Against the silvery grey of thick clouds, white stars floated down to a gathering on the ground, forming a single mass. Unstoppable they fell, sank past the window; one of many; and did not even get any attention. On the desk by that window, her legs dangling, sat a girl who read a magazine, rotated through ninety degrees, and made notes in it on occasions. Every now and then she would also throw a word into the conversation, but mostly, she was too concentrated to do more than vaguely listen.
There was a bed at her right which had been rightfully conquered by two gingers, one of them being a big cat that studied a purple furry ball hopping over the bedding at its leisure. Dug in various different pillows and cushions on the floor, cuddled another girl, her greasing brown mane trapped in a plait. Completing the strange circle in the small room, their teacher and friend laid flat on a mattress that had been squeezed into the remaining space, leaving just enough for still being able to open the door smoothly. He read a small article in the Daily Prophet to them.
“Now listen to that – I think, I know what he did! `Late Christmas message in Hogsmeade´.”, he snickered. “`As discovered yesterday by the inhabitants of the village in vicinity of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, unknowns have worked magic on the ruins of an old house which had formerly most commonly been known under the name The Shrieking Shack. Villagers know to report that it is unclear to them who might have possibly covered the entire ruin in flourishing white tulips. However, the stories are the same, telling that these flowers hadn’t been there by nightfall the day before yesterday. Some of the questioned consider the act to be a tribute to former Hogwarts Headmaster, Professor – ´”
“That figures!”, Hermione huffed. “I knew he’d done something like that,”, Draco only threw her a chuckling glance and continued.
“`Who is known to have been murdered in the estate by our once enemy who favoured himself to be called The Dark Lord, before the house had fallen victim to a stray Fire Spell in course of the last battle of the Second Wizarding War. Whether the specific date stands in any connection with either man remains uncertain at the present moment.´ Unbelievable. He’s really planted flowers.”, Draco shook his head and flipped pages for more articles worth reading, but found none. “Luna?”
“Hmm?”
“Is that a raw version of a Quibbler?”
“Yes. January edition.”
“Can I have a look?”
“Oh, not really, it wouldn’t be good. I’m not done with the spellchecking yet and I need to get that finished today. I’ll be printing it tomorrow so I can get it out right at New Year. Then you can have one. I’d like to spread the warning before Rita Skeeter can get her new book bought by too many people.”
“You’ll be printing it?”, Ginevra frowned and easily stopped Crookshanks’ paw in the middle of a swipe at Arnold.
“Of course I’ll be printing it. It’s much easier than copying every single piece magically by throwing them onto the floor, you see.”, Luna smiled into the pages, hidden from their view.
“Seems, we really have a bad influence on her.”, moaned Hermione quietly but was heard.
“I wouldn’t say so. `Rather horrible´ would describe it better.”, she meant, yet didn’t join in their laugh.
“And you accept that your Dad makes you do the manual work?”, Draco asked.
“He’s not too fond of it, I think. When I gave him the December edition, he didn’t even look at it but burnt it right away, wandless, setting three curtains on fire in the course. They had to evacuate the room, but I could deaden the flames. Nevertheless they were burning so rapidly and with so much smoke, that we all had to undergo a check. At least he has revealed a safety issue this way.”
“Er – ”, on the confused pause, she slightly lowered the paper, only revealing her forehead and eyes which wandered across.
“Haven’t I told you?”
“You haven’t told us anything about your Dad lately,”, Hermione said, concerned like the others.
“Didn’t I?”, the paper went back up, again lightly muffling her indifferent airiness. “Well, I think his memory must have come back at some point. You know, that he wanted to sell you all to Voldemort in exchange for me. And when the story of the four murders came out, he must have panicked. Thought that they might go after him now, since they were said to be done with Death Eaters. He turned the house upside down. Wanted to fake his death. He almost really killed himself when the Erumpent horn exploded again. I couldn’t let him, you see? But he’s rather doing well now, if he doesn’t feel like burning things. He even found himself a friend. They are exchanging autographs nearly every day.”
“What?”
“Oh yes. Madam Strout said that she has to secretly nick the cards from them when they sleep and wipe the signatures off so they can reuse them. It would get really expensive otherwise. But he’s doing a good thing in there. Neville’s parents seem to benefit from him. Madam Strout told me that Mrs Longbottom once slapped him when he cornered her husband. Though she doesn’t appear to remember, it’s been the best physical reaction she has shown ever since she’s been in there. When I told Neville then, he hugged me and went straight to London.”
“Oh my god – ”, Hermione aspirated.
“But that means, you’re completely alone now – ”, Ginevra started.
“I have you, haven’t I?”, she hadn’t lost a bit of her casual tone while she had explained her situation and still didn’t. “Daddy nearly ruined us with his articles after the war. The change was badly necessary, I must say. How’s your project going, by the way?”, she finally lowered the magazine to her knees, indeed presenting Draco with her usual smile. “Neville said, there are still problems?”
“Problems? It’s awful! They MLE raided the manor various times, but they couldn’t find any hint on the enchantments over the meadow. At least the house itself and the front gardens are absolutely safe now.”
“Yeah. I heard Dad telling Harry before Christmas that they had a lot of trouble with a snapping pillar that grew marble tentacles and teeth every time someone wanted to approach it.”, Ginevra grunted. “Just in case you wonder why he’s had his hand in bandages, even if he claims he’s been clumsy and got it stuck in a lift.”
“A what?”, chuckled Draco, sitting up, but earned himself a loathsome stare. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to. Yeah. That sounds exactly like the sort of defences Dad would have put up to guard his treasures. I’ve never been to the cellars much. No idea how extensive they are.”
