by Houses
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The hallway echoed with sharp footsteps; the stomps ricocheting from suits of armor and stone walls were only partially muffled by tapestries. It was late, much later than he expected, and Severus Snape was in a foul mood. Not merely a foul mood, a royally foul mood, and even Peeves knew to stay out of his way. Idle though the threat to dismember him with a hatchet might have been Snape still knew how to do an exorcism.
Cloak billowing behind him, the dark haired potions master halted in front of his doorway and uttered the passwords in an altogether exhausted tone of voice. He slumped inside and dropped his cloak on the nearest armchair, sliding down into the one opposite immediately thereafter.
There was a small pop and Lala the house elf stood in front of him, balancing a tea tray. Her huge, luminescent eyes looked up at him and she said, "Master Snape, Lala has brought you some tea and other delicious goodies to perk you up. Master Snape is too tired…" she trailed off and set the tray on the small table to the left of the chair. She wiggled her nose and the fire started up in the grate. Snape offered her a wisp of a smile before taking a steaming cup of tea and clenching it tight.
"Thank you, Lala. The tea is wonderful. Orange Pekoe, is it not? One of my favorites." The elf bobbed her head and vanished. Snape sighed, swirling the cup to cool it slightly. He was more tired than he could remember being in years, since the last time he worked as full capacity as a spy. But even that wasn't so draining; he could separate his two lives effectively enough that he could pull together some semblance of peace in the down times.
But now? He was so muddled and confused that even when he was just Severus in his rooms, he could feel the echoes buzzing on his skin, twisting his mind into despair that it would never end. That he'd be trapped in this mélange of lives forever. His knuckles on the porcelain showed white and tight. He relaxed them with effort and slipped one ghostly hand inside his robes. He drew out a small gold hourglass and loosed the chain from his neck. He weighed it carefully before setting it aside next to the plate of biscuits.
He glanced to the clock on the mantle and was surprised to see it was only 12:30 in the morning. He felt it should be much later, at least as late as the ethereal fleeting predawn light. In a way it was, but only in his strained and bent body.
He was too old for this. He should have said no. He should have let Dumbledore ask someone else. He laughed harshly before taking a sip of the tea, relishing the warmth. But he didn't want anyone else to know. This was his secret, his Willow to protect, and he didn't want to share. Possessive? Probably, but he also didn't want to endanger anyone else. Not even Malfoy. If anyone had found out where they had gone and let it slip, he didn't know if he could live with what might happen.
No, it was better this way, to keep the illusion going. It was killing him moments at a time, but for her, it was worth it. Malfoy too, in his own way. He was beginning to have a grudging respect for the boy. He'd pulled off a magical coup unheard of for hundreds of years. That meant, at least, that he had untapped an unrealized magical potential lurking behind those silver eyes. Perhaps he took more after Narcissa than he previously believed.
Little Malfoy the bully certainly seemed Lucius's handiwork. The cruel gleam in his eye, the biting comments, the taunting, it was all classic Malfoy the elder. Then again, he couldn't fault him for taunting Potter. It was all Severus could do some days not to join in, but he was the teacher after all. Self control was important. He took another sip of tea and contemplated the biscuits.
The fire cracked loudly and he almost jumped a bit before relaxing back into the chair once again. As difficult and cruel his own father had been at times, at least he hadn't been either Lucius or James. Thank Merlin. He had bestowed upon his son the nose and hair he was renowned for, however. Maybe all little boys were fated to spend a portion of their time as children reliving their fathers existences. At least both Potter and Malfoy junior were better than their fathers. Small mercies.
Even though the tea had cooled to tepid, he still sat in front of the fire. The flickering flames were mildly hypnotic and for the moment let him forget about pressing worries. Nestling deeper into the leather chair he closed his eyes. He was still going to shower before bed, but it felt good to relax, to pretend that there was nothing more in his life than there was a year ago. That there was no Willow Roseberg, that Draco Malfoy hadn't suddenly become something other than 'irritating student', that Voldemort hadn't resurfaced, that he hadn't annihilated a family not two days ago in Bath. Three small children under the age of six, both parents, and a grandmother. Muggle or not, they were still people, and they deserved protection from the wizarding world from one of its own.
But they were still no closer to finding a solution, or finding Voldemort for that matter. The papers called it an 'imitation massacre', something that one of Voldemort's supporters did to curry favor from a long lost leader. Severus knew better, and in their heart of hearts, many in the magical community did as well. But they still willed themselves to believe the lies, and he was trapped in the school playing a role that may or may not help in the end. If it did, then it gave them an edge that the Dark Wizard may not expect. If it didn't… well, then Severus would do it anyway, in the memory of her.
He hoped to whatever spirits were listening that he wasn't pushing on in vain, that she was coming back, even if it wasn't back to him. He opened his eyes again and surveyed the sitting room. Dark and light in an unbalanced mix, the shadows playing in the corners watching him out of inky eyes did nothing to reassure him. With a groan, he set the teacup down and wandered his way into the bedroom, shedding his clothes to the bed, not willing to expend the extra energy to throw them into the hamper. Stripped of its coverings, his skin shivered and he rubbed his arms to generate warmth while he ran the water for a shower. His fingers subconsciously avoided the dark mark on his arm, but he knew it was there. He could never forget, never dismiss the subtle pain of everyday, nor the sharp pain that let him know how pleased his former master was at the turn of events a few days previous.
At the edge of his vision he could see the small crystal he placed on the bedside stand. It was a tracking marker for Malfoy's progress. It changed colors depending on his personal well being, much like some of the wizarding families used clocks and clockhands to indicate where the family members were and what they were up to. He'd set it to the young wizard before he left, not bothering to let him know he was being tracked. He didn't figure that Draco would have particularly liked the idea. The crystal was glowing a faint yellow green when Severus stepped into the shower.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding when the water hit his hair. Yellow green was a sight better than the flaming red orange he had seen when he sent the boy away into the ether, into a fate that no one could really predict. Red orange was the color of moral peril, and Severus had almost lost hope that first night. But when he had looked again later, the crystal had dulled to an orangeish yellow. Not good, certainly, but better than imminent death. Where ever he was wasn't safe, but at least he hadn't nearly died any time after that. Granted, it had never settled into full green of tranquil peace either. It must be a rough world that Willow was called to.
He shut off thoughts of Malfoy and death and concentrated on lathering his hair. He seemed to always be lathering his hair since she left. He didn't know why her question about the status of his locks had touched him so, but if she'd like to see him with gleaming hair like a raven's wing, he'd do his best. It was ridiculous really, since he knew he didn't have a chance against an Anima Conligato bond, but the effort made him feel better somehow. If he was going through the effort of making himself sparkly clean, that would mean she would have to come back and see it.
Rolling his eyes at his own flight of fancy, he turned his attention to the rest of his body, scrubbing and sluicing, relishing the feel of the water on his scalp like thousands of tiny massaging fingers. Eventually though, he was too tired to hold himself up any longer, and he shut off the water. He towel dried his hair and body, wrapping the emerald green towel around his waist. He shook his hair back from his face, grimacing at how long it had become, past his shoulders now. He'd have Lala take some scissors to it in the morning.
Yawning mightily, he wandered back into the bedroom. He was weighing the options of finding sleepwear versus sleeping in the nude and turning up the fire when he happened to glance at the tracking crystal. He'd pulled the towel from his body and held it in one hand, the other outstretched to pick up the now mauve crystal. He held it up, inches from his face.
"Mauve? What is that supposed to mean? I don't remember any-"
Golden flames erupted in the middle of Severus Snape's bedroom. They swirled around him with reddish sparks and he closed his eyes against the sharp pain of bright lights. Before he could open them and recover his vision, however, he heard screaming- right next to his head. He blinked and discovered two faces ridiculously close to his, one framed in red hair and the other in short, white blonde hair. His brain wasn't firing on all cylinders, unfortunately, and instead of realizing what was happening, he jumped a foot in the air and fell backwards, arms flailing, legs tripping and barely danced his way upright again.
By this time, Willow had her hand covering her mouth, stifling the startled scream of fright from seeing an unknown person's face mere inches from her own and her eyes widened in embarrassment. Draco had his wand out, waving at nothing since he still hadn't blinked away the last of the sparks.
"What! Where! Firestarter, are you alright?"
Willow let out a high giggle and covered her eyes now, pointing at a rather confused and bemused Snape standing buck naked in the middle of his bedroom. "Dangly bits, oh Goddess, dangly bits!" She flushed bright red and turned completely around. Draco finally recovered his vision and sputtered loudly; his jaw dropped wide open.
Severus, whose exhausted brain finally grasped what was going on, snagged the discarded towel from the floor and wrapped it around his waist once more. He arched an eyebrow as serenely as he could manage completely ignoring the fact that he had been hopping around his room like a crane on ecstasy only moments before.
Draco's eyebrows climbed up his forehead and he whirled around, facing Willow. "Lickable!?!"
Willow punched his arm weakly. "Shut up."
"Merlin's beard, you think he's lickable!" He turned to an even more overwhelmed Snape. "She thinks you're lickable! You're old- and a teacher- and my relative!" He spun back to Willow. "You cannot think he is lickable. I forbid it."
Snape finally found his tongue and responded lazily. "Oh, I don't know, Malfoy, I think lickable is an entirely appropriate adjective."
Willow sank to her knees. "I am not here. I am not hearing this. Get out of my head."
"Oh I don't think so. What other fascinating tidbits are you going to shout into my mind? I am downright salivating to hear what else you have to say." He crossed his arms across his chest and snarled. Willow snapped her head up to look him in the eyes.
