Disclaimer: Clearly, Harry Potter and all associated books, movies and paraphernalia do not belong to me. Many thanks to JKRowiling and others for their patience.
A Life Decided
June, 1998
From his position against the wall just inside the kitchen door, Charlie Weasley watched various members of the highest echelon of the Order of the Phoenix entering the room, taking places long since established by the rift that had occurred between them: Harry Potter's staunch supporters lining the right side of the formal cherry-wood table, polished to a shine, Minerva McGonagall's streaming to the left.
The small pocket that comprised the neutral camp took up their residence at the foot. Given the details that his youngest brother had supplied, the dragon tamer was not surprised to see his parents, sister and Ron's feminine but surprisingly durable girlfriend, Lavender, squeeze together in that space. Nor did he miss the look of compounded pain and resentment that flashed across bright green eyes as the young saviour took his place at the head, gaze locked steadily on Ginny.
Bending their heads together on Harry's side, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Nymphadora Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody were murmuring furiously, the heavy cane pounding the ancient floor, creaks emphasizing his unheard exclamations. Farther down on that side, Remus Lupin sat, poring over notes and cross-referencing them with a tome exuding dust with the werewolf's every exhale. Every so often, his gentle hazel eyes would flicker up to peruse those on the opposite side of two and a half feet of table, sorrow gracing the green-brown. Though Charlie did not know him well, he could see that the in-fighting had taken its toll on the middle-aged wizard.
The direction of Lupin's glance brought the second Weasley son's eyes to his former professor's line up. The older wizard's focus had been the apparent catalyst for the disunity now threatening the only army standing between Voldemort and Britain: Hermione Granger. Charlie had seen her little in the two days since his arrival, but even after encountering his much-matured youngest brother and the hard-eyed Harry, he had not been able to contain his shock. The bushy-haired, eagerly energetic, ever-informed girl he vaguely recalled from a few visits home had been erased as thoroughly as if she had never existed. In her place stood a woman of iron will and seething power, bent under the weight of the secrets that had destroyed her friendship with the Boy-Who-Lived. Her eyes were bright, but the shadows underneath told a story of insomnia, her frame – never robust – slender and fit for duelling. She still seemed to possess a formidable mind that she was plumbing to its depths, if her reading material were anything to go by, but Hogwarts, A History was no longer the thickest volume gracing her table.
She was deep in conversation with Fred. He had been surprised to hear that the twins had stepped to Hermione's defence. They had always seemed closer to Harry, who had, after all, funded Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. But they had adamantly protested Hermione's sentence of house arrest and the obsessive desire possessed by the majority of Harry's half to kill Severus Snape. The spy had continued supplying them with much-needed information: killing him would be the knot in their own noose.
With the division so rigidly enforced by the barren table that seemed to represent the gaping chasm between the two sides, Charlie felt as if he were watching warring parties meet uneasily to form a truce, instead of a group supposedly united against a greater foe. The apprehension that had taken root his first night in Grimmauld Place blossomed abruptly. If this was the state of the Order, he would take his force back to Romania. He had not asked them to fight and die for defeat – and these witches and wizards would be effortless to destroy.
The murmurs died as McGonagall and Ron entered, the latter shooting Hermione a quick smile before taking his required seat on Harry's right. The would-be Headmistress of Hogwarts seated herself next to the young witch as Harry nodded politely to the boy who had been his second since his first ride on the Hogwarts Express.
Silence fell, thicker than molasses dripping in January and uncomfortable enough that Charlie could feel his skin began to itch, the oppressive air sinking through them. Even his mother's efficient dispatch of butterbeer, water and wine didn't loosen the mood.
'Well, Minerva, are we going to get started?' Moody growled.
McGonagall returned his glower with a cool look in her dark blue eyes. 'No, Alastor, we are not. We are awaiting one more person.'
Foreheads furrowed in frowns on the Auror's side of the table, ugly glances traded between the three and their compatriots as Harry stiffened infinitesimally in his chair. But no one broke the silence.
Charlie didn't have time to guess who this guest was. The door opened a final time, and in came a swatch of black, moving so swiftly that the colour was all that registered for a first impression.
'Minerva.' The stressed, low voice of Severus Snape greeted one half of the Heads of the Order. She extended her hand, worry etched in the drawn lines around her mouth as he took it briefly.
