Note: I forgot to say it before, but I need to thank my friend and muse NextChristineDaae, who gave me the encouragement I needed to start writing this properly, and who came up with the 'decorative but ultimately useless wall-hanging' line in the previous chapter.
Chapter Two
The Spine of Society
It had long since been accepted that there were three very separate institutions that made up what was considered to be the backbone of wizarding society. As long as these three institutions held, wizards and witches everywhere could rest a little easier in their troubled beds, knowing that however torn and tattered, however bruised they may be, the spine of society held strong against the malevolent forces that threatened it without relent. For the duration of the first war, these three institutions had held, however shakily. This time, the Dark Lord was determined. In order to succeed, in order to bring his world to heel, first it must be paralysed, and to that end, he would break its back. With the crux of society destroyed, so would power be so much easier to gain. The concept of divide and conquer was a simple one, its simplicity contributing much to its efficacy. The Dark Lord had told Severus this when he had told him of his plans to cripple the upstanding institutions for good.
These three institutions were the Ministry of Magic, Azkaban Prison, and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and their destruction was already progressing remarkably quickly. Far too quickly, thought Severus as he apparated into the dark streets of the capital and hurried through the milling muggle theatre crowds to the place where Dumbledore had told him to await Minerva. Their grand plans had been brought forward by two days, and as such he had very little time for this brief interview. He did not like to think of the consequences if he was missed on this night of all nights. Oh yes, the collapse of the backbone of wizarding society was already progressing remarkably quickly. The dementors had deserted Azkaban. The Ministry was so awash with those who were not what they seemed that it would only be a matter of time before the head was cut off and the body floundered uselessly without it. And Hogwarts… Well, Severus had seen to it personally that the very infrastructure of the venerated establishment was ruptured beyond repair. His fingers curled around his wand in his pocket unconsciously. He could still see the events of that fateful night as clearly as the time at which they had occurred. Certainly he had known for a long time of the inevitability of this deed, but that had not made it any less difficult when the time had finally come. He still wondered if his courage would have failed him if it had not been for Dumbledore's pleading words. Severus, please. He shook his head angrily and put the chilling memory out of his mind. It would not do to brood on the past when the present and the future were so much more pressing concerns. Not, of course, that the present and the future were any happier destinations for his thoughts. Again, he found his mind toying with the concept of the spine of wizarding society. He dreaded to think of what would happen once it was completely broken. When the Dark Lord was in control of the three venerated institutions, then there would be complete anarchy. Severus shook his head. How could this deranged wizard claim that those with magic were so much superior to their muggle cousins when their society had regressed pitifully into a bloodthirsty and lawless state? Then again, the Dark Lord would not see this as a breakdown of society. For him, it would be but a momentary lapse, as one established order gave way to another – his. What were a few years of darkness when one could theoretically live forever? Let the infighting and the terror flush out the undesirables, the Dark Lord had said, and then build a new empire from the ruins of the old. How many great leaders had done that in the past? Severus thought of Grindelwald, of muggle dictators. They had all held similar ideals, but their efforts had, in the end, been for nothing. He could only hope that the same ultimate failure would befall the Dark Lord.
He shook his head, the action seeming to leave his mind blissfully blank, and focussed on his eventual destination, the lights of Tower Bridge seeming to mock him as they twinkled through the dementors' mist. In the height of the first war, when he had first started to spy for the Order, this had often been the place in which he would meet Dumbledore to trade information: in the middle of a densely populated muggle area, so that neither party would be as likely to resort to offensive magic, however much they might have been inclined to do so in anger or mistrust. The symbolism of using a bridge was not lost on Severus. Just as the Cold War's muggle spies used to swap their information at the Glienecke, so they used the Tower. Bridges were a sign of connection, communication, linking two sides together. As a spy, Severus was truly the link between two opposite sides, answering to two opposing masters, but only he could judge when the illusion must be kept up and when he could let his true feelings and thoughts be known. More often than not, Severus found it easier to remain guarded at all times, to never let a weak link show for fear of the consequences. After all, one was fully aware of what would happen if Tower Bridge were weakened. The entire structure would come crashing down, destroyed, and the two sides of the river would be completely separated, unable to communicate, and second-guessing each other's decisions. The casualties would not be limited to the bridge itself, and that was why being a spy was such a dangerous and harrowing occupation. It was not just his own life at risk should he be uncovered, Severus had realised this long ago. Innocents on both sides counted on his deception for their wellbeing. It was onerous and often thankless task; never fully trusted by either side.
As he drew closer, he could see Minerva's form in the shadows, waiting stiff and upright but constantly alert, her eyes constantly moving, never leaving a spot unguarded for more than a few seconds. Her fingers were white where they clutched her wand, hidden in the folds of her cloak as the thin piece of wood was, the skin pulled so tightly over her knuckles that the bones looked to be in danger of bursting through. He wondered idly if the muggles thought that there was anything suspicious about them; about their slightly odd appearances. On the face of it, they fitted in well with the evening dress that was seen at this time of night more than any other, and of course, it was always said that in the capital one could get away with anything. Only in London could a witch or wizard walk around in their traditional robes in broad daylight and not be declared certifiable.
"Minerva," he said as he approached her. "Shall we walk?"