Draco watched without reaction as her eyes flooded with black and she hissed, "I can think whatever I want."
Snape took this moment to step between them both. "All right, children, we can all call each other names later. I, for one, would love to know what you've been doing for the last three days."
Willow let out a breath and her eyes returned to normal. Draco relaxed his posture and leaned down to pull the redhead to her feet. "Right-o, Professor. Let's all play show and tell." He followed the dark haired wizard to the sitting room where Snape pulled three chairs together by the fire after stopping to don a pair of flannel pajama bottoms he'd retrieved from the dresser.
With the three of them sitting, Snape reheated the teapot with a touch of the wand and conjured two more cups. He offered it to the others; Willow accepted, Draco did not. Teacups in hand, Snape gestured for them to continue. Willow glanced at the silver haired wizard and at his nod, began.
"I was called home again to Sunnydale. My friends found a way to get me back and used a spell to find me and bind me. I was only there a few hours when Draco popped into the middle of Buffy's living room. This prompted an explanation about who everyone was, with some people handling it better than others. Draco wasn't pleased to discover himself in the company of Muggles, demons and vampires so he took a walk- right into a hunting pack of vampires. He was nearly lunch, but Buffy saved him. After that, well, his wand was broken, so we didn't leave immediately. I had to take care of some things with my friends and family, but they understand me a bit better now. We gave them a way to contact us and came back. That's pretty much it." Draco scowled at the mention of his near dinner experience, but didn't interrupt.
Listening carefully, Snape watched both Willow and Draco closely. Willow's posture indicated that her adventure back home was considerably more stressful than she let on, but whatever she wasn't saying must have been private, or Draco would have added his two knuts worth. He nodded gravely and started to speak. He took another sharp glance at Draco and exclaimed, "What happened to your head?"
The coyote touched his face with the faded bruises and grimaced. "Those would be from the vampires she mentioned."
Snape shook his head. "No, I mean, your hair! And what're those things in each of your ears? They look like earrings… is this some sort of Muggle thing?"
Draco and Willow both laughed then. "Oh, Draco decided to show me how comfortable he was with my heritage so he went for a makeover with Dawn and Anya. You should see some of the other stuff he brought back. Leather is definitely his look."
The potions master blinked. "Leather? Muggle clothing?" He squinted. "Are you sure you're Draco Malfoy?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Draco responded softly, "The things we do for love."
Snape's face turned stony at that. "Yes indeed." The silence was tense between them until Willow spoke up.
"How did we end up nose to nose with you anyway?"
Snape frowned, embarrassed. "Well, I set the return spell to come to me. I guess I didn't understand exactly what that meant. I believed it to be general vicinity, not right on top of me. Though, that would explain what the mauve meant."
"Mauve?" Draco muttered to himself, still glaring at the dark wizard.
Smiling at the explanation, Willow continued, "So what's been going on here? Did everyone miss us?"
Snape sipped his tea and said slowly, "No, they didn't."
"Why?"
"Because you went home for a family emergency, Willow, and you, Mister Malfoy, didn't go anywhere."
They both blinked at that. Draco leaned forward. "What do you mean, I didn't go anywhere?"
Snape smiled then, an exhausted, proud grin. "You fell ill after dinner the night you left and have been confined to your quarters. Your friends have seen you every evening, checking on your progress. The lingering illness is supposed to be stress and overwork combined with a good old fashioned flu." Now he grimaced. "Though I'm delighted that you've returned since your mother will be flooing in tomorrow to check on you."
"What? How?"
Snape picked up the golden hourglass from the table. "It's a bit complicated. Dumbledore didn't want anyone to know what happened to you, not even the other teachers. He asked if I would be willing to revise my role as a spy, albeit in a slightly different capacity." He looked straight at Malfoy, then, watching the reaction in his silver eyes. "For the past three days, I have been both you and me. A little polyjuice potion and the judicious use of a time turner had me looking like you when and where your friends expected to see you. I must say, that Parkinson is just as dreadful after hours as she is in the classroom. At least Bullstrode keeps her mouth shut."
They gaped at him. Draco fell back. "You were me? That's… so… invasive." He glared at the older wizard. "I find out that people were writing intimate details of my life and selling them for profit. As if that isn't enough, I come back and find out someone else is living my life." He swirled his hand around. "I don't know how much more I can take of this."
Willow laid her hand on her lover's. "Severus. You mentioned his mother was coming tomorrow. Do you know why?"
He shook his head. "No, but Albus did send her a letter detailing your illness. She responded expressing her concern and her desire to see you two days from then if you weren't better. That would be tomorrow."
Draco groaned and covered his face with his hand. Willow nodded. "And me? When was I expected back?"
"Two days from now. You could show up early, but everyone is expecting you then. It may be best not to draw any undue attention to yourself. Things have been… unsettled here recently."
Willow's face twisted up in thought. "Well, I could just hide in my rooms."
Snape snorted. "House elves are discreet, but they're not that discreet." He thought for a moment himself. "Actually, you could stay here. The only elf that sees to my chambers is Lala. She's my personal house elf; she serves the Snape family, not Hogwarts in general."
When Willow looked as if she was considering this, Draco snapped out of his haze. "Hell no! Not after she decided you look lickable."
"Threatened?" Snape smirked. Draco scowled.
"No."
"Then what's the problem, sweetie?" Willow turned to him then, gripping both hands. "I don't think Severus is going to jump me in the middle of the night, so what's the worry?" Draco glared in his direction. Snape smirked wider.
"Nothing. You do whatever you want."
Willow smiled sadly before nodding to Snape. "Sure. I guess we can do that. Draco can go back to his rooms using the inner house floo, right?" Snape nodded. "Can I go see him in and be right back? I promise if I see even one house elf ear tip I'll be back in a flash."
Snape grunted. "Fine. Mister Malfoy, my memories of my time as you are stored in a pensive at the bottom of your wardrobe. Please look over my exchanges with your friends so as too 'refresh your memory' when they come to look in on you tomorrow. Please try to remember to act stressed and ill. See if you can do something about those bruises, and perhaps you can say you cut your hair because the fever was bothering you. I leave that explanation to you."
Draco rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure I can manage that one; I'm not a complete bleeding idiot."
Snape glared back. "Yes, well, that remains to be seen." He waved his hand. "Be back soon," he addressed Willow. She nodded and followed Draco into the fire. Severus watched them go, then stood, casing around the room. "Where to put an extra bed… do I need to add a small room? I can transfigure that small storage closet into something larger, perhaps with some feather pillows…" He muttered on to himself as he began to work.
"You're sulking."
Draco glared at the redhead. "No. I'm. Not." He threw he cloak over the small table by the fire and bent to fish the collection of trunks and bags out of the pocket.
She sighed and crossed her arms. "Yes you are. Draco, look at me."
He turned, silver eyes flashing. "What?"
"There is nothing for you to be upset about." Willow relaxed her posture and took a few steps closer. "Nothing. Do you hear me?"
He snarled and divided the luggage into his and hers piles. She watched him wordlessly as he gathered up her belongings and dropped them into the now empty cookie box on the shelf. "I hear you. I also heard you earlier when you announced to my mind that he was lickable." The young wizard thrust the box at her. "Here."
She sighed and took it, curling it against her chest. "Draco…"
"I know how he feels about you. It's obvious. And now… you're going to be staying with him. Alone. For two days."
"That's silly; you know you can visit."
Running his fingers through his shorn locks, Draco spun around. "Right. I can. When I'm not here pretending to be sick and going through a breakdown. Or dealing with my mother. Or whatever else he managed to maneuver me into doing while he was me." He stalked closer. "Or did you forget that? He was me. And now you're going back down there to him." He grabbed her shoulders. "Don't you get it?"
The confusion and pain shone so clearly on his face that Willow relented. "Yeah, I get it. I'm sorry that it has to be this way, but…"
He lowered his head to rest his forehead on hers. "But it's the only way. I know that too." He let go of her shoulders and wrapped his arms around her, smushing the box between them. Fiercely, he growled out, "Mine. You are always mine."
She smiled faintly. "I know." She tilted her face up and kissed him lightly. "And I-"
"Have to go." He sighed and kissed the side of her neck, nipping lightly with his teeth. "And I have to go find out what I did while I was away." He rolled his eyes. "Now that's a sight I'd pay to see. Snape as the student again."
She giggled. "He's not really the hyper teen sort is he?"
"A world of no. Guess pretending to have a high fever would cover up any weird behavior. Sick people sometimes are really strange."
She nodded. "Oh yes." She sobered after a heartbeat. "Draco?"
"Hmm?" He'd turned away and was rummaging at the bottom of his wardrobe for the pensive.
"What do you think your mother wants?"
He stood, balancing the bowl filled with mercury light and looking for a good place to put it. "I have absolutely no idea. She's never come alone to visit me at Hogwarts before. Usually she sends stuff, or sends Father."
"Then what…" Her wide green eyes were concerned. "Do you think she knows?"
"About me being gone? Or about us?"
"Either."
He thought for a moment, peering down into the inactive pensive. "I just don't know." He sighed, leading Willow over to the fireplace. "My mother is many things, but unobservant isn't one of them. I've never been truly sick at school before, so she could be concerned about that. I always wondered if she had a bit of the sight about her, or whether it was just motherly intuition." He shook his head. "I guess I'll see in the morning."
Willow clutched the box in her free hand and wrapped the other around her lover's neck, bending him down so she could kiss him passionately. "I guess you will. You know where to find me if you need me." He nodded. "I love you."
He grinned then, showing sharp teeth. "I know."
