It was shortly after Harry's escapade into the Ministry that Severus knocked on Minerva's office door again and she found herself facing the sallow-looking man. He looked stressed, she decided, and that offered her a modicum of satisfaction. At least he wasn't having an easy ride of things. He got what he deserved.
'Minerva,' said Severus.
'Severus,' she replied, waiting.
'I don't suppose you've heard from your son,' he asked in a bored tone.
'You suppose right,' she replied tartly. She watched him through narrowed eyes as he lingered uncomfortably by the door. His right arm tucked oddly beneath his professorial gown.
'And do you know what he's doing?'
'No. He didn't share it with me. He refused to, so that when you, specifically, came trying to extract the information from me, I would have nothing to share.'
'Indeed.' He watched her closely. 'Do you know where he's going?'
'No. You know the separation between us was acrimonious. I doubt he will be contacting me any time soon.' She sighed.
'Yes, everyone knows the separation was... acrimonious.' He seemed to be able to put extra syllables in the word.
'It's not as if he has Hedwig to send me a jolly little letter about his adventure into the Ministry and why on earth he'd take such a foolhardy risk. I'm sure the Owl Post is being watched anyway.'
'You're right,' he drawled and she wasn't sure if he was referring to Harry's risk or the Owl Post being monitored. 'It was a remarkable risk. Successful, I believe, in whatever he wanted to achieve.'
'I have no idea,' she said, not missing that Severus had just passed her some information. 'Are we going to go through this charade at the beginning of every conversation we have, covering the same ground, the same questions, with the same answers.'
'Obviously,' he drawled. 'Then I am never lying if I'm asked if I have been trying to extract... the information from you.'
There was a hint of distaste in his tone and she raised an eyebrow at his admission.
'I see. The replies will always be the same though.'
'Obviously.' Every letter of the word enunciated and drawn out.
A silence fell as he looked around her office, still hovering uncomfortably near the door, neither coming nor going, as if still making up his mind what to do. His posture suspicious, his hand still hidden beneath his robes.
He turned to leave.
'Severus, was there something else that you wanted?' she asked, her intrigue aroused.
He turned back, a fleeting glance of worry, then determination hardened his face. She didn't trust him.
'I have a favour to ask.'
'A favour...' she repeated slowly.
'Yes.' He strode over to her desk, his gown billowing slightly and to her surprise, he withdrew the Sword of Gryffindor and laid it on her desk. 'I think it might be more... fitting if this... artefact was kept in your office, considering the connection.'
She waited.
'I have heard a rumour that some students may recklessly attempt to steal it from my office. That cannot happen. There will be a time when it is imperative that this sword is passed to the right person. I cannot risk having to remove it from the school to another secure location. The Ministry have already held on to it for too long.'
She raised an eyebrow again.
'Keep it hidden,' he said. 'I may request it back at some moment in the near future.'
She nodded.
He turned to leave but before he had reached the door, she had a thought. 'Severus...'
'Yes.'
'Might it serve your purposes to have a replica which could, potentially, be displayed in its place and then removed from the school. So that the wrong person possesses the replica, believing the sword safe.'
He turned slowly. 'An interesting idea.'
She picked a quill from the pot which sat on her tidy desk and laid it beside the sword. It was a complex spell, advanced Transfiguration, because it required more than just a replication but also to include a complex magical signature so the artefact appeared authentic to the untrained eye. She noticed that Severus gave her the space she needed as she withdrew her wand and muttered a multifaceted sequence of spells.
'Most interesting,' Severus said as he inspected the replica. 'Perfect,' he said, turning it over. 'Even the weight... And I can feel the ripple of what feels like ancient magic.'
She nodded as he tucked it back within the folds of his robes.
She waited until he'd departed before hiding the real sword. There were some secrets that people never shared.
By the time October was out, rumours were flying around the school that Neville Longbottom, Ginevra Weasley, and Luna Lovegood had broken into Snape's office and smashed the glass case to steal the Sword of Gryffindor. Snape had caught them. The Sword was subsequently removed from the school and placed in an unspecified vault at Gringotts bank. Surprisingly, Neville, Luna, and Ginny only had to serve one detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. Unsurprisingly, the three students became heroes and it promoted them to the esteemed position of 'The Silver Trio' and leaders of an undercurrent of rebellion in the school. It wasn't overt rebellion, like with Umbridge. It was subtler, more careful, and more caring.
Certain members of staff ignored the situation. The other two were powerless to do anything about it unless they directly went against the Headmaster. Still, they could target the Trio in class. It became their second favourite past time, the first being having the Headboy and his Prefects administer the Cruciatus Curse on unsuspecting first years. Death-Eaters in training, they called them.