“Three floors, with loads of gold and valuable objects hidden. I guess, the renovations are covered, unless you have to pay them for getting rid of the dark stuff.”
“Wouldn’t have expected anything else.”, Draco sighed and laid back down. “Mum just said, she got notice from Gringotts officials that various amounts of treasure have been found and that the Goblins are busy appraising it. But if the MLE doesn’t find more than gold, I think I’ll just donate it to some other cause. I’m slowly giving up hope that they’ll ever figure out what the whole deal is with the meadow. I’m afraid we’ll have to live with the fact that Dad took the secret to his grave.”
“The grave – ”, breathed Hermione, drawing everyone’s attention. “But of course! The grave, Draco!”
“Whataya mean?”
“Have they examined the grave yet?”
“Every inch of it. Even the tree.”
“Did they look inside?”
“What?”, Draco murmured and sat up again, the blanket sliding off him this time. “You mean – ”
“The solution might be inside the grave!”
“Hermione,”, Ginevra warned.
“I know, it’s a horrible thing to do, but if the secret has really been buried – if it is something deep inside – or – or – didn’t your Dad have a family ring?”
“He had many rings. Wait – oh crap – the ring!”, Draco smacked his flat hand on his forehead, causing himself to wince and rob it from the sudden pain.
“What ring?”, Luna asked softly.
“My great-great-grandfather’s ring – I pulled it off summer before last – I slammed it into his hand – I was so angry then – he – he carried it for me afterwards – I – damn! We’ve buried him with that ring, I think!”, he sank back down and gazed at the wooden ceiling. “Shit!”
“Is everything alright in there?”, the door had been opened and Molly stood in it, Narcissa peeking over her shoulder. “I heard you cursing – ”
“I’m – I’m fine.”, Draco moaned to the boards above him. “Just got myself a headache from my own idiocy. Mum? You didn’t take off Septimus’ ring before we buried Dad, did you?”
“No, I remember he still had it on when he had been rested in the coffin.”
“You reckon, Kreacher might have stolen it when we didn’t pay attention?”
“Why would he – ”
“That’d be really helpful. If he didn’t, I think we’ll have to open the grave.”
“Open – Draco! I thought you detested that ring! Why by all forces of Wizardkind do you want to open – ”
“It might be a key.”
“A key? And to what?”
“In the tombstone, there is a second, smaller engraving of the crest under the family motto.”
“Yes?”
“It’s – Septimus’ ring was the only one we had that showed the crest in all details, wasn’t it?”
“I’m not sure – maybe – I never paid much attention to that – ”
“If we can’t find any other ring in the treasure, we’ll have to open the grave. Send a letter to Gringotts, please. They shall explicitly search for signet rings or anything else that caries the complete crest in approximate size. If we find the positive to that engraving, we might be able to deactivate the spells on the meadow.”
“And what makes you think – ”
“Hermione just gave me that idea indirectly. It’s the only clue we have. Maybe it’s rubbish, but if it’s not, and the grave holds a magical lock,”
“Very well. I will write to Gringotts, if that keeps you from digging your father up.”, Narcissa said grim and went back downstairs.
“Crookshanks!”, the Half-Kneazle had gone for the Pygmy Puff again.
“You shouldn’t command your mother like that, Draco.”, Molly noted with her hands on her hips.
“She wants to do something useful, I just gave her something useful to do.”, Draco countered coldly and pulled the blanket back up to his chin. “And I said `please´.”
“Mum’s right. You’re slowly becoming obsessed with that orphanage thing. I personally think it’s not such a good idea. You should let the manor be and build a new house for them somewhere else, if you so insist on the cause – ”
“Personally, it’s still my house.”, he fiercely pushed down the blanket, leapt up and stormed out of the room; Molly had to jump aside.
“Draco!”, a door slammed shut; Hermione was on her feet too, hurrying after him when a muffled crack resounded.
“And what was that now?”, Molly winced; a child started crying downstairs. “Oh dear.”
“I think, I’ve hit a nerve.”, Ginevra sighed to Crookshanks and Luna returned to checking through her magazine. “Now will you – !”, this time she had to grab Arnold to save him.
“Alright, I go and see if I can help Andromeda. If you two should need anything, you know where to find me.”, just when she passed the landing to Draco’s room, she had to jump out of Hermione’s way, who had jumped away from the door.
“What are you – Draco? Where are you going!”
“Somewhere.”, he mumbled and ran downstairs, with one straight target, but was stopped there.
“Whow!”, Ron gasped at the kitchen door that led outside. “Where’re you heading so fast?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“And how it is! You nearly levelled me, you crank!”
“Draco?”, Harry gasped.
“Get out of my way.”
“Which is?”
“Not yours.”, he was gone without any further sound.
“Ron? Harry?”, Hermione had reached them, with Kreacher slouching behind. “What are you doing here already?”
“Could call it a day a little earlier.”, Ron meant, his perplexed stare still out on the snow where Draco had Disapparated.
“Where’s he gone?”, Hannah came from the sitting room, but Hermione couldn’t answer precisely.
“It’s – it’s m-my fault – ”, she stammered. “I – I shouldn’t have – said – shouldn’t have – s-suggested – ”
“Hermione?”, Harry had finally managed to push Ron inside. “What’s that mean? You shouldn’t have said what?”
“I – I – ”, Hermione shook her head. “It just came to me – just an idea – but he already made a mountain out of a molehill – well, or he’s going to do that – I don’t know – ”
“Where, did, he, go.”, Harry demanded while Ron already took off his travelling cloak.
“He believes it might be a key – ”, she whimpered. “The ring of his – his – great-great-grandfather – he wants to get it back – he thinks, it might deactivate the magic that’s hiding whatever that – ”
“Get it back? Where is it?”