With that, he threw the floo powder into the hearth and watched Willow disappear into a puff of green flames. When the magical fire had completely gone out, he turned back to the work table, pensive shining faintly in the gloom, waiting patiently.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Willow stepped out of the fire, coughing slightly. "I am never going to get used to that. Severus?" She called softly, and there was no answer. She looked around the sitting room, but nothing had changed since her earlier visit. She walked to the small hallway leading to his private lab and noticed an open door.
She stepped up to it, peering around the frame, and smiled. The old storage closet had been transfigured into a small, but functional, guest room done in shades of pale green and silver. The comforter was a light spring green with shimmering leaves embroidered around the edges, piled up with pillows depicting various trees, grasses and flowers, all in range of light and dark greens. The bed itself was a dark wood four poster, with airy canopy of starlight colored wisps, carved with the shapes of twinning vines running up the posts.
And right in the middle of the bed, as if he'd fallen over mid-swish, was the still half clad professor. His now dry hair covered half of his face and he was shivering slightly in the chill of the dungeons. There was no fire in the former closet, and all the heat had to permeate from the sitting room. Willow noted the goose bumps on his pale arms and back and frowned.
He had done all of this for her, even as exhausted as he had been. The potions master had even chosen things Willow would have liked to make the room feel more homey and less 'stick the guest in a closet'-y. Of course, it did have his signature Slytherin stamp on everything, feminine as it was. She narrowed her eyes in thought before rattling the box in her hand slightly.
She tumbled the collection of bags onto the small table top by the wall and selected the one she thought contained clothes. Kneeling on the floor, she touched the bag lightly with one finger tip, smiling as it bloomed into the bag she was looking for. Severus had started to snore lightly when she undid the heavy leather buckle and pulled out a pair of pajamas covered in fluffy clouds. She grinned and wandered back through his rooms to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
Staring into the mirror, she had to wonder about what she was going to do next. She did promise Draco nothing would happen, and nothing would, but she couldn't leave the dark haired wizard there to freeze. And something about sleeping in his bed felt… wrong. With a spit and a sigh, she changed into the flannels and crept back to her room. Gently, she nudged him over, pulling the linens from beneath his body, and rolled him over onto his side.
Slowly, so as not to wake him, she climbed into the bed behind him, pulling the covers up over them both. He whuffled, then, mumbling something, and wiggled further down on the soft mattress until his head was off the pillow completely. Willow smiled, flicked off the light, and curled up on the other side of the bed, exhausted.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Soft morning light streamed through the curtains into the head boy's room; one stray beam cutting right across Draco's closed eyes. It was earlier than he usually got up, and he groaned and rolled over, desperate for just a few more minutes of rest before his eyes popped open in mild panic. His mother would be there soon and he still had to take care of the bruises and glamour something up about his appearance.
He sat up stiffly and looked around at the mild chaos his room had become. He slid out of bed, hissing at the cold stone and wobbled to the bathroom, picking up his wand on the way. He turned before shutting the door and muttered a few household cleaning charms. They had never been his specialty, but he figured they were worth a shot, at least until he could come out there and straighten things out himself.
A quick scrub, rinse and toweling off had him back in pair of forest green sweats. He figured this was close enough to what he'd been wearing in the pensive, and seemed appropriate for being ill. He noted the somewhat successful charms with a lopsided smile and hurriedly stuffed the few lost bags and books under his bed.
He stood in front of the full length mirror on the wardrobe and examined his appearance carefully. He decided to leave the hair, claiming that it made him hot and sticky, but he'd have to hide the earrings. Draco didn't know why he was so taken with them, other than they were different, but he had no interest in getting rid of them. The Muggle at the store said he had to leave them in for six weeks to be permanent, and he had no intention of doing otherwise. The bruises were faded to a mild yellow at this point, and the scrape on his cheek and chin was almost gone. A few passes with the wand covered them up and left him looking only a bit sallow and ill. He shrugged, figuring that was the goal to begin with.
Making sure that everything incriminating was hidden, he climbed back into bed, sinking down into the feathers and pulling the comforter up to his chin. He willed himself to relax and had succeeded so well by the time the knock came at his door that he had to yank himself awake.
Sleepily, he called out, "Come in."
The door swung open to reveal a concerned looking Dumbledore robed in electric blue. He stepped through, followed closely by Narcissa Malfoy. She was tall and graceful, shining blonde hair pulled back into an intricately woven bun at the back of her neck. The dark charcoal robes hugged lean curves and she clutched a small bag in her left hand. Rings and bracelets glittered with pale colored stones on her wrists and fingers, and a large diamond teardrop gleamed at her neck.
"Ah, Mister Malfoy. You are looking better this morning. Perhaps the rest has done you good." Dumbledore waved two chairs over two chairs to Draco's bedside and sat down. Narcissa stood at her son's side, looking down at him closely before bending to press a kiss to his forehead.
"Draco, dear, you've cut your hair." She narrowed her eyes and sat down.
He flinched involuntarily. "Yes, Mother. It was getting sticky and hot, and kept getting in the way. I just thought…"
She smiled then, secret mirth playing in her eyes. "I quite understand. And it does look smashing, dear. You should have tried that years ago; I wish your father would."
Both Dumbledore and her son stared at her in mild shock. She grinned wider. "As handsome as my husband is, he could do with a bit of a fashion update now and then."
Draco nodded numbly, and Dumbledore cleared his throat. "As you can see, Madame Malfoy, your son is feeling much better. He seems to have over extended himself this year, both academically and athletically. The forced rest of his illness has done him good on all fronts."
The young wizard looked rapidly back and forth between the two adults and heaved an inner sigh of relief when his mother nodded. "I can see that, Headmaster. My son has always pushed himself hard when he believes that the rewards are worthwhile. And this semester he seems to have found several projects of interest."
Draco froze, but the elderly man nodded. "I assure you, Madame, everything has been done to provide your son the best of care."
She waved her hand airily. "I have no doubt of that. He seems as satisfactory as the situation would allow."
Dumbledore nodded. "I am happy to hear that."
She patted Draco's hand and faced the headmaster. "I appreciate your concern, but my child and I have several matters to discuss. If you wouldn't mind…"
"Of course not. Mister Malfoy, Madame, I'll be in my offices should you need me. It's been lovely to see you again and please come back soon." He bowed slightly and let himself out the door.
Narcissa turned her pale blue eyes on her son, all joviality gone. "Draco, you've been a very busy boy recently."
"Mother-"
"Ah, ah, watch what you're going to say." She leaned forward, peering into his eyes. "Over the past month I've had two very interesting owls. First from Alfonse Gliberman. He thanked me for the referral and enquired as to how your… project… was coming, and wondered whether he could expect any further business from either of us in the future. It was his polite way of asking whether you were alive; it's bad for business to inadvertently allow the son of a major client to destroy himself. Then, only two days ago, I received my monthly account statement from Gringotts. Did you know they send me an inventory of our bank vault each month?"
Draco shook his head dumbly.
"No? Well, it had some very interesting withdrawls this statement; withdrawls that I'm positive neither your father or I made." She smiled then, the smile of one society lady happily slicing another into sad, pathetic bits in a very public setting. Draco shivered. His mother idly stroked the back of his wrist.
"Mother-"
"I'm not finished. Did you know that Pansy Parkinson is worried about you? Seems you've been behaving oddly recently, looking generally unwell, and are very touchy. She's talked to her mother about it; Patricia kindly dropped by for tea one afternoon, wondering how you were doing. What do you think I had to say about that? Especially since only that morning, the morning after the withdrawls, I'd had a lovely note from your charming Headmaster explaining that you had suffered an unfortunate collapse?"
Draco was barely breathing now. He'd know that his mother was always informed, but this was borderline unnerving. He opened his mouth but Narcissa laid one elegant hand across his lips. "Shh. I'm not finished. I told you to be careful when you left this year, that your father would eventually figure things out. He's not as well connected as I am, socially, but I'm sure even he'll hear things soon. You have to be more cautious, dear." She smiled sadly. "Who is she?"
"Erm…"
"I know what book you took. I know what spell ingredients you used. I know they have a short shelf life. I know that you're still here, even if you look a little worse for the wear. I know you've taken Gran Annalise's ring. I know you've changed your appearance radically. I remember you asking me about a girl, a girl named Willow Rosenberg; a girl neither Muggle, nor Mud-blood, nor witch."
Draco blinked. "How… Mother that's… Um."
She smiled wider this time. "Didn't you think it would be prudent to introduce me to my future daughter in law?" The smile disappeared as rapidly as it had shone. Tears collected in her eyes, unshed. "Things are happening. Your father has been very busy with his… special projects. He's been away from home often, and has repeatedly requested that I keep the house ready for visitors. I don't know if he'll wait until summer."
The coyote stared back, silver eyes cold. "Wait to force the mark you mean."
She nodded. "I have no say in this. I've always held myself apart. Marrying your father has certain perks, besides his charming company. That said, the Dark has never interested me, not when I could get what I wanted by more traditional means. And I loathe serving anyone but myself." Her lips twisted up in a bit of a wry grin. "That's probably where you get it from. But where I am more or less immune by marriage… you don't have that sort of safety net."
He nodded. "I know, Mother. And I've been working on that." He echoed her grin. "I suppose it won't hurt to tell you what I've been up to; or most of it anyway. Gliberman was right, you know. I could have blown myself up, but I didn't. The ritual of Anima Conligato was successful and I'm now bound." He pulled the collar of his shirt down, exposing the intricate willow tree, the opals shining a cool blue of sleep.
Narcissa's eyes shone with poorly concealed pride. "Well, well. What a remarkable accomplishment. She consented?"