'Severus. You are well?'
'Enough,' came his brusque reply. He tilted his head to the elder Weasleys and, to their second son's surprise, also at his brother ensconced next to Harry. Charlie didn't know which was more out of character: Snape's almost respectful acknowledgement of Ron, or the Gryffindor's genuinely friendly nod in response.
His final stop was the witch seated to Minerva's left. The dark wizard halted next to Hermione, who had risen to meet him, and Charlie could see a frisson of releasing tension as Snape's fingertips brushed her elbow, the faint hum of Elemental Magic greeting their lovers eagerly after a long absence. The thin lips of Dumbledore's murderer came down to meet the crown of her untamed head, face half-buried in the wild hair, a single breath relaxing the taut shoulders.
If the newcomer was surprised by their public display, the intensely uncomfortable looks from those sitting across from the spy and his bondmate answered the question of why – an unassailable demonstration of Snape's place within the Order for those who continued to doubt.
'Severus, Charlie Weasley has brought his force to join us,' Hermione said quietly, stepping back from her former teacher.
The vitriolic man straightened, turning decisively to stare Charlie in the face, his own sculpted features as impassive now as when Charlie had sat at the back of his dungeon classroom.
The copper-haired wizard hesitated, uncertain of the rules defining their encounter – was he reporting to a superior or explaining to a subordinate? Snape took the decision from him by speaking, answering his questions.
'We are grateful for the help you have provided. There are certain sections of the Dark Lord's forces that the dragon riders should focus on in the impending battle. I will be ready to provide you with details after this meeting.'
Charlie nodded, and before he knew it, his burn-and-wind-roughened hand had come up to meet the pale wizard's slender one, squeezing in an instinctive gesture of camaraderie, unknowingly cementing his place with his twin brothers.
'I'll await your convenience, sir.'
'Excellent. Severus, Mr. Weasley, if you would seat yourselves...' McGonagall's hand fluttered in a way entirely reminiscent of the late headmaster, managing to take in the whole table and nevertheless indicate the precise places they should sit at the same time. Severus took his chair on the other side of Hermione – Fred had vacated the seat when the spy had arrived – and Charlie occupied the last open space between George and his father.
'This meeting has been called because we have finally received an affirmative answer from our contacts amongst the Goblins. At least some of them wish to join the war on the side of the Order, provided we can grant them certain assurances.' The crisp voice that so many of them had heard dryly giving instruction in Transfiguration seemed strangely suited to this task as well as she outlined what the Goblins had written, producing a scroll covered in curly handwriting for general perusal. The members of the table leaned in, reading, pointing, disagreeing and wrangling over whether they could accept these new allies.
~888~
February, 1997
'What is the price for one soul, Albus? How high is Draco Malfoy's worth allowed to climb?' The aging wizard rubbed at weary eyes as his wife regarded him from behind her strictly-square frames.
He could hear the voice of their younger colleague echoing from the stones around them. He had quarrelled with the Defence professor just this afternoon...
'You may be resigned to your death,' Dumbledore had heard the harshness covering the genuine pain, but Snape used it ruthlessly nevertheless, 'but our students have had no such luxury. We have suffered two near-fatalities, and this is nothing like the Chamber of Secrets. We know who the culprit is and what we can do about it. What will happen, Headmaster, if someone actually dies?'
'My love, I beg you, try to understand,' he said, surprised by the sudden hoarseness in his voice. 'The best thing for Britain and Hogwarts is the death of Tom Riddle, as fast as possible. With this mad desire to punish Lucius for the lost prophecy, he has handed us exactly the right key to bring it about. Should I have refused? If the Ministry falls and Riddle succeeds in taking over Great Britain, how many children will die? More than the handful who are at risk from Draco now.'
'Even one lost life is too much,' McGonagall whispered, unable to stop the thoughts that followed. And these are faces I know, children I treasure...what is an unknown future compared to the present?
She vividly recalled Pomona Sprout's racking tears after her interview with the Diggorys following Cedric's murder.
'What do you say?' The down-to-earth witch was weeping uncontrollably in one of her greenhouses, oblivious for once to the living things that had occupied her whole world as her body shuddered with sobs. 'What can you tell a mother who has seen her son put in the ground? Minerva...we who have never borne children, who cannot understand the loss, what can we say?'
