tank. Draco stared at the ugly little creature and tried to concentrate on the fact that he was dead.

But when the silver sparkles of his reflection formed an image in the dark water, it was not death he saw.

An elegant face, but no haughtiness. A pair of silver-blue eyes, but no condescension. He envisioned her tanned and freckled with summer, smiling widely, hair bleached from days spent outside in the sun, tousled from the wind, smelling of herbs, of flowers, of fruits, of life.

But she did not look like that; she remained thin and pale, wraith-like, because she had taken to spending all her free time here, in his dungeon, with him. Draco knew it was wrong, so wrong, but he couldn't shake a sense of sinister satisfaction, a deep thrill that she chose his shadow over her sunshine.

Yet at the same time, he felt strangely broken inside: he wanted to prefer her sun-drenched, wind-swept…and far away from him.

And still…

Draco allowed himself a sigh. Before: Inhalation, exhalation. Now: Expansion, deflation.

"She's a Hufflepuff, Severus. Theo planted her here to keep tabs on Harry. If I send her away now, she'll end up a helpless pawn in his intrigues. I'm only trying to teach her how to protect herself. I'll let her go, I promise—as soon as she'll be safe."

oooOooo

"He's sleeping now, Minerva, just sleeping," Poppy promised. "You know what Severus said. Barret will be out of it for a day yet, or even two—it was a close call."

The headmistress leant heavily on her cane. The Matron knew that since the Stunning spells struck Minerva, exhaustion turned into agony for her, a screaming ache inside her bones.

And she's always weary these days, weighed down with too much responsibility, Poppy thought, head of the school, head of the Order, and no one to share these burdens.

"You go ahead and have your first cuppa without me." Monday evening they always took tea together. "I'll just stay here for another hour, make sure everything's as it ought to be and sort through my records. Professor Weasley wants to cast a protection spell over the students who are still children."

"If you're too busy tonight—"

"And miss the highlight of my week? Never!"

oooOooo

When Poppy entered the office of the headmistress at a quarter past nine, a westering sun filled the tower room with warm light. The fire was burning low, more for comfort than warmth.

The leather office chair behind the desk stood turned towards the painting that took up most of the wall at its back. For a moment Poppy stared at the picture, those strange, still specks of colour—blue and gold and red and twinkling purple. Then she lowered her gaze to the small silver tabby cat curled up in the big chair, looking lost.

Quietly, she crossed the room and knelt down.

"Oh, Minnie," she whispered. "My poor Minnie." Blinking her tears away, she gently stroked the glossy fur.

For a long time afterwards, the only sound to be heard was the soft purring of a cat.

oooOooo

A/N: The title of this chapter is a quote from Mohandas Ghandi.

In case you've forgotten: ever since Albus Dumbledore's soul was destroyed behind the Veil in "The Apprentice and the Necromancer", his portrait has turned into an abstract, unmoving Muggle painting.