Rolling his eyes a bit, her son nodded. "I asked her formally as well, and she now wears Gran's ring." He looked of into the distance a bit. "And it looks lovely."
Narcissa looked at him closely. "And her family?" She noted the cold look that passed over her son's face with interest.
"She has none."
"Well, that may cause problems when she's introduced to society, but I'm sure I'll manage something." She sighed heavily. "This would have been easier if I had some control of who you married, but it never would have worked out- an arranged marriage. Pureblood families in Britain are so over bred as it is that no matter where she came from, pureblood or not, she'll have a rough welcome here." She got a far off look on her face. "Maybe I can find a way… Yes, that might work."
Draco looked at her curiously. "Mother?"
"It's nothing." Narcissa frowned. "Don't ever scare me like that again."
The young man closed his eyes and sighed. "I promise." He missed the look of worried pride on his mother's face as she bent to kiss his cheek. She pulled a pair of impossibly large boxes from the tiny handbag and set them on the counter. Draco could smell the cookies and pastries from the bed.
"Pansy complimented my cookies to her mother; please make sure she and Millie get the second box. I know how much the Goyle boy adores them, so I brought double. I expect to see you and Miss Rosenberg at Lulalinda's Tea House next Hogsmeade weekend for high tea. I believe that is this Saturday. Please don't be late; I have several other engagements that day. And dear? The earrings are in interesting choice." Draco's eyes flew open. She smiled, standing. "A mother always knows."
Chapter 33He was warm, wrapped in something soft. His nose twitched, tickled by silken threads, and he almost woke up, but not quite. Severus was having the most wonderful dream. He was holding his love close, smelling the sweet scent of her skin on the back of her neck, and she wanted to be there. She sighed and relaxed against him, and he caressed one hand around her waist. It slid under the flannel of her shirt, curled around her ribs, and ever so gently, his thumb traced the underside of her breast.
He couldn't ever remember feeling this way in life. All his previous experiences had been brief, swift, abrupt. None of the lazy comfort of time spent curled in bed afterward, basking in the nearness of another, the mutual satisfaction of skin to skin.
He smiled in his sleep and bent his head forward, his dark hair sliding down his cheek. The soft pale skin of her neck was just there, under his lips, and he pressed a kiss lightly. In his dream, he willed the girl to roll over, to welcome his advance, to validate his feelings. And lo! She did. His dream eyes still pressed tightly shut, he felt her breath on his cheek, slow and deep with sleep, and he sighed.
To his surprise, a thin arm curled around his neck, bringing him closer, and he felt a small nose bump along his, as if searching for something. He was almost alarmed to feel tender, silken lips press against his, as if that wasn't supposed to happen in this dream, maybe in some other dream from long ago or far in the future, but his parted his own lips obediently.
The electric shock that passed between them as their tongues tentatively touched snapped both their eyes open, wide awake out of the dream they both had been sharing. Startled black eyes stared in into panicked green ones and the arm from around his neck was suddenly, violently pushing on his chest accompanied by the soft shriek of, "Not again!"
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Hermione and Ginny exchanged wary glances. The redhead spoke softly, as if afraid of being overheard. "Are you sure you want to do this? It's… well…"
"I know. I can't believe it. But we only have a few minutes till the first classes start anyway, so it won't take long."
"My brother is going to kill us."
Hermione sniffed. "I'd like to see him try. I'd hex him into next week." She deflated a bit. "Though I have to admit he has a point." She straightened, flipped her braid over her shoulder and raised her hand to knock. "Here goes."
A weak and sleepy "Come in," caused the painting to swing open, and Ginny pushed it slowly, careful of the bunch of winter blooming posies in her right hand. The two girls walked into the room tentatively, as if they were afraid of being bitten, and took in the room décor. It wasn't exactly what they'd expected, but both had to concede they'd never thought that much about it before. They hadn't had time to adjust to the gloom fully when a voice from the bed called out, "Granger? Little Weasel? What are you two doing here?"
Ginny retorted, "You're one to talk, Ferret Boy." Her friend elbowed her in the ribs and she huffed an exasperated, "What?"
Hermione plastered a smile stiffly on her face and walked to the bed. "Well, Malfoy, Ginny and I decided to bring you some flowers. Since you were sick and all…"
The pale form on the bed arched an elegant silver eyebrow and summoned a trophy from the bookshelf. He put it on his bedside stand and added water from the slim carafe at his elbow; Ginny dropped the flowers in. They stood there looking at each other awkwardly.
Draco was lying back in his bed, propped up on a plethora of fluffy pillows. His face was drawn and tired, faintly sallow, and he seemed exhausted. Hermione stared at him for a moment, puzzled, before she finally burst out, "Your hair!"
Ginny started and leaned forward. "Merlin's beard, Malfoy, you chopped all that beautiful hair off!"
He coughed, "You thought my hair was beautiful?"
Ginny fidgeted, "Well, you can be a royal ass, but that doesn't mean you can't have nice hair."
He almost smiled then. "Yes, I can be an ass, can't I? Part of the legendary Malfoy charm." He sighed, "You may as well sit down and tell me why you're really here."
"We came to bring you flowers," Hermione answered primly, sitting in the same seat Narcissa had recently vacated. Ginny sat down carefully next to her, surreptitiously checking for vipers under the pillows.
"Right. And I'm the next coming of King Arthur."
Hermione blushed, and the redhead interjected, "Yeah, well, so we wouldn't ordinarily bring you flowers."
"No. But you might if you wanted something."
Sighing, the elder witch held out her hands, palm up. "I guess the moral of this story is never play deception with a Slytherin." His lips twisted up into a wry grin. "Okay, we're really here to find out about Willow."
He sat up straighter, and the girls noted that he suddenly looked considerably less ill. "Willow? What do you want with her?"
"We're her friends, Malfoy, and we want to know she's alright," Hermione answered sharply.
He tilted his head to look back at them down his long nose. "She's gone home for a few days."
Ginny waved her hands dismissively. "We know that. It's what Dumbledore told us when we asked. But she wasn't planning on leaving; she just disappeared. Last we saw her she was…" here she made a face, "with you in the hallway. Then the next day, you show up at dinner without her and she's 'gone home'."
He was silent for a heartbeat or two before nodding. "And now you've come to see what the evil Slytherin has done to her to make her run away. Because, surely, she wouldn't have left without saying anything, and since the last time we saw her, she was with 'him', the dreaded Draco, and he must have done something to her…" he let it trail off softly. He turned his head to the window, morning light shining through the cracks in the curtains. "And what, pray tell, did you think I had done? Cursed or hexed her to be with me, and when she finally broke free she ran away?"
The girls exchanged glances.
He glared at them, eyes glittering. "I see. I can assure you that your fears are groundless. I neither cursed nor hexed her, and she most definitely kissed me of her own volition. And as for her leaving? What Dumbledore told you is the truth: she had some family concerns that suddenly popped up and she had to return briefly. She'll be back tomorrow and you can ask her yourself."
If the Gryffindors hadn't been looking at him so closely, they would have missed the fleeing look of hurt that passed through the silver eyes. Hermione, ever sensitive to others feelings, held one hand out. "Draco, we didn't…"
He hushed her with a wave of his hand. "Yes you did. I am who I am, and who I will always be. And you, you bloody Gryffindors, can't fathom why someone like Willow would choose me?"
Ginny opened her mouth, but all that came out was a faint squeak.
He continued on as if she wasn't there, almost talking to himself. "No one is ever how others perceive them, ladies. Not me, and certainly not your precious Willow." He rubbed his hand unconsciously on his chest contemplatively. "No one, no matter how well you think you know them."
Ginny spoke softly, "I know." She closed her eyes, looking within, remembering the soft words and kind touches from the man inside her head, all those years ago, who slowly ate away her soul until she was nothing but a few wisps of self held together by bone and tendon.
Hermione touched the back of her friend's hand carefully and Ginny shook herself out of her inner thoughts. If Draco guessed where her thoughts lay he made no mention of it, merely rubbing his hand tiredly across his eyes.
The brunette tilted her head to one side, looking at him carefully, as if seeing him for the first time. "You really are sick, aren't you?"
He rolled his eyes. "Yes, I suppose I have been. But I'm getting better." He smoothed the duvet down over his chest and stomach. "And I'm definitely looking forward to getting out of these rooms."
The seventh year witch laughed then. "I can relate."
"Yes, I suppose you could, what with that cat incident back second year…" He left of with a wicked grin. Something in his face made it clear he understood much more about that incident than he was saying.
She turned white. "You know about that? I mean… what happened… and why?"
He nodded, laughing silently to himself. "You have no idea what a Slytherin can find out if he puts his mind to it."
They stared at him, suddenly chilled. He winked and turned to pick up a glass of water from the table. Without warning, his hand clenched, and he slammed the glass back down, shattering it into several pieces. Both girls jumped out of their chairs, fascinated and alarmed as Draco seemed almost to shimmer, as if a faint sleek fur slid over him and disappeared just as quickly. He turned irate silver eyes their way, and Ginny gasped as his pupils swirled outward, the black overtaking his iris completely, almost spilling over into the whites of his eyes.
Blood dripped from his hand, mingling with the spilled water on the wooden table top, and he snarled, a sound far more canine than human. He closed his eyes tight. Hermione took a step forward, picking up a towel from the floor. "Draco… do you..."
"What!" he roared. She dropped the towel on the bed and jumped backwards. He took a few deep breaths, centering himself, and when he opened his eyes, they were back to their normal glacial gray. He blinked a few times and picked up the towel, wrapping it around the cuts on his hand. In an almost normal tone of voice, he said, "Thank you. If you don't mind, I'm feeling a little worse for wear, so…"
Startled by the casual dismissal, the girls scrambled over the chairs to the door way, skittering out of it and closing it tightly behind them. Once they were in the hall, they stopped to lean against the far wall.