'Yes. It is. I am exceedingly grateful for the turn of fate that has saved both Ron Weasley and Katie Bell.'
He leaned forward, reaching across his desk to capture her hand as abruptly-cold fingers wrapped around her teacup. 'It was you who once reminded me that it falls to a leader to do what must be done – however unpleasant or painful the task. You were correct, as you so often are. Allowing Draco to stay screams against every instinct I possess for taking care of the lives entrusted to us, but turning him away spells disaster for many others.'
'I wish I could understand,' she replied slowly, eyes glossed with pain. 'But all I can see is Molly Weasley's white face, and I don't think I ever will.'
A hard look arrested his features as he squeezed her hand so hard it pinched and answered. 'I sincerely hope you never do. But whatever else comes to pass...help me with this, Minerva.'
A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. 'Have I ever refused you?'
~888~
'Miss Granger! My desk, please,' Professor McGonagall called to her prize pupil over the rustling of papers and scrapting of metal chairs on stone floors that accompanied the end of her class. Harry shot her a concerned look, and Lavender fell back to join him, waving Parvati through the door with Seamus and Dean.
Since Pansy's attack only a few days ago and Ron's poisoning on Saturday, Harry had been more determined than ever not to let Hermione out of his sight. Whatever chastisement the Slytherin had received from her Head of House had not quelled her murderous looks in the other witch's direction, nor did her detentions seem to be having any deterring effects on her hatred.
'We'll be outside,' Harry murmured.
'Thanks,' she replied. A few weeks ago, she would have snapped irritably that she was perfectly capable of finding the Great Hall on her own. But the scale of Parkinson's violence had frightened her. The other girl had been duelling to kill – and there were no guarantees that she wouldn't try again. 'I'll try to make it quick.'
The room emptied and Hermione was standing in front of her Head of House. 'Yes, Professor?'
'On Friday evening, you mentioned the need for some extra time on that advanced project,' she said carefully. Hermione cocked her head, scrambling for the pieces of her previous Friday...
Snape. Dumbledore. The conversation that had turned her world a full one-hundred-eighty degrees. She shot her teacher a puzzled glance. There had been absolutely no discussion of an advanced project...
'The one the headmaster suggested,' Professor McGonagall prompted blandly.
It clicked. 'Oh!' Hermione said, and then blushed faintly at her slowness. 'Yes, Professor, that would be very helpful.'
'Then I'll expect you in my office this evening after dinner.'
'Yes, ma'am. Thank you.' Hermione offered the older witch a smile, which McGonagall returned.
'Miss Granger,' she called as her student turned away. 'Be careful,' came the quiet, affectionate warning. 'Miss Parkinson has by no means been cowed by her punishments, and she is not the only one who would wish you harm. The entire faculty is on alert, but the students outnumber us twenty-to-one. Until you bring your power under control, stay close to your friends.'
'I will,' Hermione promised.
~888~
Harry and Neville walked Hermione to the Transfiguration professor's office that evening, and the raven-haired Gryffindor went so far as to ask Professor McGonagall when Hermione would be done.
'Don't you think you're a bit young to be playing dad?' Hermione asked, but there was no sourness in her voice. Harry glanced down at her without a trace of humour in his green eyes.
'I fully agree with Mr. Potter's concern,' McGonagall cut in. 'And I am grateful for his vigilance. But it is unnecessary,' she assured the young wizard. 'I will personally see Miss Granger back to Gryffindor Tower.' She peered over her glasses at the messy-haired boy. 'I was also under the impression that you had an appointment with the headmaster this evening, Potter.' Harry nodded the affirmative and McGonagall waved them both away. With that, Hermione was bundled inside and her two friends were left to return to their lives.
'Will we regularly meet here instead of the Headmaster's Office?' Hermione asked curiously as she shed her books onto a stuffed armchair.
'No. Tonight, of course, Potter has his attention. But although Albus wishes you to train independently, you won't be meeting in his office for that, either. A specific type of place seems to be called for, with very precise conditions. He thinks he may be close to unearthing yet one more of this castle's secrets that will help you two tame these unexpected gifts.' Hermione watched her professor glide behind her desk and tap the door woven into the large floor-to-ceiling tapestry hanging there. The Prefect couldn't quite find surprise when the cloth shimmered and became a solid, three-dimensional door. Secrets were the warp and weft of the school. Having seen the headmaster's private sitting room so nicely concealed from the public eye made her suspect that each teacher would have such a space, a place where a few valuable items were secure from student's prying eyes and curious fingers.