“The ring of Master Septimus lies where it has been buried, Master Harry.”, the pitiful Elf spoke with his hoarse, quiet voice, while he threw a very uneasy glance up along Hermione’s silhouette every few seconds.
“Harry – ”, Hermione continued aspirating, “I think, he’s going to exhume his f– Harry!”
He had spun so fast he that he as well had almost knocked over Ron and rushed outside, Disapparating immediately. When he reappeared though, the high iron gates were shut, like his ears, trapped in silence between gently falling snow. Everything appeared to only consist of different shades of grey, as if he stood before a black and white painting. To his feet, the snow laid untouched. Either he could directly Apparate in due to being the owner, or – Harry approached the convoluted vines of dark metal, his own breath hazes dissolving in the air. The bars were cold, their silhouettes iced with hundreds of tiny flakes, and wouldn’t open for him. A little angry, he took a few steps back, his eyes travelling up to the spikes that sat in a height he was fitting in three times.
Should he – ? On the one hand it was enormously foolish, considering the season and its temperature, but on the other hand, he had climbed high things before. He had climbed walls, roofs, rocks, mostly with help, but he had. And what other choice did he have? For sure, the gates were enchanted. If Draco wanted no company he might be able to avoid it. But Harry knew better. He knew of someone who had climbed past the ancient enchantments in the Great Hall. Far more difficult than those iron gates that laid ahead him almost like an inviting ladder.
Determined enough, he took off his shoes, knotted the laces together and threw them as high as he could. Ironically, they got caught at the spikes. The woollen socks still created some distance between his feet and the snow, but it would only be a matter of seconds until their warmth would make the snow melt and soak the socks. Unwilling to wait for a moment he would be more ready for the conquest, he tackled it.
Up and up he sought his way, climbing with quite an unexpected ease. Nevertheless, the second half of the gates was becoming more difficult. His fingers were as icy and stiff as the iron, even tough some gusts had prevented the snow from resting in these heights, and his toes were close to imitate them. Sweat stood in his neck that was luckily covered from the cold by his thick and messy, bouffant long hair. The mist rising from his heavy breathing, fogged his glasses on both sides and everything became a white and grey blur. But he concentrated on the twirls right in front of his face, every few seconds checking how far away he was from his shoes.
Finally. Harry had reached the pair, freed it and dropped it on the other side, then carefully climbed down. It was far more difficult now, not only because he got winds and his extremities wished to reject his commands. As he slipped off, he bridged the lower half unintentionally with falling, which was fortunately cushioned by the thick snow on the path. There was no way his fingers could get any colder and he therefore simply crawled over to his shoes, put them back on after scooping out some snow and untied the laces with a flick of his hand. Another bound them. Supporting himself onto some part of one gate he tried to get up, but landed on the ground again two seconds later, with his shoulder cracking dangerously. He had discovered a secret handle simply by mistake and even though he was lightweight, it had been enough for the heavy gate to push the snow outside away, pulling him with it. Grunting his anger out, he teetered to his feet, reset his shoulder and stomped down the path between the high hedges, not bothering the unfair gates any longer.
Maybe it was due of the snow and the temperature, or because they didn’t really use the manor anymore as a living place, or probably even due to his anger, but yet again, there was no sight of those famous white peacocks. He wondered whether people had just invented that story and they had woven such feathers into the grand bouquet because they had been Lucius favourite animals or so. At the end of the long rows, he turned right and entered the maze. Left, straight, right, right, straight, left, – left? No – straight again. Then – right? Right. Left, straight, another one straight and right – right – no other way than right – straight – right – left – square.
Harry frowned. A few yards ahead, in the centre of the quadratic area stood a big fountain, the water only frozen curtains with pillows of snow on top. In a circle around, some empty arches with dry, leaf- and flowerless rose vines and a snow covered stone bench in every corner.
Although stunningly beautiful, he had ended up in the wrong scenery. If Draco really was doing what Hermione thought, he would do better finding the right way soon. From the past, he had learned that sometimes it was really a good idea to go backwards if he was in doubt. Though in mid-turn, something drew his attention. It was a light, the colour so familiar he didn’t hesitate following it, leaving the square at an exit to the left. But the light was fast, he could only see the small tail disappear around corners. It brought him out in shorter time regardless. When he stepped onto the wide field, facing a huge tree in some distance, the little animal spun to him briefly, then collapsed and was gone.
“Thanks.”, he mumbled, not bothering to look out for the caster.
All he cared for at the moment was the fresh brown hill by the dark big tombstone, growing. Draco was shovelling manually. Half on his way to him, Harry stopped on a muffled clonk. Apparently he had reached the coffin. His heart hammering so high up he pressed his lips shut in case it might jump into his mouth, he breathed heavily through his nose. Silence. Some noise that didn’t sound good at all, then something light but darker than the snow came in sight, followed by black clothes. Draco had some problems climbing back out. Alarmed enough, Harry’s legs sped towards him on their own, reaching him in due moment to pull him out before he slipped off and back into the grave. Notable amounts of the soil did though. Neither of them really realised at first that if it hadn’t been for Harry to pull him out, it might have been the last thing for Draco to have done. He however, had other troubles at the moment and let the old oak experience that at his best.
Four legs and arms shaking, their knees pressed into the white, Harry got to see what he had missed for lunch, though knowing Molly’s skills, it quite likely had looked and tasted better at The Burrow. Coughing heavily and in tears, Draco tried to clear his throat but failed. Harry did the only thing he could think of: he dug into the snow, breathed upon it so it melted a little and washed Draco’s mouth, bit by bit. After some moments, he had composed enough to do it himself. Eventually they sank against an unspoilt part of the stem and Draco reached into a pocket of his trousers, from which he pulled a striking yellow plastic bag. With his hand deeper in than visibly possible, he searched for something. Harry couldn’t avoid a chuckle on the little metal box that appeared.