Ginny's eyes were wide. "What was that?!?"
Shaking, Hermione whispered, "I have no idea… It's as if he saw something we couldn't, or felt it, and just… wigged."
The younger girl nodded. "Maybe he really is sick, not just acting to get out of classes."
Her breathing almost normal, Hermione nodded. "Actually I think I've seen something like that before… Remember when my parents were attacked in Hogsmeade?"
"Yeah?"
"Well, I think Willow's eyes did something like that before she… banished the Death Eaters… or whatever she did."
"A reaction to strong magic then? I've never heard of it before."
Standing straight and pushing off the wall, Hermione turned down the corridor to walk to her first class. "Me neither. And did you see what his skin did?"
"And his teeth? Like fangs for a second."
"Hey, Ginny, remember back when you were studying for your O.W.L.s?"
She looked at her friend quizzically. "Uh huh, why?"
"When you accidentally turned Crooks into a teapot full of chamomile tea? You were so stressed you didn't notice that your magic was doing things it wasn't supposed to, and when you touched your wand to my cat- poof, herbal kitty."
They shared a light laugh. "So whatever was upsetting Malfoy caused his magic to leak out?" They looked at each other then, eyes wide. "So what do you think that means?"
Hermione said perkily, "It means a trip to the library after dinner- without the boys."
Ginny stifled a groan.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Severus Snape faced his nemesis, bane, and greatest weakness across the expanse of pale green sheets. She glared right back at him, her hand clamped firmly over her mouth, pale face resolved.
"I- I- we… I mean…"
She removed her hand long enough to bark out. "No, this way leads to broken bottles at my neck, love struck vampires and rebars through stomachs. No, no, no. This isn't happening! No flukes!"
He blinked. "What? I don't see any bottles, broken or otherwise." He reached out a hand and she pressed herself closer into the wall, sliding away from him and closer to the door.
"Don't Severus. You don't know what'll happen. I can't… we can't…"
"We need to talk about this!"
"No we don't! Repress! Repress! It's my new motto; words to live by."
He moved fast, blocking her way out of the small room. She squeaked as she was brought up against his firm, very naked, chest. He gripped her shoulders tightly. "You will not get away from me again. I know you feel the same things; I know you had the same dream. Don't deny it."
She pushed weakly against him, tucking her fists into the sleeves of her fluffy cloud pajamas. "I'm not denying anything."
"It won't do you any good anyway; Draco already knows I'm sure."
She groaned, her knees going weak. "I know. He does, he's… not happy."
The potions master snorted, "I'd say not. So why not let him be mad for a reason?"
"What?" She looked up at him, frightened green eyes wide. Her hair slipped down her face, glinting like garnets in the morning light.
"I mean, kiss me once, like you mean it, and then he can be mad. We were dreaming, both of us before- an accident. If he's going to be furious, and I'm sure he will, give him a reason."
She shook her head mutely, lips pressed together in a harsh line.
"You know this chance will never come again. Just one kiss and I'll leave you alone. I'll go get ready for classes, leave you here to think."
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, to head the inevitable off at the pass, but she wasn't fast enough. His lips met hers, and it was the dream all over again. Soft and dark, she melted, consumed in a spiral she couldn't control. His hands wrapped tight in her hair, drawing her close, and she whimpered. Her delicate fingers traced the too prominent outline of his ribs, the thinness of near starvation and self flagellation. He tasted the same as he had less than a week ago, when he found out about her bond with Draco, of sadness and regret. Shaking herself, she pushed away.
They stood for a moment, foreheads touching, trembling. His hands unthreaded from her hair, running down her arms to hold her hands loosely. They looked at each other then, eyes meeting without hesitation.
He spoke softly, seriously, "Was it worth it?"
Willow paused for a moment, a moment when Severus thought is heart would break and bleed all over the front of her ridiculous pajamas, when she squeezed his hands tight and nodded. "Yes. Yes, it was worth it."
He smiled faintly in response before releasing her and striding out of the room. She stumbled over to the bed, falling heavily and touched her fingertips to her lips with shaking hands.
Chapter 34She fell back against the sheets; arms splayed wide, and stared at the canopy of her bed. The filmy material wafted softly in some unseen current and Willow reached one hand up as if to stroke it gently. She took a deep shuddering breath and let the hand fall back onto the fluffy feather comforter. She was almost convinced that if she sat up and looked around the world would have spun away without her, as if the only thing holding her together was the carved wood bed, gilt in the colors of springtime.
It was silly, she knew it was silly, but she didn't want to move. Moving would make it all real, the dream, the kiss, the admission.
And if it was real, she wasn't sure she handle it. If it was real, she may have messed up the one good, constant thing she had going for her. If it was real, her friendship with Severus could be ruined forever. If it was real, Draco may never forgive her.
Not that there was much to forgive- it was only one real kiss. One kiss, one thought, one moment in time when she said, "Yes". But that one moment was enough. She was numb, frozen on the inside, as if that numbness could protect her from herself. Her traitorous self, the same self that kissed Xander, caused Oz to walk away, the same self that drove Tara to leave her crying and miserable.
It was all her fault. If she couldn't keep her impulses under control, how was she ever going to manage her magic? Almost despairing, she squeezed her eyes shut tight. A desperate drowning sensation pulled at her heart, tugging her downward to a familiar darkness she feared. She remembered the awful certainty of her prior dabblings, both in love and magic, the certainty that it would end badly, that she would never get it together, that she'd be the softer side of Sears forever more, hiding as much from herself as from everyone else.
No.
She wasn't that Willow anymore; she'd changed. That Willow was left on some lake shore a dozen dimensions from here, crying for the love she had lost. That Willow hadn't come to a new world and started over, made friends, made enemies, made lovers. That Willow would never have had the courage to leave Sunnydale forever… Breathing deeply, she centered herself, chipping away the ice around her head and heart, forcing herself to face herself. It wasn't a very comfortable feeling, and each sliver hurt.
But when she was done, when she was laid bare, she looked on herself and was not ashamed. She was strong. She was powerful. She was clever. She was loving. She was… Willow. With a faint smile, she rolled over on her side, resting her palm over the dragon on her chest. She reached out, feeling along the lines of the bond, feeling for Draco.
With a gasp, she sat straight up. He was gone. There was nothing but a frozen wall of starlight where the warm silver of his presence used to be. He'd shut her off completely, more completely than when they had been separated by dimensions, and for the first time, Willow cried.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
When she was sure Severus had left his apartments, she crept out of her room. She clutched a clean set of clothes in one hand, and moved quickly to the bathroom. She passed through the professor's bed chamber without looking around, willing herself to ignore the expanse of dark sheets and piles of pillows. She moved as if in a dream, twisting knobs, running water, lathering her skin and hair. When her shower was finished, she dried herself off with the clean towels left on the counter and ran a comb through her hair. Only then did she turn and face the mirror.
The reflection that stared back didn't seem like her. The woman in the mirror glared out at her in accusation, a disapproving set to her lips. Willow could almost imagine her shaking her head. She reached out a slim finger to trace the woman's outline in the steam. As fingertip met fingertip, the woman almost smiled. Willow faintly smiled back.
She could do this. She would be the Willow she wanted to be. She didn't come back from the Hellmouth to fall apart and allow herself to be pulled in every direction. She was a grown woman for goodness sakes. She'd deal with the consequences; she'd put her life back the way she wanted it to be.
Nodding firmly once, she dressed in silence and walked determinedly out to the sitting room. To her surprise, Lala was just setting a small continental breakfast of fruit, pastries, and coffee on the low fireside table. When the elf noticed Willow, she dipped her head in greeting, smiling tentatively.
"Good morning, Lala. It's lovely to see you again."
"It is nice to see Miss Willow as well. Does Miss Willow like her breakfast?" The elf took another step closer, large ears quivering.
Willow took a seat in one of the armchairs and poured herself a cup of steaming dark coffee. "It's just fine. Would you like to have some with me?"
Lala's head snapped up, topaz colored eyes wide. "On no! Miss Willow, so wonderful to offer, but Lala has to attend to the rest of Master Snape's things."
"Hmm, that's right. He did mention you were his house elf, not the school's."
The diminutive creature nodded rapidly. "Oh, yes, Miss Willow. Lala's family has always served the Snapes! We are most proud to be Snape Elves."
Taking a sip of the wonderful coffee, Willow smiled tightly. "Yes, I could well imagine that Snape elves would be proud. If you don't mind me asking, what else did Severus instruct?"
The elf was busy in the fireplace and her response was muffled. "Master Snape said to help you with whatever you wished. Lala is to show you some books and make sure Miss Willow has everything she needs, especially for breakfast and lunch. Master Snape says that Miss Willow doesn't eat enough."
Willow arched an eyebrow and the elf froze, embarrassed that she'd told too much. "I'm sure I eat plenty. Besides, who could resist these croissants; they're utterly delicious." Putting action to words, she tore off a large bite and stuffed it in her mouth.
The elf cleaned silently for a moment, moving things too and fro, sweeping with magic and hands alike. Willow chewed thoughtfully, not really paying attention to the small house elf. If Severus had books for her to look at, she certainly wasn't going to say no. Maybe there was something in there that shed some light on her dreams. When she had eaten her fill, Willow cleared her throat to catch Lala's attention.
"Excuse me, Lala, if you wouldn't mind, I'd like to see those books now."
The elf bounced over, a large stack of very old and musty books balanced in her tiny hands. Willow was amazed that she wasn't smushed flat.