'This arrangement is just for today,' McGonagall added, turning the knob. 'As the conversation you're about to have is one that I have little doubt you wish to keep absolutely private.'
'Conversation? I thought-'
'In the future, Miss Granger, you will practice. I'm sure that I don't need to lecture you on the importance of your power. But there are some subjects that will not keep for later.' The beech swung inwards, revealing a tall silhouette half-lit by the already-roaring fire. Snape glanced up at their entrance, and the older witch saw the softening of his severe visage when his eyes settled on Hermione.
Rough though the weekend had proven to be, her magic fairly hummed with contentment, which in turn caused wind and water to purr pleasantly through his veins. It was a welcome change from the pins-and-needles he'd been suffering since turning her out of his office.
'Professor Snape,' she greeted him formally as her Head of House backed out, pulling the door closed behind her. The click of the latch sounded like the shot of a starter pistol. They moved together, stopping just short of touching. She could sense his hesitation, but was unsure as to the cause. Finally he lifted his hands to the level of her abdomen and clumsily articulated:
'Our...your...can I touch it?'
Hermione smiled at the full-force return of the awkwardness that was so at odds with his demeanour in every other setting. Wordlessly, she took one hand in hers and pressed it to her mostly-flat belly, treasuring the rare intimacy and the curious, searching look on his face as he felt no more than the movement of her breathing under his palm. 'We won't feel it moving for awhile yet.' Her light-heartedness failed abruptly, and, sensing her change of mood, he withdrew, gesturing for her to seat herself and drink the tea steaming in two cups on the end table.
'If we're going to keep it,' she continued firmly.
'You're certainly wasting no time on pleasantries,' he said dryly, recovering his aplomb and joining her on the cosy couch. He watched her adding a spoonful of sugar to her tea and the detail struck him even as he catalogued it. Before this instant, he would not have been able to say how his bondmate took her tea.
'You've never impressed me as the kind of man who enjoys them,' she replied in kind, passing him his milk-whitened cup. 'I've always imagined that small-talk ranks directly below 'foolish wand-waving' and 'silly incantations' on your list of despised follies.'
'Correct,' he agreed. He blew needlessly on the cup before bringing it to his lips. Her large eyes followed the movement until he saw realization registering in the brown orbs. He was determined to let her speak first. One thing Severus Snape prided himself on was his learning curve. His attempts at decision making in their relationship had already done Merlin-only-knew-how-much damage. He had spent twenty years presenting three entirely different faces to a cross-section of humanity. Surely it would be possible to restrain his desire to dictate what they should be doing now. To sit back and have an adult conversation.
Even as the words crossed his brain, he had to acknowledge to himself that 'adult conversation' was something he had had very little of in his life. Dumbledore and the Dark Lord always wanted something, and any chat with them was a convoluted pattern of checks, balances and doubling back to ensure he hadn't given anything away unintentionally. With his Hogwarts colleagues, talk was almost always kept on the polite, professional level and with the Death Eaters...
Conversations happened between friends and partners. Having very few of the former and never having had the latter, this skill was one he had almost never practiced.
'Well,' she said, swallowing nervously as she balanced her cup on her knee, 'I would rather not get rid of it. But I am at a total loss as to how to keep it, so...so abortion has to remain on my list of options.' She cast him an anxious glance, but her voice remained steady as she continued. 'I believe I understand why it is that you made the choices you did last term. I can and do respect and forgive your need not to tell me. We are soldiers and this is a war. You did what was, objectively, best for the Order, for Harry and – had I done what you thought and hoped I would – for me. However, we both know now that I am not going to go into hiding with the child. My service to the Order of the Phoenix outweighs every other potential commitment I could have. Harry needs all of us – that Ron's poisoning has wrought such a change in him instantly is merely the latest proof of this undeniable truth. I cannot absent myself at this juncture for any reason.
'In light of this, what do you propose doing? Your current schedule doesn't allow for the presence of a baby in your world, and when...when you...fulfil-' pain flashed in both pairs of eyes '-Professor Dumbledore's request, you will be absolutely incapable of taking care of an infant, leaving our child without a mother or father for full-time care.'