“Hannah.”, he smirked.
“Yeah.”, Draco breathed and picked a drop for the taste in his mouth. “She’s a pest.”
“All girls are.”, Harry’s chest hovered equally when he let the remains of Draco’s meal vanish. “But you can’t help loving the one or other.”
“Luckily. We’d all be dead already otherwise.”, the blond panted. “And sex would only be half the fun if every of them was unbearable.”
“Scruff.”
“True.”, Draco looked down his suit that was all dirty from digging.
“You’re such an idiot, you know that?”, Harry laughed with him.
“You tell me. You’ve planted tulips on rubble.”
“Charred stuff is said to be good manure.”
“Thanks, by the way.”
“Any time. People told me it’s my job to save arses.”
“And you just saved a grand one. With a huge cave of a hole.”
“Don’t remind me that there used to be a time I’d even have pushed some more of that brown beauty down on you to make sure you wouldn’t get out. Aren’t you cold?”
“I’m sweating like a pig.”, Draco puffed. “But now that you say it, a bit.”
“Get that bit then.”, Harry meant and tried to spread one half of his wide, thick cloak under them on the cold ground. “Better?”
“Slightly.”, Draco slid closer and Harry threw the second half over, being enough to cover them completely from their necks down to their shoes. “You mind?”
“Draco,”
“Sure. Ask first, then be naughty.”
“Great! Now you’re putting images in my head.”, Harry grunted. “Just joking.”, despite having their arms wrapped around one another and even their heads leant together now, they were shaking terribly. “You got it?”
“Got what?”
“The ring.”
“Oh. Yes. It’s on my finger.”
“Good. At least you didn’t risk your neck for nothing.”
“And how was your day?”, Draco asked randomly.
“Beat myself.”
“Really?”
“I climbed over your garden gates.”
“Er – they were open, I think – ”
“They still are. Realised that by the moment I fell back out. But at least I know now that eighteen feet of icy iron twirls are no obstacle for me. I think, I’ll try the Great Hall next.”
“Mug. He had ages of training.”
“You’re right. First I should learn to slow down myself when falling. Might come in handy.”
“Yeah. Especially when you try to climb across open doors.”
“Don’t be so mean, better be glad I didn’t try to blast it away. And that Hermione doesn’t see us like that here.”
“Why?”
“I got lost in the maze. She must have followed me, but late enough to miss my record. Still she’s sent me her Patronus to lead me back out.”
“Okay?”, Draco chuckled and scanned their colourless surrounding.
“She’s a bit weird sometimes. Maybe Luna’s fault.”
“Yeah. Maybe. Seems she’s too guilty to face me though.”
“Probably. She meant it’s been her fault that you went here.”
“Basically, yes. She gave me the idea. Unfortunately I’ve become a bit too consequent when it comes to such things and so I literally – er – jumped into the snake pit.”
“Snake pit.”, Harry laughed.
“It is, isn’t it?”, Draco snickered.
“Yes.”
~~#~~
“It’s not like you can say you didn’d expect that to happen, if you’re honest to yourself.”
“What?”, she gasped, her head jerking up from the snow outside.
This time it was her to sit on Ginny’s desk. Ginny was back on her bed and Luna laid where Draco had, just like he had. Only without any newspaper now. Straight as a board she laid there, her absent eyes on the wooden ceiling. Hermione had pondered so much within the last minutes that the back of her head hurt and as if it clicked, she remembered what she had been told, marginally, seemingly ages in the past: that Luna’s backbone had been injured in the Department of Mysteries, while Hermione had been passed out. Maybe that was why Luna always sat and lied so straight. Just like her own head still hurt every once in a while. Wounds that even the most powerful magic couldn’t heal.
“No.”, Luna breathed, very faintly.
“Huh?”, both stared down on her.
“It doesn’t hurt, Hermione. I just find it exceptionally pleasant not to crouch all the time.”
“Uh – ”
“Never mind, then.”, Hermione huffed. “Another thing I should have expected, right? Like so many things.”
“Yes.”, Luna confirmed flagrantly.
“Tz.”
“And you don’t need to worry. He’s not alone. He was never as alone as you believed him to be. Yes, he secluded himself from the world, but you will also have to understand the reason.”
“Which is?”, Hermione huffed again, not sure if Luna was talking about Draco or –
“He’s lost nearly everything he ever cared about. You must see that at one point he decided not to let people get near him, as he feared it was exactly what made him lose them. He decided not to care, so he wouldn’t have to live with more loss. But of course that’s not true. Nobody can tell their own heart and mind what to not care about. Not as far as I have noticed.”
For some reason Ginny decided to stare at the worn down wallpaper, quite fascinated by a small scratch, obviously Crookshanks’ work. A scratch Hermione herself hadn’t noticed yet. For some reason it resembled much a certain sign. However, it could also be that her eyes were playing tricks on her. After all she couldn't clearly see it from where she sat, but it was definitely there and Ginny stared at it.
“If you have faith, you will meet again one day. Maybe even in the way you expect. But if you are really honest to yourself, you will know that it is on you to find out if you are ready.”
With that, Luna pushed back the blanket evenly and raised. She was almost at the door when Hermione stopped her.
“Ready for what?”, Luna paused in the open door, but didn’t turn to her.
“Knowing you tells me that it’s one thing your logic cannot explain to you. So I will.”
“Yes?”, she didn’t know why, but that statement upset her.