"Here you are, Miss Willow. Master Snape said to start with the ones on top."
The redhead nodded gravely, opening the top cover. There was a piece of parchment inside, covered with Severus's spidery script in a lurid shade of green. She skimmed it briefly, and flipped through the book. It was indeed old, written sometime in the late 1600's. It dealt with dream magic, especially prophetic dreams. She half wished Giles and Buffy were here. Perhaps it could help explain the origin of the Slayer dreams.
The pages were yellow and going brittle with age, but the letters were still crisp and clear, even if the diction wasn't quite what Willow was used to. There were intricate drawings throughout, depicting everything from slumbering maidens to succubi and incubi. She flipped through idly at first, skimming most of the preliminary information on dream meanings for ordinary dreams. She was pretty sure that when she dreamed of the glen with Tara, the glen was just a glen, not a womb metaphor. It seemed that even back then, the wizarding community was channeling Freudian dream analysis before the famous psychiatrist even existed.
She reached the end and pulled the professor's note out.
Willow;
I found several references to multiple planes of existence being used to channel dream energy. Please look through chapters five and six. I've made notes in the margins.
Severus
Indeed, chapter five dealt with a version of astral projection. It was entirely possible that Tara was projecting herself from wherever she currently resided, and Willow was channeling that energy into her dreams. Which would probably mean that Tara was sanctioned by the Powers That Made Things More Difficult Than They Should Be.
She sighed. It was all well and good, but there was nothing to indicate what the 'task' was she was supposed to pursue. Frustrated, she picked up the next book, and then the next. She spent the entire day curled in front of the fire, nibbling on fresh figs and chocolate stuffed pastries. The only sounds were the faint rustle of turning pages and the occasional 'mmm' and 'humph' from the redhead.
She jerked with surprise when the chamber door opened. Glancing quickly at the clock on the mantle, she realized it was almost time for dinner. She climbed to her knees and twisted around to see over the back of the chair.
Standing in the doorway was Severus Snape in all his black clad glory. His face was carefully neutral, revealing nothing. He didn't move until she slid back to her seat. "I thought that perhaps you may wish to eat some dinner. I've arranged for Lala to bring a tray for two to my chambers." He silently removed his outer robes. Willow still faced the fire, not looking at him as he crossed into the bedroom.
"That sounds fine."
"How was your day then?"
Sighing, Willow stacked the books on a low end table and told herself that there was no reason to feel awkward. "It went, I suppose. Read through all the books, made some notes of my own."
Severus 'hmmd' from the other room. Willow could hear rustling and a pair of thumps when his shoes hit the ground. The warm flames flickered hypnotically in the grate. She didn't want to look away, didn't want to deal with her life, but she'd made a promise to herself that morning to hide no more, awkwardness be damned.
There was a faint pop, and Lala appeared with a heavily laden tray. The house elf scurried to the small breakfast table under one of the few small windows. The glass was high, just at ceiling level, and narrow, showing a strip of ground overlooking the greenhouses. Dusk light filtered through, casting the room in shadow.
She heard him move behind her, and when he touched her shoulder she turned to smile at him faintly. "Dinner?"
Nodding, she stood and followed him to the table. It was set with a carafe of water, plates of roast chicken, onions, mashed potatoes, carrots and fluffy rolls. She sat across from him, unfolding the napkin into her lap. He served them both in silence and she watched his hands through lowered lids. Long and elegant with pale, translucent skin. His fingers were calloused in places from stirring cauldrons, but otherwise smooth. She mentally traced the fine blue tinged veins with her eyes and tried not to think how those hands had felt against her own skin, cool and soothing.
"Is everything to your satisfaction?"
"Hmm?" She jerked her eyes up to meet his. His face was still carefully neutral, and she stifled a flinch. "Yes, it looks delicious. The house elves always prepare such delightful meals." She took a bit of carrot and waved her fork around. It struck her then, how much this mirrored the stereotypical scene of domesticity. She gave a short mental giggle at the thought of Severus throwing open the door with the pronouncement, 'Willow! I'm home!' a la 'I Love Lucy'. She shook her head and said, "So why are we eating here? Don't you have to eat with the rest of the staff in the hall?"
He grimaced. "Yes, ordinarily I would. But Dumbledore suggested you may want some company."
She raised her eyebrows. "He knows we're back?"
"He knows all sorts of things."
They trailed off into silence for a moment, eating in a relatively stiff peace. The food, while simple, was delicious, and brought back memories of the first time Lala had served her roast chicken at Severus's request. It seemed so long ago, a whole lifetime or two in fact. She pushed the potatoes around with her spoon, making a little hole for the gravy.
"I read your suggestions earlier. You may be right about the astral projection. It got me thinking about the Native American concept of Dream Time. Maybe I should check with Madame Pince tomorrow to see if she has any relevant books. It may connect, given the coyote myth…"
He started at the near-mention of Draco. "Yes… Yes, that might be worthwhile. Any other thoughts?"
"Well, if Tara's spirit is communicating, I have a good idea who's responsible." He looked at her curiously and she rolled her eyes. "The same people that usually mess up our lives. Or not exactly people. Anyway, the Powers have a real yen for redemption types, and I'd say I fit the profile these days."
He arched an eyebrow. "Indeed." He sliced a bit of onion and contemplated it carefully before eating it. "You are expected back tomorrow morning. I'll show you a lesser known way out of the castle and you can arrive as if you'd walked from Hogsmeade. You may wish to concoct an appropriate story as to your disappearance. Dumbledore did mention a family emergency, so…" He shrugged. She nodded and looked down at the napkin in her lap.
Severus took a sharp breath and reached his hand out to cover hers where it lay on the table. Neither person moved for a moment before Willow touched his hand briefly with her fingers. She squeezed slightly then withdrew both hands. He raised his head to look her in the eyes, and Willow's lips twisted down in a frown.
"Severus…"
"Don't."
"I- I want you to know that maybe-"
"What? Maybe another time it would have worked?"
It was her turn to shrug, looking off into an unseen distance. "No, I'm not saying that at all. It may never have worked, no matter when we met. We're so similar; we might destroy each other instead."
Dark eyes flashing, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Really." He snorted. "I am perfectly capable of messing myself up all on my own, thank you very much."
"I'm sorry; that's not what I meant." She sighed, pushing her hair back from her shoulders. "I always seem to have things just happen to me and I'm left trying to pick up the pieces. I don't want that any more. This is the new and improved Willow, the proactive Willow. I can't continue down this road with you and stay sane. I know what it does to people, and I wasn't kidding about rebars and bottles this morning."
He scowled.
"Severus, don't think for a moment I don't care about you."
"Oh, so this is the 'let's just be friends' speech?" He pushed back from the table, rocking the carafe around, dangerously close to spilling the water. "Fine. Friends, if that's what you want. But just remember that there's more here at stake than you."
The redhead blinked up at him, puzzled. "I don't understand…"
"Of course not. You're not much more than a child, always thinking of yourself. It takes two to tango, dear heart." He stood, walking to the fireplace, turning his back on her. "You want your life all neat and tidy, orderly. What about me? When do I get the fairly tale ending? What makes you so much more deserving than I?"
"I'm not, not at all! You should be happy, but I don't think more smoochies are going to make things better between us."
"No, maybe not. But who's to know unless we try?" His shoulders were stiff and straight, and Willow could see it was taking all his self control not to shout.
"We don't get to try! Why can't you see that?" She was standing in the middle of the room now, with no idea how she got there. Her hands were clenched at her sides and she glared, willing him to turn around.
"And why not?"
"Why not? It's not just either you or me, you know. Draco." She strode towards him, spinning him around to face her.
Black hair glinting blue in the firelight, he glared down at her. He lifted one hand to stroke a lock of burnished red from her face. "Ah, because he got to you first I'm out of the running? You can't tell me you love him."
Silence. Willow looked down then, absurdly contemplating the pattern in the Oriental rug on the floor- serpents twinning around golden balls.
"You do." The wavering hand dropped to his side heavily.
"I'm sorry; I don't know how things happened so fast." She looked up again, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She rubbed her eyes and hoped she wasn't too blotchy.
"Things always happen fast. It just doesn't seem so at the time." He hung his head resignedly, stepping cautiously away. "So that's it. It was a race I didn't even know I was running."
The tears evaporated in the heat of anger and Willow poked at his chest with her index finger. "I am not a race! I am a person! Don't think that I'm some prize."
"Aren't you? Any man would value you as such." He waved his hand airily. "Who knows what we could have been? You aren't willing to try; I'm not willing to tilt at windmills forever." He slumped into the nearest armchair. "Just for once…" he sighed, "Just for once I wish it could be me, that I was the one that belonged, that'd I'd never have to be alone again. It's awfully empty in my heart sometimes."
She knelt on the floor by his feet. The fire crackled and popped at her back and she could feel the warmth through her thin cotton shirt. He wasn't looking at her and she tentatively reached out and placed her hand on his knee. He swiveled in her direction, dark eyes unreadable. She whispered, "Sometimes I wish it could be you, too."
He smiled without humor. "I can't even find in me to desire you ill. If he really makes you happy, then-" he breathed in deeply, "Then I hope it works. It won't be easy."
Willow's smile was tinged with sadness. "I know." She sat back on her heels.
"And if you ever need me…" Severus went back to contemplating the fire, dancing flames reflecting in his eyes.
"I don't deserve that." She stood, wringing her hands in front her of her. She felt squeezed tight, miserable despite knowing she was doing the right thing.