It never stopped making Draco feel sick.
He learnt, at the very least, how to cast the Cruciatus mildly, in a controlled fashion, for the basic amount of time to reduce the suffering and ensure there were no long-term side-effects but that didn't make him feel any better. Still, he was the one that tried to volunteer to do the casting because Vince and Greg had no such control, and Pansy just panicked, and he'd caught Blaise physically vomiting after one lesson. Millie and Theo had disappeared in on themselves, barely talking to anyone anymore, not that Theo really talked much anyway, and Daphne wasn't eating.
They didn't have the Silver Trio's guts; the three students who refused time and time again to administer an Unforgiveable and took the punishment instead. Other students began to follow their lead, but those three were always targeted since the Sword Incident.
The targeting only halted, momentarily, if Professor McGonagall was in the vicinity. She had that way of looking at them over the top of her glasses, disapproval and disappointment rolled into one hard, pinched and, Draco realised, challenging glare.
He watched Amycus' fingers twitch on his wand every time he was near McGonagall; an unfathomable hatred palpable. He began to feel very protective towards her. He could see he wasn't the only one.
It was around this same time that Draco found a mysterious book amongst the shelves in the library. A book he was fairly certain should have been in the Restricted Section but was in amongst the Potion books he needed. A book of understanding spells and breaking them down, a book of curse-breaking and spell building. It was advanced magic and one particular page was bookmarked. A page about the Cruciatus. There were ancient sepia-ink notes in the margins and although it looked like his Godfather's handwriting, he was fairly certain it wasn't. There wasn't his flourish on the tails, the 'E's were written like backwards '3's and the 'R's were written in an archaic way that Severus didn't use. It took nearly a whole sleepless night, working by wand light behind the drawn curtains around his bed but, by morning, he'd worked out what he needed to do.
In the morning, he pulled Blaise into the bathroom and locked the door. He shoved a scrap of paper into Blaise's hand.
'Cast this on me...'
'What! No way. What it is?'
'Don't ask any questions. Just do it.'
Blaise's wand shook but he said the spell aloud and Draco fell to the floor, tears streaming down his face, his body contorted, his hands gripping hopelessly at the smooth tiles. He bit back an involuntary scream.
Blaise screamed 'Finite!' and was on his knees in seconds, next to him, holding his shoulders, pulling Draco against his body, sobbing as he pleaded, 'Dray, Dray, what have I done, what did you do?'
Draco simply looked at him and smiled despite his tear-streaked face. 'Perfect,' he said in an utterly normal bored drawl and he jumped up and washed his face and straightened his hair.
'But...' stammered Blaise.
'I'm fine,' said Draco. 'Don't ask. The less you know, the better.'
Thereafter, Draco always jumped in first to volunteer to do the casting of the non-verbal curse and the Carrows were delighted. Word got back to the Dark Lord who was particularly pleased and sent Draco a letter saying as much. Draco burnt it in disgust but others watched in awe, thinking it was another secret mission.
Always wear the mask.
Vince and Greg watched him greedily.
As Autumn slipped towards Winter and Christmas, there was no word on Harry Potter. It had gone horribly silent on that front apart from the constant announcements by the Ministry that they were still hunting 'Undesirable No. 1' and Potterwatch's constant praise of the allusive hero.
Minerva felt ill with worry; she could only suppose that no news was good news. But where was her dear Harry? Was he alright? How was he surviving? Was he eating properly? She hoped the three of them were keeping up with their duelling practice. She had told him to: keep learning what you can about Defence. You can never be underprepared.
When they met, she and Severus would begin every conversation the same. They even reduced it down to:
'Have you heard...?'
'No.'
'Do you know where...?'
'No.'
'Do you know what...?'
'No.'
It was done with resigned sighs. They both understood Severus had to ask. Especially after the Dark Lord asked him to provide a quantity of Veritaserum for interrogations.
One night in early December, Minerva received a note from the Headmaster during dinner. It simply read, Room of Requirement, 8pm. S.S. She vanished the note.
When she arrived, Severus was already there, sitting in an armchair by a lit fire, his fingers steepled and the firelight casting haunting shadows across angular features. And despite him being so much younger than her, she thought he looked old with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
We're all losing weight, she thought.
The room was set up like the Great Hall with two dummies stood on the staff dais in positions to the sides.
'Minerva,' he said as he stood up. 'You and I will have to duel at some moment in the future...'
'What, no questions?' she asked.
'I asked you barely two hours ago but if you insist...'