“Yes, it seems necessary that I do.”, still she wouldn’t turn. “Ready to let go. To accept that there are higher things than your own motifs and beliefs. Ready for a compromise. Ready to understand that not every man’s emotional range is limited to a teaspoon’s bowl and that while you plan ahead, others might plan further, in regard of a past that you, quite fortunately I may say, never were forced to experience.”
“What?”
“Also never think that either’s locking themselves away. I know that to you that’s just empty words though, so I’ll leave you to your thoughts, if you allow me,”
As she closed the door behind, Hermione found that last sentence quite unnecessary. What did she just say? Luna? Giving her a lecture that could have come straight out of the mouth of whom it had been about?
“She’s right.”, Ginny sniffed, barely audible. “And you know that.”
“Sorry?”
“No, thanks.”, her friend huffed.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I wish you’d mean that. Because seriously, for wanting to see him again in some afterlife, your mindset is going way against any chance. Even if he’s still waiting there, don’t expect him to be waiting for you. If any, he’s waiting for Harry.”
“Ginny – ”
“I know you’re not trying to fool me. You really cared for him. But in the end you also cared so much for your own desires that after all these years trying to understand him and him being – him being gone – y-you still think you need to rescue him from some hopeless pit he’s fallen into. But what you don’t understand is that his closest ones differed much from yours. He’s grown up differently and experienced different hardship. And still you demand he had had the same kind of friends you have, while you don’t even realise what makes your friends yours.”
“I don’t quite understand – ”
“Tz. Now you’re acknowledging the truth? Now?”, finally she would raise her head from the scratch, presenting Hermione with tear-washed eyes. “You want to know the actual truth about why you keep thinking he’s pushed everyone aside who could have been his friends? Because he held them close so well that you and nearly everyone else thought he did push them aside. And I think he’s told you often enough why. The life he’d lived was too dangerous for them to be recognised as being dear to him. It would have been their death sentence. And guess what – in the end it was. He tried everything. Everything he could. And still his plans backfired. But years after. If he had followed your idea of what his plan should have been, it would have done so much earlier.”
“But then he would have had at least little quality time with them.”, Hermione pouted.
“And there’s the flaw in this. You think he hadn’t. Just because he didn’t let you see.”, she lightly shook her head. “Letting you into his secrets was dangerous, that much he knew. And so knew you, the moment you asked him why he had done so. But if your were just a tad wiser you’d finally accept that as much as he had told you, as much he had kept secret. Thinking about it, you should have figured that when you tried to speak your condolences after Runespoor Eggs had swamped his office. So yes, already long before he decided to reveal part of his motivations.”
Hermione was taken aback. How much had they actually talked during that time Ginny had hidden in his Dungeon office? How much did her best friend know and not tell her? Telling everyone how they weren’t supposed to know things, while she, Hermione, now found herself told she didn’t know half of what she believed to?
“Look into your pouch.”
That made her actually startle from her thoughts.
“Come again?”
“Your pouch. Look inside. I think Luna’s dropped something in there. And I think I know what it is. Also knowing Luna, I think I know quite well what it’s about. I might have even been there.”
Eager, she jumped off the desk and nearly fell face forward into the bedding on the floor. With a quick yet elegance lacking spin she picked up her beaded bag from between it and the desk and stuck her arm deep in. However, there was nothing she could feel that she didn’t already know to be there.
“Should be further up. Maybe even bound to the string. Luna dropped it in there, not Ron.”
“Oh shut up.”
Yet indeed, bound to the cord, was a white leather strip and as soon as she pulled it, a flask came hovering out, hooked onto the strip with a little metal ring. Why it floated, might ever remain a mystery to her. She knew that Luna was different, but her being capable of such magic was news to even Hermione. Even more so when the metal ring snapped open at a seam that had not been visible before and stayed floating in front of her face. Confused, she still rummaged for her small Pensieve, opened the lid, snatched the flask that had already unstoppered itself without Hermione meaning it to and she poured the memories into the bowl. A last glance at Ginny, she dived her face in.
Instantly she found herself in familiar surrounding. Even the smells were there, quite unusually. Steam from the cauldrons hazed the room and behind the old dark desk he sat, his greasy hair dangling, greasy to prevent standing off as if a long haired cat had been thrown into a dryer – not that she had ever seen such. Left elbow on the desk to support his chin, he squinted at some papers before him, concentrated. Her mind told her that he was probably only appearing concentrated while still studying the students to discover possible mistakes – and because he had a hard time reading without glasses, yet was still too proud to confess the weakness he had successfully hidden since his childhood.
Scanning the rows, Hermione immediately spotted long ginger and ashen blond hair, next to each other. So she had not lied about knowing Luna. The memory indeed took place in their class. And said classroom door opened, only noticed by her – and some students – by the quiet creaking. It opened so slow and hesitant that she had a feeling the one peeking in was scared of being attacked. First she thought it was Dumbledore, but then she noticed it was just a long white fur coat topped with silver hair in a very short ponytail. Karkaroff closed the door, turned and marched straight towards the desk, an unusually empty expression on his rather pale face. Confused eyes followed him and gasped after a second pause he had when he had came standing by the desk, staring on the floor: with a quick flick of his left wrist he levitated some dust from the floor and surprisingly turned it into a simple but elegant chair of red wood. Sideways to Severus though in an angle and about three feet away from the desk, he sat down on it, crossed his legs and arms and fell still, wrapped up in the fur.
With a deep breath and a huff Severus was back at dedicating to correction of the homework on the desk. Though not without a quiet snap.
“Don’t you have cauldrons that are slightly more fascinating, as nearly half of them intend to boil over?”