The potions master laughed harshly. He looked up at her, face back to the arrogant, distant mask that so unnerved her when she first arrived. "I know. But you can't help what your heart feels any more than I can. More's the pity."
"No, no pity. There's no room for pity in our lives." There was distant, far off look in her eyes as if she searched for something he could not see.
He tilted his head, watching her closely. "Perhaps you're right. There's a war coming, short of another miracle. And for those of us in the path of inevitable conflict? Well, pity will do us no boon." He waved his hand in dismissal.
She opened her mouth to speak again, but changed her mind. Grabbing her notes and an unread book or two, she retreated to her rooms, shutting the door behind her.
Willow stood outside the entry hall to Hogwarts and gripped her bag tightly. She was wrapped in a warm cloak, but still a chill shuddered over her skin. Dawn was only shortly over, and the brisk air carried a hint of moisture aside from the slight breeze blowing in over the lake. The redheaded witch reminded herself to bring a haunch of beef down to Squidward and have a chat later. She wondered if he missed her as much as she'd, surprisingly, missed him.
Looking up, she saw the huge oaken doors looming above. Riveted heavily with iron studs, they seemed the picture of medieval architecture, made for keeping all sorts of beasties out. They certainly didn't look friendly, and she steeled herself to open the door, unsure of what she'd find on the other side.
Severus had woken her this morning with a sharp rap on the door, and a very stiff, "Good morning, Miss Rosenberg." She'd sighed at the formality, but couldn't blame him for hiding behind that stiff British exterior. The forced distance would probably do them good, and in a small way she appreciated it.
Breakfast had been a painful experience, neither acknowledging the heartache of the other; rather buttering toast and spreading jam, commenting on the weather and asking how the students were coming along.
They were both relieved when he showed her out a small secret door through the dungeons and she picked her way over the cold ground to the entrance of the school. Hagrid had been out and about, doing something loud with Fang, and Willow hoped he didn't notice her coming from the entirely wrong direction.
The great doors creaked open, and the first thing Willow saw was the clock tallying the different house totals. It seemed Gryffindor was slightly ahead of Slytherin, but surprisingly, Hufflepuff wasn't too far behind. She smiled to herself, and turned to head up to her rooms. On the stairway, she stopped when she heard a familiar voice call her name.
"Willow! It's wonderful to see you back again. I trust things with your family are well?" Minerva McGonagall strode up the stairs, a wide smile on her face. She embraced the young woman warmly, and Willow beamed in response.
"It was definitely an interesting trip home, though I'm most certainly glad to be back. You have no idea how much I've missed this place." She allowed the older witch to take a bag and together they climbed the stairs.
"Albus mentioned you'd gone home, and Remus and I were worried you'd not come back. How did you manage it anyway?"
Frowning slightly, Willow spoke with hesitation, "Professor Snape managed to create a sort of portkey home, but we weren't prepared for it to work the first time out." Willow guessed the Minerva had been partially filled in on events, but since Severus mentioned that no one besides himself and Dumbledore had known that Draco was missing as well, she covered the actual reason for her disappearance. "I certainly don't recommend the flight plan, but it worked well enough."
Minerva narrowed her eyes and looked at Willow closely. "If you say so, dear. You were so intent on going home at first, why ever did you return?" They stopped the passageway not far from the entrance to Dumbledore's office and the transfigurations professor took one of Willow's hands in her own.
Choosing her words carefully before she spoke, the redhead said softly, "That's true. When I first arrived, I wanted to return… but after a while, I felt like I belonged here." She squeezed the other woman's fingers tightly. "I belong here. I've never felt like I belonged in my entire life, not once growing up. But here, amongst you all, in this strange place in a strange world, I finally felt like I was coming home. It felt… wonderful."
As she spoke the words, she realized how true they were. This was home, in more ways than she'd thought. Her eyes lit up, and a broad smile stretched her lips. She felt as if a great weight dropped from her shoulders, and any lingering doubt about whether or not it was right to return, obscure messages from the Powers aside, were evaporated. Subconsciously, she straightened her shoulders and impulsively reached to draw the other woman into another hug.
"And I am so glad to be home. Do you think Dumbledore is awake yet?"
Minerva arched an eyebrow. "My dear, I hardly think he sleeps these days." Her tone turned grim, and she frowned. "I don't suppose you've heard of all that's happened this past week? There's been another attack."
Willow turned startled eyes her way. "Attack?!? As in a Death Eater attack? Severus didn't- I mean, I haven't spoken to anyone yet, so I had no idea!"
The reached the griffon at the entrance to Dumbledore's private rooms and the professor murmured the password. They rode the revolving stairs up to the office, and Minerva continued softly, "Yes, another family. He's taunting us, and it's almost holiday season. Albus is considering sending the children home early, as some of the parents don't want to be parted from them, if in fact there is another war coming. And I can't say that I blame them."
Numb with a growing horror, Willow stumbled into the room. Dumbledore was already sitting behind his desk, grimly reading the morning papers. He looked at the new arrivals and his face lit up with a smile.
"Miss Rosenberg, I am so delighted that you decided to return to us. And for an extended stay, if I may ask?"
"I think it's safe to say I'll be here permanently. There were certain… factors… that persuaded me that it was the best course of action. And that was even before I heard of the attack! What's been going on?" She sat opposite the headmaster, graciously accepting a cup of tea Minerva handed her. She missed morning tea as well, she realized as she sipped an aromatic mouthful. Even Giles' tea didn't compare to this, especially on a chilly morning the likes of which they saw five times a year in Sunnydale.
The grim look returned, and the silver haired wizard held out a paper. "Why don't you read for yourself, dear? I fear that things will only get worse. I don't know if Minerva told you, but we're under pressure to end school in two weeks, rather than a month, to allow children to go home to their families. The Ministry, while ignoring the threat of Voldemort himself, encourages the idea, since it's apparent that something is happening." He ran a tired hand over his face, nearly looking his age.
Willow and Minerva exchanged glances. "Is there anything I can do? I know I'm not… well, actively doing anything. If you need me…" Willow fidgeted, irrationally afraid that after she'd made the claim of home and belonging out in the hallway, it would all be yanked away from her if these people didn't trust her.
Her fears were unfounded, however, when Dumbledore said softly, "My dear, we would appreciate any assistance. However, at this time, we're not sure of our course of action. We have always been on the defensive with Voldemort, and any move towards an offensive would require assistance from the Ministry, and they're unwilling to even acknowledge the problem."
Willow frowned. "I'm happy to think on the subject anyway. I'll be writing up the account of my travels with Professor Snape, not for any hope of publication, just to have a record." She shrugged. "Besides, it's not like I'd recommend that manner of travel to anyone."
The trio shared a chuckle before Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I'd imagine not. As for other news while you were away, young Master Malfoy has been taken ill. Perhaps, after you've settled back in, you'd wish to look in on him. I'm sure he would like to see you." The words were friendly, but there was a steely glint in the old wizard's eyes. Willow didn't doubt that Severus was right when he intimated that Dumbledore didn't miss a trick.
She kept her features carefully neutral and nodded. "I'll be right in to see him in a bit. I've got to take my bags back to my rooms, and I think I'd like to come down to breakfast." She smiled, a picture of innocence, and stood. "I meant it, the helping thing. I'm all sorts of research girl, or I was, so point me to some books, or papers if you think they'll do more good." With that, she nodded to them both, set her teacup down on the desk and walked back down the stairs.
It was only a matter of minutes when she reached her rooms, pausing to say, "Oriental Poppies," all the while wondering if she should change the password. Her rooms were just as she remembered them, save a few objects moved around. She figured this must have happened when the Slytherins looked for her wallet and other belongings. With a sigh, she dropped the bags and sank down on the bed. The room was soothing in its blues, grays, and creams- so very different from the lovely chambers that Severus had created for her. She thought if she'd come back to more green and silver in her rooms she'd have had to redecorate…
Willow bustled around briefly, unshrinking various things, filling the cupboards and closets. In all too short a time, however, it was done, and she had the choice of seeing Draco or going to breakfast. She chose breakfast; it would give her some more time to sort out what to do with her husband.
She was impressed that he'd managed to block her out so successfully over the past day, but also hadn't tried to force contact. If he wanted the safety of his own thoughts, it would only have made him more incensed if she'd bullied her way into his mind. It hurt, but Willow understood hurt. She'd hurt and been hurt more times than she wanted to count, and she was willing to give Draco his space, for a little while longer anyway.
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
All too soon, breakfast was over. Willow had munched her way through roast tomatoes and a bowl of oatmeal, managing to avoid all real conversations. She'd exchanged brief pleasantries with Professor Sprout, not unlike her first night at Hogwarts, and had nodded to Remus, indicating she'd see him later. Hermione had tried to get her attention, but Willow made excuses about meeting up later, and slipped from the hall.
And now she faced the trio of field mice, all curled snugly in a mouse hole lined with soft grasses. She knocked softly, so as not to wake them, but got no response. She felt a slight push at her mind, and knew that Draco was very aware of who was outside his room. When he remained silent, she knocked harder, sending the mice into a flurry of startled activity.
After a long moment wherein Willow counted six beetles, three moths and an indistinguishable grub in the painting, she heard a low, "Come in."
The door swung open slowly, and she took a deep breath before striding into the room, head up, chin level. She couldn't see the blonde wizard through the gloom at first, but he soon drew the blinds, letting the morning light wash over her. He was perched on the window sill, curled up in a comfortable set of Slytherin sweats, and did not look friendly. His back was stiff and straight, and though his knees were drawn up on the bench as well, there was no hint of the relaxed elegance she'd grown to associate with him.
"Draco." She stepped closer, but halted when he made no move to acknowledge her presence. "I think we need to talk."