'...no, no, and no,' she said. 'You were saying about duelling.'
'Indeed. You and I will have to duel at some moment in the near future. Hopefully sooner rather than later, despite there seeming to be no movement on either side. Undoubtedly, our duel will be in front of witnesses. I have a sudden desire to practice deflecting incapacitating spells in specific directions.'
'I see,' she said.
'I imagine, that when the time comes, I maybe flanked,' he stood on the low stage and indicated left and right.'
'Perhaps further behind you,' she suggested.
He nodded. 'We shall practice all scenarios.'
It became a regular occurrence that they would practice duelling.
'You've been honing your skills,' he said slyly, early on.
'I would be stupid not to,' she sneered.
'One must assume that you have practised with Potter over the summer.'
'You may assume what you like, Severus,' she said sharply.
Another time, he commented, 'you strike to your left slightly.'
'Really,' she said, before knocking him off his feet with a Protego Duo. Still, she worked on her aim to correct it.
'I assume you're staying in the school for Christmas,' he said casually after one practice. Particularly pleased by the way that, as he deflected her Protego Duo, she'd also cast an Impedimenta at the dummy, and the combined force had completely obliterated it. She was really very fast but it was easy to forget she'd once been an Auror. Never underestimate your opponent, he reminded himself. But that was Minerva's advantage, many would consider her an old woman and therefore slow. She was anything but slow.
'Of course,' she replied.
'I believe it sensible. There is talk of targeting those closest to Potter to try and flush him out of hiding. It would be prudent if some of the older Sacred Twenty-Eight families who didn't align with the Dark Lord were to consider this information. Even in the school, they may not be safe.'
On Christmas morning, Minerva looked across the sparse Great Hall at the few remaining students. There were no decorations this year: despite its pagan roots, Christmas was a Muggle-based Christian tradition and therefore banned. She watched Mr Malfoy and Mr Zabini, sitting side-by-side but barely talking. Neville Longbottom, who'd elected to stay. Seamus Finnegan, a young man desperate to hear news of his friend Dean Thomas who'd been on the run because he couldn't prove his half-blood status. A number of others too, thirty-one in total. They sat in near silence at their separate tables. Occasional whispers. Occasional tears.
Ginevra Weasley had been collected in person by Remus Lupin. She was now in hiding. Molly didn't take the threats to her family lightly. Luna Lovegood had gone home to see her father.
Severus said quietly as he handed her the tea pot, 'I believe there was an incident in Godric's Hollow last night. Initial reports are he escaped again.'
By mid-afternoon, Potterwatch was announcing that the remains of the famous historian, Bathilda Bagshot, had been discovered in her home in Godric's Hollow. The evidence is that she died several months ago. The Order of the Phoenix informs us that her body showed unmistakable signs of injuries inflicted by Dark Magic. Evidence also suggests that our intrepid hero, Harry Potter, had been at her home on Christmas Eve. There were reports of flashes and a fight, perhaps a trap trying to anticipate Mr Potter's moves. It is believed he escaped unscathed.
Once more, Voldemort summoned his Death-Eaters.
Once more there was a series of small parties that night in the various common rooms.
Minerva was pleased, at least her children in the school had something to remember Christmas by.
The following morning, Severus retrieved the Sword of Gryffindor from Minerva. By evening, he looked a little lighter but didn't explain why beyond muttering, 'your son is certainly worthy and brave enough to acquire help from our founders.'
She sighed, happy to hear something. Anything. 'So, you know where he is?'
'No,' he said. 'But he was in the Forest of Dean.'
'Do you know what he's doing?'
He looked at her, his black irises revealing nothing, and after a while said, 'it is better that you don't know certain information in case anyone should try to extract it from you.'
'Did you see him?'
'No,' he said.
When Spring Term started, Ginevra didn't return. Nor did Luna. Luna had been taken, blatantly kidnapped in front of witnesses on the Hogwarts Express. Students were scared. Apart from Neville Longbottom, it seemed.
Draco spent as much as free time as he could with Hagrid's animals. Sometimes, things were too hard to bear. Particularly as he knew that Luna was being held captive in the cellars at Malfoy Manor but he couldn't tell anyone without them knowing it was him who'd leaked the information. He managed to summon one of the Manor's House-Elves, one he trusted. He asked Ruby to make sure that Luna had food and water, warm clothes and bedding.
Ruby informed him that Dean Thomas, Mr Ollivander, and a goblin called Griphook were also being held at the Manor.
Draco felt like he was beginning to crumble and one snowy winter's day, when a young unicorn foal licked and nibbled at the Dark Mark on Draco's arm, he'd openly slumped into the snow and wept at the shame.