Her hands came up, fingers rising with each point she made. 'The most important hurdle is the safety of the child once it is born. You promised the Dark Lord that he could have it. Whether or not you intend to follow through, at some point, he'll come knocking for it. I know that you acted to protect me and Harry – but I will not carry and give birth to an innocent that will later be handed to a monster because it buys me a few months' respite from the Death Eaters. If I give birth, I have to know that my child has the same chances in life that everyone gets – not the distorted view of a war environment.'
'But you are unwilling to go to ground with the child?' he pressed quietly.
'I cannot. No more than you can tell the headmaster that you don't feel like performing the duties he has laid before you. If I were to vanish on Harry, without explanation...' she trailed off and shook her head, intelligent eyes darkening with inner demons. 'You said it in the hospital. We are his support. Would you remove one of the strongest pillars?'
'In a heartbeat,' he answered without editing the words, and turned his face from her fiercely inquisitive gaze, embarrassed by his revelation. Still, she could sense his thoughts anyway and, in for a penny...Since that pillar is you, he added mentally. It was much easier to think than to say such things aloud.
Warmth suffused her despite his averted gaze, and she allowed her first thoughts to slide past her lips. 'I wish I could. I wish we could. I've been fantasizing for three days about the two of us simply leaving. Leaving Hogwarts, and Britain, finding a place where 'Voldemort' is nothing but weird name in a two-bit column in a newspaper, or, better yet, not mentioned at all.'
'It is unlike you to be so...unrealistic,' he said out loud, turning to face her with arched eyebrows. But she felt a surge of longing for the scene her words had painted.
'Isn't it?' she said, her lips quirking in an ironic grin. 'But I desperately want to see this child – to hold it, and coo over it, and name it, and watch it learn to walk-' Hermione felt tears suddenly pooling in her eyes and silenced herself before the bubble in her throat expanded to eclipse speech all together.
A hand crept over hers, long fingers threading through her slender ones and squeezing. Her bondmate cleared his throat, and when she lifted her slightly reddened eyes, it was to see an expression she had never witnessed before: total affection. The empathy he had buried as a child shaved years off the cold face now. 'I have never thought of myself as the paternal type,' he admitted. 'But since Christmas, I, too, have been wishing that life might be...different. That I could see a son or a daughter walking through these halls, bursting with the excitement of all they learn, the people they meet.'
The hand tightened, Flamma-fanned heat pulsing through their skin. 'But this is not the life we have chosen. So we are left to take a more painful road. I am...relieved...that you wish to keep the baby.' She could tell he was choosing his words carefully. 'If you were to abort, the danger to both of us would increase substantially.' At her inquisitive look, he felt his jaw lock. Her insatiable need to know – he didn't want to spell out the Dark Lord's ugliness for her. Her trip through the corridors of his mind should have provided more-than-adequate coverage.
'If you terminate the pregnancy, I predict that one of two things will occur,' he began reluctantly, voice deliberately flat as he rose from the couch, unwilling to taint her with his touch while enumerating his master's madness'. 'The first is that the Dark Lord will capture you, force us to copulate until you catch again and then execute me for my previous failure. This would have the added disadvantage of leaving you squarely in the hands of the enemy – a scenario which will likely result in the deaths of Potter and Weasley as they attempt to rescue you. Or my master could decide that such defiance on your part and weakness on mine makes you uncontrollable. In this case he would abandon this plan, hunt you and your friends down immediately, order me to kill the headmaster now, and then hand me directly over to someone like Bellatrix Lestrange, making me envy the fate of the Longbottoms.'
Hermione blinked. Even with her first-hand experience of his waterfall of memories, Voldemort's sheer cruelty never ceased to astound her. Kill his spy in the Order? For an unknown quantity, an unborn baby?
'And the secret could not be kept, could it?' she asked with quiet resignation.
'Not indefinitely, no. A further complication in such a scenario is our Bond itself. Its purpose is procreation. Your pregnancy has fulfilled that compulsion, and we have been able to live our lives without the need to...' she could tell he was stumbling to find the right expression, even in their seclusion, '...to see each other every two or three days. An abortion would undo that. This is a bond of Raw Magic, something we do not understand. I think it likely that the power with which we have been gifted would re-ignite. We would return to a state of near-constant desire.'