"Severus," she greeted in reply, her voice seeming to be unable to make up her mind whether she trusted the former potions teacher or not. "That would be most agreeable." Severus did not break his stride as they stepped onto the bridge but Minerva settled into his pace comfortably. "In these times no-one feels comfortable remaining outside in one place for long." It was the story of their lives; always keep moving to avoid detection. A sad reminder of what a once safe community had become in a little over two years. The change was both chilling and awe-inspiring, and it was telling that even the muggles had noticed it. The general unease that had swept over the country was clear to see in the way that the people walked; their eyes were cast down, focussing fully on their destinations. They didn't loiter, they did not stroll leisurely along the bridge. They hurried, anxious to return to the safety of their homes and various other institutions. They knew that it was not safe to remain outside for long; although of course they did not know the reason for their unease. It was remarkable how the muggles seemed to react to the events of the wizarding world unconsciously, always finding plausible excuses for the inexplicable. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the magicians shared their realm with the non-magicians, and that they were undeniably interlinked, no matter how much the Dark Lord and his followers wished it otherwise.
"I don't see why we could not have held this meeting at the castle," Severus admitted, "but since in all probability, we are both being watched, perhaps it is more prudent to meet on neutral territory, so to speak."
Minerva nodded, but she said nothing more. Dumbledore had been the one to arrange this rendezvous, but he had not given any indication as to its purpose other than for the two people in the world who knew the truth about his death to meet and acknowledge that they were in understanding with each other.
"I take it that you now know the full story?" he ventured, although he did not know why he did so. Minerva would not be here if she had not received the package that Dumbledore had said that he would bequeath her after he died. It would be ridiculous indeed if the former headmaster had ordered them to meet on unequal terms. Minerva nodded again before speaking quietly.
"It seems that there had been a lot going on at Hogwarts in this last year that I have not been party to." Her perfectly calm demeanour intrigued Severus.
"You're angry?"
"Only with myself, for not noticing everything. For not noticing anything. Oh, I had my suspicions, of course I did, but I was so preoccupied…" She stopped abruptly, standing still in the centre of the bridge and nearly causing a muggle couple to walk into her. "Severus, Albus needs you to return to Hogwarts in September."
Severus nodded. He already knew as much, and he was already, indirectly, forming a plan.
"He says it is imperative and I agree with him," Minerva continued, her voice worried. "The problem is that I have no idea how we can make it work in your favour. When the entire school is under the impression that you murdered their headmaster in cold blood, and only you, I and the portraits in the head's office are in possession of the truth… I can foresee some doubts as to my sanity if I allow you to continue to teach Defence against the Dark Arts."
Severus looked at Minerva, lamenting the fact that she, like Dumbledore, had aged quickly under the pressure of this interminable war. There was more than a little grey speckling her black hair, and her brow seemed to be permanently furrowed under the weight of the troubles she had undertaken in the wake of Dumbledore's demise. He knew how much she had been burdened with; both the headship of a school that was rapidly succumbing to its wounds, and the masterminding of what at times appeared to be the entire resistance. But Severus also knew Minerva McGonagall, and he knew that if anyone could salvage hope from the ashes, then it was her. He did not want to have to tell her the inevitable bad news; bad news that he knew, in the end, would solve the problem that she had just mentioned. He only hoped that the old adage 'forewarned is forearmed' rang true. It was just a shame that her preparations could not extend beyond her own mind; beyond what she alone could organise surreptitiously. The terrible and hindering secrecy that was required nevertheless protected both of them equally – Minerva would not have to reveal the source of her information to her allies and risk being ostracised for her continued association with a man who currently embodied everything that the Order was fighting against, and Severus would not be suspected of leaking those same facts to the Dark Lord's enemies.
"Minerva, I am about to tell you something that I hope you will be able to use to your advantage, but I am afraid that it can go no further. If it is discovered that you possess this knowledge, then the rat will be hounded out."
Minerva's lips pressed together into a thin line, as if she was once again unsure of her gut instincts towards this man. On the face of it, she knew that she had absolutely no reason to distrust him, and yet there were some habits that died harder than others, wariness around spies being one of them. It was difficult, Severus knew, to cope with having one's worldview completely turned upside down, and he did not begrudge her the moment of indecision.
"I would have thought that your actions in the past few weeks would have placed you above suspicion," she said coolly.
"Hardly. Not when someone has doubtless witnessed this conversation. Trust is like the moon, Minerva. It waxes and wanes and is never the same two nights together. And you do know what they say: keep your friends close and your enemies even closer." Severus snorted. "Perhaps that's why Dumbledore kept such a watchful eye on me."
"No, Albus always trusted you," said Minerva. "He trusted you implicitly."
The former potions master opened his mouth to reply to this but a familiar burning sensation on the inside of his forearm caused him to close it again. It was time. Minerva noticed his grimace.
"You should heed the call," she said drily, knowing what had just occurred. "No doubt we shall speak again before long."
Severus could only hope that would be the case.
"Minerva…" He was anxious to finish saying what needed to be said, to lay the situation in the open as soon as possible lest their next meeting not take place, so that Minerva could use the information in the way that he hoped she would. "Minerva, Azkaban falls to the Dark Lord tonight. The Ministry will not take long to follow, and once that happens…"
Minerva nodded her understanding, and Severus was certain from the expression in her sharp eyes that she had picked up on the veiled message within the words. The new headmistress's grimly pale face haunted him as he disapparated, unable to ignore the call any longer.
Note2: And what is the implied meaning behind the words? Ah, all will be revealed...
(Bonus points to any reviewers who can pick up on my reference to the fact I study Germany and will happily bring it into everything I write...)