Hagrid quietly muttered from beside him, 'you can tell a lot about a man's character from the way he treats animals and the way they react in return...'
He helped Draco up and took him to his hut for a scolding strong but sweet cup of tea.
Draco knew he'd finally earnt Hagrid's forgiveness and it was a beacon of light amongst the darkness that he could never openly reject; you never knew who'd be listening. All the same, Hagrid had seen it and showed an acceptance of who Draco truly was when they were together in private.
'I reckons I must be goin' away soon,' said Hagrid. 'I'll be needin' someone to look after the animals while I'm gone.'
Draco nodded but didn't say anything.
'He'll be comin' here soon,' Hagrid said sadly but Draco didn't know which 'he' Hagrid meant and it was better not to ask. But he thought of Potter. He often thought of him. He realised that he missed looking across the Great Hall at Potter each day. It made him feel empty. He wondered where he was.
He had to hope.
The morning he came down to his class to find the Hut shut up and the fire cold and no sign of Fang, Draco knew Hagrid had gone. He was pleased in an odd way. He'd heard the order had been put out for his capture. So, in return for Hagrid's acceptance and forgiveness of his past, and despite Draco's public performances in the school itself, he continued to care for the magical creatures after Hagrid had gone into hiding with Grawp and Fang. The other students skipped their classes, but Draco used them and his free time to look after all the creatures Hagrid cared for. He liked it. They gave him a sense of peace and belonging amongst the turmoil. He felt like he was doing something good. It felt so beautifully innocent compared to the hatred and violence and death happening elsewhere. Humans, he thought, only humans were capable of such purposely maleficent hatred and for what purpose?
His seventh year, by now, was entirely a performance. He swanned around like the Slytherin Prince but he tried to quietly deflect punishments or use his silent hex that would make students involuntary writhe and scream hoarsely and cry without reason but also without pain. It just looked like they were cursed. He mostly saved that one for the younger years who would look at him afterwards with pale-faced awe, not quite understanding what had happened but knowing it should have been far worse.
The Carrow siblings still lapped it up when he constantly volunteered to 'curse' the younger years. He had a fairly shrewd idea that Severus guessed the truth, McGonagall too. His Godfather would watch him with narrowed eyes but he would say nothing. Once, he thought he even garnered a nod of approval but Draco could never be sure and it didn't do to voice thoughts like that aloud. The only other two people who knew were Poppy Pomfrey, who treated the aftermath of any punishments, and Neville Longbottom who had cornered him one day after witnessing Draco 'Crucio' two first years. He'd pinned Draco up against the wall, a muscular forearm pushed against Draco's throat, a wand at his nose, a snarl that Draco was a coward. Longbottom looked a fucking mess, his nose broken again, a black eye, sallow skin and too thin. Despite that, Neville had somehow sprouted a foot in height in the past year and seemed have become solid muscle. Draco raised his wand and silently 'cursed' Neville.
As Neville lay on the floor in the middle of corridor, involuntary fake tears still pouring down his cheeks, Draco bent over him and sneered, 'don't ever call me a coward again. I may be many things but I am not a coward.' He then muttered 'Episkey' and left a stunned Neville holding his fixed nose.
Neville never bothered him again.
Nor did either of them acknowledge the private wars they waged. They couldn't. Thankfully, Neville understood that.
As March drew closer, Minerva and Severus were unable to use the Room of Requirement any more. They rescheduled their practicing to a time when the Carrows were timetabled with teaching and used an empty classroom in the south wing of the castle.
But there was still no sign, no news of Harry. Minerva no longer properly slept at night. The worry was eating away at her. She had to keep reminding herself that no news was good news. If Voldemort had captured him, he would be revelling in the news.
Still, seven months without any contact.
Occasionally, she and Severus shared a pot of tea in her office, there were no portraits there. There had been one above the fireplace, of a girl, maybe fifteen years of age or so. She was a leftover from Albus's days as Head of Gryffindor but Minerva had leant it out. Severus didn't comment on its obvious absence.
'The Room's in permanent use now,' Severus said.
'Dumbledore's Army,' she acknowledged.
'Which seems to consist purely of Neville Longbottom. That boy has constantly surprised me, this year more so than most. I understand he's been helping get some of the younger children out of the school, others are living and sleeping there.'
'You know more than I,' she lied. She knew Aberforth was helping Neville. She also knew Ginny Weasley had returned and Seamus stayed there too. And although neither of the latter two were attending classes, they were patrolling the corridors, she knew they were preparing to fight. These children, she thought, the children are training for war. Training to die.
***