The Gryffindor witch blanched. Love-making had been wonderful. The almost-madness, the inability to focus, the embarrassing weakness in her knees like a damsel in a paperback romance novel, had not.
However, she felt a certain amount of relief for her bondmate's thorough destruction of her least-liked plan. They at least agreed the child ought to be born. 'So we're back to the beginning. How do we provide responsibly for our child? Madam Pomfrey has suggested adoption, and I've read up on it a bit.' A splinter of amusement from his mind.
How much is a bit? he enquired.
'Enough,' she answered, but her stomach was twisting too much to return the mental smile. 'I think,' she paused, uncertain if the lie would make it past the lump that seemed set on strangling her speech. She swallowed it determinedly. 'I think I would be all right with that, if we can find a good family.'
Snape cocked his head at her. 'Are you really all right with that?'
Hermione bit her lip and shook her head. 'I'm sure you can feel that I'm not. But we don't have a good solution, and this one is most viable. I have two mutually exclusive responsibilities to fulfil – one must give way to the other. Madam Pomfrey also pointed out that the Order has many men and women capable of sharing duties to care for an infant – Molly Weasley, for instance – but I have no wish to add to the stress at Headquarters by bringing a completely helpless child there. The Order is a group of fighters, and when we are called upon, everyone going knows they might not come back.
'And,' she favoured him with a penetrating stare, 'the parentage must remain a secret. The boys – well, none of my peers – but especially Harry and Ron, can never know. There are glamours to disguise my appearance while still at school. A schedule can be worked out to remove me from the most volatile classes. But a living, breathing child who turns to me for food, for comfort, that I have to put to sleep every night and wake up with when it cries – these are not things that can be covered up or explained away.'
'And if Potter learns the truth, then the very split you wish to avoid-'
'He hates you. Worse now than ever, and when Professor Dumbledore...when he is gone, I have no doubt that Harry will be ready to kill you on sight. This is a breach for which he would never forgive me.'
'But a good family will be very difficult to find,' Snape sighed, seating himself next to her again. 'There are several conditions potential parents must satisfy. The first is that they absolutely have to be magical. This child is likely to have extraordinary power, and parents that can understand the nature of what they're seeing will be critical to healthy development. The second is that they shouldn't be British or related to anyone connected with the Order.'
'Why?'
'Because I made a promise to the Dark Lord. It is my firm belief that he will want little to do with the baby other than see it after its birth. No matter the horror stories, there are no Dark or Blood Magic rituals involving infants. One has to wait until a person starts manifesting magic before they can be of any use – for good or for ill. And those rituals are seldom used. It is often best to wait until seventeen and the age of maturity.'
'So you expect the Dark Lord to give us, or rather, the baby, time?'
'Yes. What use has he for an infant? Let him leave it with the mother to care for it while it learns how to walk, talk and feed itself. If he snatches it away immediately, a loyal Death Eater will have to take on the duty of caring for it twenty-four hours a day. I am almost absolutely certain that by the time our child manifests magic, my master will be in his grave. But in the event that I am wrong, that he wants it immediately, the first places he will look are in the houses of Order members or those with any link to the Order.'
'Out of Britain would be safest,' the young woman agreed, though he could hear and feel the rising lump of grief in her throat.
'And somewhere across the world will be best for you as well. Hermione,' Snape reached over to run one finger over her abdomen again, her skin breaking into goosebumps at the light contact. She stared at him, the quality of his gentleness shocking her. Severus Snape was not a 'gentle' man. He met her gaze with unflinching black eyes. 'You have to be prepared to give it up entirely. Never to see it. Never to hear from it. Never to write to the parents. You will give birth, it will be taken from you and you must be able to lift your head and walk forward with the knowledge that you will never know what your son or daughter is doing, how they feel, how they live, what they're learning. Can you do that?'
Can you? she flung at him, voice too tight to speak.
I made my choice when I decided to satiate the requirements of our bond. I knew that, no matter what I did, I would not be part of this child's world. The only hope I could keep was that you would be.
There was no place for him. Hermione felt her heart hollowing. Her bondmate was right. She could not have it both ways. To surrender her child to another's care would mean to walk away. For the rest of her life.