Panicking, quite a number of students also resumed their business, while Karkaroff would only gaze at some glasses on the shelves. Hermione waited. Fascinated, she waited. A long while, actually, there, by the second row, three desks away from Luna and Ginny. Just when she decided she wanted to step a little closer to the two men, there was a mumble. She couldn’t decipher what he had said, but it had been loud enough for not only her to hear and for Severus to faintly raise an eyebrow. Approximately thirty seconds later, he mumbled again. And continued mumbling. Now she knew why she couldn’t fully understand what he was saying. It was in Russian. She understood parts, but not everything. Only that he clearly complained about something – or someone. His stare was still quite empty, but became a little more pouting with every sentence.
Some of the students also pricked up their ears, elbowing others to gain their attention. Severus’ blinking became more obvious by the minute and even annoyed to the point where his breathing resembled it, the louder and clearer Karkaroff’s soliloquises got. So annoyed that the next word he crossed out was downright murdered by the quill’s tip and he stuck it back into the pot with remarkably controlled force, causing several students to giggle under their breath.
Still blinking heavily, he turned his head to the side. The other side. Then, with a huff, he resumed the correction. But not for long. Again the quill was pierced into the pot and he placed his hands on his lap, his look straight at Karkaroff now who was still talking to the jars as the giggles intensified. But they got caught instantly when Severus raised his deep voice, surprisingly calm and quiet and more than apparently selecting his words well.
At first Hermione was shocked like the others; apart from some Slytherins, it seemed. Though she was not because he too spoke Russian, but because they more than recognisably shared the same sort of dialect. However her brain smacked the discovery down by telling her that Severus had learned the language from Karkaroff and it therefore was only natural. After Severus had had his say, they simply stared into each other’s eyes, and as if meaning to let the words sink in properly, he straightened even more before dedicating to the homework again. Not without –
“Either most of you are deaf or you possess extraordinarily desperate death wishes.”
Completely disregarding the scold and hectic moves in the classroom as if none of it had happened, Karkaroff marvelled him from the side.
“Are you sure?”, was the only thing Hermione now actually understood.
“Quite, yes.”
There was another long pause in which Karkaroff only studied Severus’ silhouette – in a way it felt to Hermione almost as though he was a little child, meaning to receive answer to the ultimate riddle. Not really desperate, neither confused, nor eager. It was a calm mix of it all. And pondering. Much pondering. Severus raised his head again. Looked back into those blue crystals fixating him. She couldn’t really see it from where she stood, but when he straightened anew and leaned back with his hands on his lap again, she was sure he too had his legs crossed now, expression semi blank but confident when he said that one, calm, soft, gentle, assuring word.
“Да.”
For another moment, Karkaroff seemed too awestruck to react. Then, a subtle nod, with his look drifting away, facing the floor, his eyes exactly at the spot where Hermione’s feet stood. Now it was Karkaroff who started blinking. But when he raised his head anew to look at Severus, he would find a smile so vague yet comforting – and Hermione knew she could only see it because she had learned to see it – and knew that was the only reason why Karkaroff could see it. There was still disbelief in his look, though more now in the sense of not being able to grasp that it was actually true. As if he wanted to refuse to believe regardless of how much he knew it was as it was, whatever that was.
Hermione hadn’t understood what it had been about. But for some reason, seeing them like this, as though in a private bubble, there, in a full classroom, made her understand why Luna had wanted to show her that. It was obscure yet soothing to see, however unbelievable how deep their connection had been. Severus had given her comforting looks. But they had been far from what she saw there, and maybe, because when she had needed them, she hadn’t needed them as badly as Karkaroff perhaps had. Silent knowledge between them. And she understood that it wasn’t silent because they might have decided to continue their chat telepathically. They might have; she would probably never find out; but privily she knew that they were solely communicating with their eyes.
That fact dazzled Hermione so much, it felt as if she had been impaled with a loaded cannon when the classroom door was opened by another. Or rather, when that other raised her voice to everyone’s attention. Shocked and with a squeal, Hermione spun.
“But of course that’s where you went.”, puffed the woman and when Hermione took a glance over her shoulder, she could see the same pout from before around that pale-freckled and slightly pointy nose. “Never mind. I've said all there is to say, for now.”
“Then why have you come here, if you settled your dispute?”, Severus sighed, returning to the papers on the desk once more.
“I didn’t actually come for him,”, Professor Burbage grunted, marching straight towards the desk. “This.”, she blatantly sat herself on the edge, “Just arrived at my window.”
“How urgent was that owl if you call off class just to refresh the air in front of me by flailing with a torn envelope?”
“We were done already. I didn’t call off.”
Nor had she flailed, Hermione had spotted that. But the comment didn’t seem to touch her anyhow. With an annoyed huff and several students’ attention, he snatched the envelope from her, pulled out the letter and began to read silently. Hermione took the chance to move closer, so she could see all three faces.
“What you say?”, the woman asked quiet.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I know you’re done with it. What you say? Should I accept?”, there was a pause.
“You are asking me.”, Severus frowned at her.
“Why, of course!”
“You ask me, whether you should quit your job for one that pays you a third more.”
“You know how much they pay?”
“Yes. Arthur isn’t exactly making wages a secret. Still.”
“Yes. Still. I want your honest answer.”
“You know.”, his stare was so blank Hermione thought he could have just as well died that very second.
“Of course. You say yes, because you only want the best for me, I get it. We’ll manage.”
“No, you know Hopkirk’s handwriting. You’ve seen my record.”
“How would I – that was decades ago!”, she groaned without raising the volume. “And what’s that – wait – ”
“In that case, asking me was the best idea you could have had. It is a fraud. A very well done one, but still fake.”
“Er – why would someone fake Hopkirk’s handwriting just to offer me a well paid job in that office?”