I have to. It is the only way to keep it safe. Her mental 'voice' fluttered in his mind like a whisper as salt water fell, and she was looking into black eyes as his hands raised to cup her face, thumbs smearing the water across her cheeks as water and wind danced over and through her skin, seeking to soothe her aching heart.
She recalled the last time he had found her with tears in her eyes, standing next to a cauldron in the Burrow, the tension that had seethed through the link they didn't understand. Now there was no strain, only a deep warmth and a sense of shadow, a relaxed retreat where she could withdraw from her burning emotions.
'But you do not have to do it alone,' came his understanding voice, and she wondered, holding the raw eyes, how many fights he had battled on his own, a burden that would have staggered twenty borne on his narrow shoulders.
'No,' she agreed as she regained her voice, letting her body melt into where his arms had come around her, a kiss pressed to her forehead.
~888~
Snape shut the door quietly behind him, his footfalls silent on the thick carpet. Minerva lifted her head from her desk, the papers she was grading instantly set aside.
'Hermione?' she asked softly. A tilt of the dark head indicated that the girl was still inside.
'Sleeping.' The soft tone and smooth quality of his gaze told her all the things that Severus Snape would never, in a thousand lifetimes, voice aloud.
She smiled as she rose, the pleased smile of a mother surprised by a son. 'You look ten years younger, Severus. I take it the two of you solved the problem.'
He scowled at her open delight, irritated by the ease with which his colleague read him. It made him feel naked, a sensation he had become too-familiar with over the past few days. He turned from her and reached for one of her many scattered paperweights, turning it over in his hands in an uncommon display of uncertainty.
'I am...unsure,' he admitted.
'What do you mean?'
'She wishes to put the baby up for adoption.'
'I see,' the witch replied. She shook her head at herself and the fantasies she had allowed to capture her imagination while waiting. A black-haired baby with intelligent brown eyes...a curly haired toddler furiously scrambling for Father's shiny beetle eyes...a ferociously intelligent six-year-old sneaking Mother's wand... 'You disagree.'
Snape shot her a sharp glance. 'Of course. I...Minerva, I'd hoped I could save her. I want her out of here – away from Potter and the violence that trails in his wake.'
He hesitated, swallowed, twisting his face away so the dark blue eyes couldn't divine his extremely obvious emotions. 'And it will be hard on her.'
'Yes. She is too passionate not to feel that loss deeply.' Minerva cast her mind for something else to say to reassure the man in front of her. She was unsurprised when the correct words did not spring to mind. He was truly an enigma. Almost as much of one as her husband.
And this girl, the Gryffindor Know-It-All and academic pride of Hogwarts, had wrought an unfathomable change in the cynical, always-composed man she had known. His acumen and his humour were two things she had never doubted, but gentleness was something she had seen emerge a bare handful of times – a surprising patience when dealing with a frightened Slytherin, a shocked or grieving colleague, or her maddening partner.
Of course, there was more to the man than the prickly armour that kept the vast majority of the world safely at bay and his genuine weariness of the students that couldn't be bothered to learn. But the man standing before her was more vulnerable than he had been since his teens, pain and pleasure in his bearing, in his eyes, in the way he spoke of his bondmate and the nervousness that kept long fingers running over the crystal he had plucked from her mantle.
'Don't make this more difficult for both of you,' she finally advised him calmly. 'I will be here for her when she needs me. Time is fleeting, Severus. Yours is short and bound by secrecy, but don't let it run out with things unsaid and undone.'
~888~
'Have you ever heard of something called a Horcrux?' Harry asked, frustration almost radiating from him as he paced to and fro at the end of his bed. Ron was resting on his duvet, Lavender's arms wrapped comfortably around him and Ginny was sprawled on her boyfriend's dark maroon comforter. All three wore blank expressions.
'Horcrux? No,' Ron said with a frown. 'What is it?'
'We don't know. Hermione can't find anything in the library. I was hoping it was something wizarding families might understand.'
'I've never heard of it,' Ginny added her voice to her brother's. 'We could write Dad.'
Harry shook his head instantly. 'I know about this from my lessons with Professor Dumbledore. It's supposed to stay private. And if someone else intercepts the letter...' He shrugged. 'I'm almost certain Professor Slughorn knows about it.'
'Is that what you're supposed to get out of him?' Ginny asked.