“What office was that again?”, Karkaroff whispered, narrowing his silver brows.
“Improper Use of Magic.”, Burbage answered, confused when the men exchanged an alarmingly knowing look. “What!”
“You know who heads the office, don’t you?”, Severus tried to make her riddle it out.
“No.”, she shook her head. “No way. Why would that old frogger make all that effort just to lure someone as unimportant as me out of Hogwarts?”
“Well, that is exactly the point. To her, you would be unimportant. Collateral damage. There are rumours that Fudge isn’t pleased by how little control he has over Hogwarts. More than rumours, actually.”
“Tz. As if he’s the first Minister having to live with that. What’s he thinking. That the curriculum creates idiots? Young adults whose knowledge and productivity aren’t good enough to serve our society? If that’s what he fears, he’d only need to arrest Dumbledore and announce you as the new Headmaster. And we both know he doesn’t have the power to do that, because the goddamn school won’t let that decision happen, out of principle.”
“Thank you for your kind words.”, Severus grunted. “I was merely trying to tell you that if he puts his Undersecretary to the task, this is likely where she would start. You know her opinion of Muggles. As it seems, she already started.”
“Wow.”, her languid frown was no short of his.
“Certainly.”
“So, say, she wants someone else to teach the subject – in a way that reflects her supremacism – and I actually fall for the bait, taking on a job that possibly doesn’t even exist – whom do I want Igor to murder before they can try to apply for my chair?”
Hermione wasn’t the only to choke. The conversation was quiet, but not quiet enough as to not be overheard from the closest seats.
“You know I don’t come cheap?”, said man grinned sheepishly, but his grin froze to disgust on her counterquestion.
“My current job doesn’t pay me well enough for affording your extravagant eviscerations. Can I pay by sex?”
“Thank you, but in this case, I rather volunteer.”
“Fantastic.”, Burbage snorted.
“Yes. You know how much I dislike kittens. But what I dislike more is people who like kittens and are a disgrace to the honour of the colour pink.”
“Since when do you show sentiment towards pink.”, murmured Severus.
“Since I saw that toadface defile its glory by sticking her body into it.”
“That’s one rather gross depiction of wearing clothes,”, sighed Burbage.
“There is nothing that isn’t gross about Dolores Umbridge.”
“And regardless I forbid you to harm her until we know more.”, the whole sentence being a sigh, Severus examined the letter again.
“Good. I don’t fancy besmuddling any blade in the world with her stinky blood.”
“Are you done?”
“Only if you manage to erase thoughts of her from my mind. They give me goosebumps. A sort of goosebumps that I want to scrape off with a grater as they are infested with those thoughts.”
“Now I want to know if you’re done.”, Burbage groaned annoyed. “I do fancy some dark humour, but you’re just being disgusting, in a classroom filled with third years. If even only three of them heard you,”
“So what.”, hissed Karkaroff. “I do not owe them any justification. Anyhow, if they knew Umbridge, they would lend me their nail files, should none of them own a grat– ”
It was clear that Hermione wasn’t the only one glad that the bell had rang at that moment. Some of the students surely had paid with bad marks on their concoctions for trying to listen, but those who had heard every word, were as pale as Severus naturally was. She had seen her own former classmates pack hastily for years, but they, of whom many were her current classmates now, should have earned an award for it then, she thought. Also those who had sat closest, would approach the trio with anxiousness for handing in their probes. It made her wonder how ever Burbage had reassured them in her own next lesson with them.
Neither of the three at the teacher’s desk said any further word until the last student was gone, and when even Luna left the underground classroom, it began to dawn on Hermione that it wasn’t Luna’s memory of the scene she was watching. The girl must have asked him for it at some later point. When, how or with what explanation, Hermione was afraid, she would never get to find out. Though in light of what she had learned about Luna throughout the past months she considered it likely that Luna had simply requested it, without providing a reason. If that was the case, she wondered how much Severus had actually trusted her. Luna, a peculiar girl that was apparently capable of grander magic than anyone would ever guess, while possessing a talent for instant persuasion by simply dazzling people with her oddness, and having some sort of ulterior motive in life that laid beyond anyone’s wit.
She watched the last boy leave, not deigning to touch the door. So it stayed open, flooding the area around it with the bluish shine from the corridor.
“So?”
“So?”, Severus frowned again.
“What shall I do about that letter?”
“Ye?”
“Well then, I leave it to you. After all, you’re the expert for Death Eaters here. And for faked handwriting.”
“I never said tha’ Umbridge – ”
“But you implied it.”
“If ye interpreted it tha’ way,”
“Well, yes!”
“Charity.”, he said calm and softly. “Ye know as well as I do tha’ no’ every racis’s a Death Eater an’ no’ every Death Eater is a racis’.”
“And Umbridge?”
“Per definition?”
“Whatever goes.”, she chuckled.
“Per definition, Dolores Umbridge is no’ a Death Eater.”
“And per what else is she a Death Eater?”
“Toadface is a blindworm that slithers into every corner, trying to find things that don’t match her world view.”, grumbled Karkaroff, crossing his arms and legs tighter than before, with his biggest pout of the hour. “And now that you brought it up, I would really like to cut off both ends of her.”
His stiffening was quite unnecessary, Hermione found, as he raised immediately after that and went for the door. She thought he wanted to close it, but something at the back of her mind told her that he wouldn’t have stood up for that.
“Igor?”, surprising Hermione, it was not Severus who stopped him with a soft but warning tone. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Me?”, he stopped in the frame, not turning – and Hermione winced on the probably useless connection her brain made to Luna just having left Ginny’s room in a similar quick manner. “You two have a free period now, as I understand. And a letter to set up for Toadface. What use would I be in that.”