'Yes. But he's not particularly keen on sharing. I asked him once already and that was-'
'-a fiasco,' Ron completed ruefully. 'I remember that, even though I didn't know what you were asking about. So it must be forbidden or illegal. Maybe like the Unforgivable Curses?'
'Except that we learned about those in class. Crouch even demonstrated them,' the dark-haired boy replied.
'Horcrux,' Ginny muttered, rolling the word over her tongue as if trying it on for size. 'Horcrux. It doesn't sound like a spell. It sounds like an object.'
'It could be. It was something Voldemort was very curious about when he was here.'
'Do you think he had one?' Lavender asked.
'I don't know. Until I know what it is, I can't even guess. But I think Professor Dumbledore thinks he does.' Harry felt his aggravation building again. Dumbledore's disappointment tonight had been tangible, tying his student's tongue in shame as he stood before the elder wizard. Other things had seemed so much more important than this vague memory. Hermione's incident with Parkinson, Ron's poisoning, Malfoy's constant disappearing act...
And every turn had led to a new dead end. Slughorn was very clever at avoiding being alone with his favourite student since Harry had made the mistake of asking him directly, the library yielded naught and not one of his peers had ever heard the term before, much less known what it meant.
'There will be little point our meeting after tonight unless we have that memory.' Harry did not want to further delay meetings with the headmaster. Perhaps Malfoy knew. Were they tied together, the Horcrux and Malfoy's secret?
'Malfoy...' he muttered, staring out the window into a black sky. Focussed outwards, he didn't see the mutually disturbed glances from the three on the beds. The idea revolved slowly, solidifying. 'I bet Malfoy knows.'
'Right, mate. And if you're correct about him sending that necklace into the castle, what d'you reckon he'll do if you try to get it out of him?' Ron asked quietly. 'Confess? "Oh, sorry about that, I almost killed a total innocent, but it was really meant for..." Malfoy's playing for keeps, Harry, whatever he's up to. He's desperate.'
'So I'm just supposed to let him go to it?' Harry snapped.
'Maybe,' Ron said seriously. 'Maybe the reason Dumbledore isn't worried is because Malfoy is small fry. He's not You-Know-Who, and getting to him won't end the war. Kreacher and Dobby are already taking care of him. Don't let him distract you. We need to find out what this Horcrux is or means. Then we can worry about Malfoy.'
~888~
Draco Malfoy studied his reflection, lifting his fingertips to explore the hollow pockets under his cheeks. Like his father, the son of Lucius had always taken great pride in the patrician beauty that defined his clan.
A vanity that had disappeared, along with the cause of his conceit. And it was not his wan complexion that had brought him in front of this cracking mirror.
The letter from his mother had arrived this morning – tucked inside Pansy Parkinson's weekly letter from home and magically sealed – and the Slytherin knew he would hear the desperation that had bled through the brittle ink strokes, so unlike the previous elegance of Narcissa's pen, in his dreams.
Draco, I beg you to deliver some positive news...the Prophet published the poisoning of Arthur Weasley's youngest son...if the governors have any reason to suspect you...is your project nearly finished? Is Severus helping you? Our lord grows impatient...
Malfoy's fingertips found the tattoo that had been etched onto his forearm, tracing the puckered scarring with a morbid fascination. At his father's knee, he had learned what it meant to uphold the Purebloods, the natural hierarchy of the wizarding world and the travesty that had allowed Muggle-borns to weave themselves so flagrantly into the fabric of that order.
The lessons – formal and informal – had never included the base cruelty of the Death Eaters and the sheer quantity of damage they inflicted on one another as well as their Muggle and Mudblood victims.
'In thirty years or so...' he recalled Blaise Zabini's words and uttered a short, mirthless laugh. His mother, always delicate, was now teetering on the brink of collapse. His father, desperate and power-hungry, was seeking to pull down Slytherin's Head of House – a former friend. His own life in shambles, barely scraping through his academics while Occluding Snape and dodging Harry Potter. He was already sorry to have taken the damned Mark, the eager pride he had felt in July not only evaporated, but now seeming so naive it was laughable.
Our lord grows impatient. Malfoy tugged his sleeve down self-consciously, panic beginning its slow, relentless, build. Results. He had to hurry. If his master's patience ran out before the solution arrived, he would never see his mother alive again.