“Who said anyone’s gonna write a letter right now?”
“Then whatever.”, he huffed.
“Igor,”, she stopped him anew in mid-step and raised from the desk, leaving the letter behind as she walked towards him.
“What.”, the dark grunt he gave her couldn’t have been more appalled.
“There’s no reason for you to leave.”
The calm and serious way she had said that, standing by his side, took Hermione’s breath away. She didn’t know why it struck her that the usually rather temperamental woman had had also a very down-to-earth side. If she was honest to herself, she had witnessed it before but ignored it.
“You’ll stay here. I go.”
“Why.”
“Why?”, she gasped, downright upset. “W- because it’s Valentine’s Day, you doofus! The day to tell your beloved ones what they really mean to you!”
“Pfft.”, Karkaroff crossed his arms again.
“Yes, I know that neither of you gives any fucking damn about this day.”, she protested. “But I do. And I do care for Severus. And that he does the right thing before it’s too late. Because if I’m not brutally mistaken, there’s something he’s been trying to tell you for half a year. But you, ever so ingenious, have a talent for seeking his presence in exactly the wrong moments as well as leaving him be when he would actually appreciate your company. So if not now, not today, when. If things actually turn out as they’ve been developing for months, if not years, there won’t be many chances. Because I will be here. But you will have to leave, for your own safety and for avoiding him having to kill you.”
It didn’t need him to finally turn and reveal the sudden shock on his face to shock Hermione likewise. For some reason Burbage shut the door with a flick of her hand.
“Don’t give me that look. Of course he’s told me everything about the initiation, years ago already. Voldemort saw the connection between you; how much he knows your needs and how much you actually need Severus and his philosophy to control yourself. That man may not be able to feel any bond to any person himself, but he can to some extent sense if people like one another enough to provide soil for the seeds of his plans. Should he return, his first goal will be to annihilate traitors. And you know just as well as everyone else does that your name stands at the very top of his list. Your disloyalty was proven in your trial, when you saved Severus by betraying him. And he played his part so well that the only thing obvious to Voldemort will be that Severus is on his side. He will only see that you betrayed him. To Voldemort, everyone who is on his side, naturally shares his mindset. The logical consequence is revenge. And to prove once more that Severus’ loyalty is true,”
Burbage decided not to continue, for a reason Hermione could see all across the classroom. It was not necessary to put any more emphasis on the quagmire. He looked so miserably, she was surprised he hadn’t fainted yet. So miserable, Hermione could have sworn his silver hair had become grey for a few seconds before Burbage patted his fur covered shoulder.
“Do all three of us a favour and stop being the idiot you actually aren’t.”
Another pat and she left the classroom, closing the door behind and leaving them in an awkward silence. Karkaroff just stared through the air, in direction where her face had been, and Hermione’s head turned from one to the other. Only slowly Severus got up from his seat, paced towards his friend. Hermione pondered whether she should also get closer. In the end she did, but not too close. It felt inappropriate. Patiently she waited what would happen; examined Severus’ prudent movement. How he took the fur cautiously in both hands, slipped the coat off Igor’s shoulders and laid it down on the closest desk. Apathetic, he let it happen, let the hands lay down on his shoulders, wipe a loose curl behind his left ear, and a pair of lips close up until it gently met with his right cheek – kissed a silent tear away that Hermione couldn’t see but somehow knew to have been there.
As if time had slowed down, Severus enclosed him in his arms, held is head, brushed it, deliberately pulled the tightly knotted ribbon off the short ponytail so he wouldn’t make a worse mess. Although his black cloak was quite massive, she could recognise two arms sliding up underneath, and around his back. When Severus eventually had moved his head so as their foreheads were laid together, something drew Hermione’s attention: slowly but steadily the silver fur on the desk moved. Gravity had decided to reach out for it; drag it aside and down, further and further until it finally, within a sudden split second as though there was a cut in the flow of time, fell onto the floor. Fascinated she watched the long hair settle on the foot- and woodworn stone tiles, shimmer in the many different colours it reflected. Colours she hadn’t even known they were cast by anything in the room.
When she looked back up at the men, Severus had brushed the other silver waves back in order – held them skilfully in his hands and bound the unknotted ribbon around the neat, very short ponytail with an ease as though he would do the very thing every single day. Done, his palms moved onto the lightly freckled cheeks, and he would raise a whisper that was strangely loud enough for Hermione to understand.
“Dun’ think tha’ changes anythin’ between us.”, he said right into the glassy blue crystals, to a pair of trembling lips that held back a cry of dispair. “Ye can stick yer snout inter any Fidelius barrier wit’ou’ knowin’ anyone be’ind it, an’ ye can be anyone ye like ter be. If someone can manage ter survive; manage ter trick ’im inter believin’ ’e won, it’d be ye. We’ll fin’ a way.”
“What makes you so confident – ”, it was a mere whimper, but that too, she could hear.
“If a teenage girl can trick a teenage boy ter le’ ’er be amon’ tha people tha’re allowed ter use ’is mos’ powerful heirloom an’ sneaks inter ’is dormit’ry many times unseen ter borrow it fer ’er very own mission ter discover tha secre’s of an ancien’ school, an’ supposedly dive under a desk in a classroom unspotted, ye can survive two wars.”
Coughing and choking on her own tongue, Hermione’s head rushed up from the bowl, just to find herself in the bedroom of said girl, toppled against her desk – alone and dizzy. Only a lilac beaded bag on the battered wooden floor that was covered with carpets and blankets, a messed bed, a closet, a closed door and among a variety of memorabilia on shelf boards, a cat claw scratch on the worn down wallpaper, resembling much a symbol that survived centuries of wizardkind history.
~~#~~