He sighed mightily, finally turning his head to look at her. "Do we?" His tone was cold as ice, and it sent shivers down Willow's spine. There was nothing warm and loving about him, from the icy glitter in his eyes to the chilly tone of voice. He was every inch a glacial creature, carved from frost and light.
A little part inside of Willow died at the thought that once again, she had done this to someone. With Tara, the violation of trust had been about magic. With Oz, it had been about Xander and illicit smoochies. With Draco… with Draco it was probably a bit of the second complicated by the first. Magic had gotten them into this mess, but it was her, all her, that let things get so far with Severus. Time to undo the damage, if it was possible.
"Draco, I am sorry."
His eyes glittered, and despite sitting in bright lights, the dilated pupils shone with obsidian. He said softly, deadly, "Sorry. You're sorry, and that makes everything better."
"No, that's not it." She took another tentative step forward, trying to remember not to stammer, not to give in and wring her hands together. "Please let me in, I just want you to know how much I regret hurting you."
He fiddled with a bandage bound around his palm, eyes never leaving her face. "But not enough that you said no when he kissed you. You didn't push him away, you stayed. You… wanted it. You wanted him."
"Draco-"
"NO! You made your choice clear. You have nothing left to say. Now leave." He turned back to the window, face shrouded in shadow from the drapes. She wasn't sure she could hold it together much longer, and moved around the circle of light to stand at the other end of the window seat.
When he still didn't acknowledge her, she stomped her foot and crossed her arms in frustration. "No, you listen here, buster. I didn't come here to have you not listen to me, to push me away, without really hearing me."
"Hear what? Are you going to tell me you didn't kiss him? That it meant nothing?"
"No-" A great rising tide of panic welled up, and Willow started to shake. She'd avoided this confrontation too long, afraid of this very reaction, and didn't know how to make him understand, to make him listen.
"Then there's nothing to talk about. Get out." His eyes remained focused on some far distant point, and though he tried to hide it, Willow could see a faint tremor in his fingers, wrapped so tightly around his knees.
"There is everything to talk about! Listen to me, of if you don't want to listen with your ears, then open the link and feel me. Sure, I kissed him back, and yes part of me liked it. But there are reasons why!"
He snorted. "Reasons, she says. Reasons why kissing another man is supposed to make me happy."
"I never said it would make you happy, but maybe help you understand."
"I don't have to understand anything. It was perfectly clear from my point of view." The arrogance rolled off his tongue, and Willow was tempted to wipe the superior sneer from his face with a firm smack.
"Nothing is ever perfectly clear! Nothing! I haven't been clear on anything in so long, except one thing. Want to know what that one thing is? You. I am clear on you, on us… But if you'd left the link open, or even tried to talk to me, you'd see that I didn't choose him. I turned him down- for you. For us, I suppose I should say. Damn it, Draco! Feel me!"
"You want me to let you in? You want me to know how you feel? What about me-do you really want to know?" He sneered at her. "No, I don't think you do. I've had enough. Get out."
Finally furious, Willow reached out and grabbed his hand, yanking it close. "I don't think so. I wanted this to be easier, but the hard way is fine with me. Never, ever, forget who you're messing with."
Nearly nose to nose, she let her eyes bleed black, and drew up her power like a fist. Draco's eyes widened as he really looked at her for the first time since she'd walked in, and he breathed in sharply. Beyond the point of being sensitive, she smashed her magic forward, flowing through the link, plowing through Draco's defenses, bursting through the starlight barrier. It brought them both to their knees, sliding off the bench.
All of Draco's rage and pain, hurt and betrayal, washed over Willow in agonizing waves. Her voice caught in her throat, and she was unable to even cry out. She understood then, what her betrayal had done, how the violation of first love could wound her lover nearly beyond repair. She had been his salvation, his hope, his passion, and she had nearly thrown it all away.
Tears rolling down her cheeks, she struggled to find herself in the torrent of suffocating emotions. When she was able, she felt through the link, pulling Draco to her, and wrapped him up in whatever warmth she could find. Woven in throughout were the reasons, however specious, that drove her to accept the second kiss. The frustration at having her choices taken away from her by the arrogance of his youth and assumed power, the all too human desire to have her cake and eat all the cupcakes as well, the unresolved tension between herself and the dark haired wizard which had been thwarted all too soon, and finally the desire to see whether she was a strong as she thought she was, as strong as she could be.
When the dizzying tide of thoughts and feelings ebbed, they sat on the floor, exhausted and shaking. His hand was still firmly grasped in hers, and Willow ran her fingers lightly over the bandage.
"What happened?"
He frowned. "An accident. Seems I shouldn't drink and link at the same time. Could have disastrous results."
"I'm sorry." She snorted. "Seems to be the refrain for the day."
She looked up then, moss green eyes meeting icy silver. The frozen look on his face cracked and melted a bit, letting her see the pain behind it. "I know you are, sorry, I mean. And it helps, but…"
"But it's not enough." She hung her head, looking again at their clasped hands.
"I can feel you with him, his lips on yours, and I want to wash it all away. I want it gone, this feeling that someone else has dared touch you…" A flicker of life flared up in his eyes, and he snarled, baring teeth.
She jumped back slightly, eyes wide. "Draco?"
"You. Are. Mine." He pounced forward, pushing her to the ground, holding her beneath him with the weight of his body. He breathed deep at the junction of her neck to her collarbone and growled, "No one touches what's mine."
With that, he nipped her neck lightly, then with more force. Willow couldn't decide whether to moan or throw him off her, so she settled on squirming. That only seemed to excite him and he growled again, shaking her slightly, pushing her shoulders down. He licked from collar to ear, sliding a knee between her legs, pushing up the skirts of her robes. When Willow tried to reach her hands around his body, he snapped his own hands up, pinioning hers tightly, and stretched them over her head.
"When I said forever, I meant forever. You will be touched by no one besides me again, do you hear?"
And Willow heard. She heard the desperate call to claim her as his own, to reestablish the ties they'd bonded less than a week ago. There was a wildness here that surpassed healing emotional wounds. She heard the coyote in his voice and felt the animal in his touch, and when his knee bumped up against her pelvis, grinding slightly, she finally did moan.
He nipped her earlobe and kissed along her jaw until his lips covered hers. Hot and angry, his lips parted, tongue darting out to lick her bottom lip, biting it not so tenderly, and when she opened her mouth, he pushed inside. He pulled her wrists together, pinning both with one hand. With one hand free, he ran his fingers down her side, caressing the edges of her breasts, scraping the fabric roughly with his nails.
Working swiftly, he undid the buttons holding her outer robes on, and working with surprising skill, undid the zippers and clasps of her skirt and top. When he was done, he pushed back, looking down at her, and smiled. It wasn't a particularly nice smile, not full of warmth and fuzzy goodness. This was a predatory smile, and Willow blushed over every exposed inch of skin.
His eyes gleamed and he reached around to unhook her bra, following soon her underwear slid down her hips and over her thighs, and then she was naked. He raked his vision over her, and closed his eyes, whispering softly under his breath, "Mine."
And then all she knew was the taste of him in her mouth, the feel of him on her skin, and the pull of mild pain and deep longing as he entered her, straining against her. There was nothing more than the feel of sweat on soft skin, the rub of fabric against her back, the tension in his muscles as she wrapped her legs around his, pulling him even closer, the roughness of the floor under her wrists. His breath was hot on her cheek, his pants as fierce on her hair as the fingers coiled tightly through the red locks, and when she came, she cried.
Tense even on a good day, that morning the potions classroom was filled with a deadly silence that only the wrath of a disgruntled Severus Snape could engender. Not even the irrepressible Gryffindor trio wanted to risk his ire, instead faintly murmuring under their breath about what could possibly have made the professor’s legendary bad mood even worse.
Oh, he wasn’t throwing the cauldrons around, or even hissing out more insults than usual. No, there was something about the way he held himself that chilly early winter morning that bespoke misery to any student that roused his fury.
So, Hermione didn’t. She’d prepped Neville the night before, and surprisingly, he seemed to be managing the lesson fairly well on her own. The young witch’s own ingredients were sliced and diced, slivered and chopped almost by rote, leaving her mind to wander, and wander it did.
She surreptitiously glanced across the laboratory to the Slytherin side once more, noticing that Snape’s eye often traveled the same path as hers, boring with frightening intensity into the empty seat next to Blaise Zabini, the seat of Draco Malfoy.
Ever since her encounter with the silver Slytherin prince the previous morning, her mind was whirling. Despite researching well into late night with Ginny, the two girls had been unable to find any documented cases where a witch or wizard’s eyes had bled to black, presence of magic or no. Not even some of the more frightening reference books on black magic were any help, which left unfortunately led them right back to the uncomfortable nagging question of where she’d seen something similar before.
She replayed the events of Halloween morning over and over again, trying to remember one more little detail. She’d been sitting in the pub after sending her parents home in the company of Willow Rosenberg. All of a sudden she’d heard the screams, like the others, and had run outside. Then her memory froze, as if stuck on the horror of seeing her parents spinning helplessly in mid-air, so like the poor Muggle camp ground owner the night of the Quidditch cup… perhaps even tormented by the same people. She knew that Willow was standing just out of her sight, doing something, and she remembered one brief glance her way, a lone young woman standing stiffly, hands outstretched.
But then her memory failed her, as it had Ginny, for both were fixated on her parents, that they were safe and whole. There was something though in that brief look though that gave her pause, more than the fleeting appearance of darkness where the young red head’s eyes should have been. She knew something else, if she could just wrap her mind around it…
The wand! She couldn’t remember a wand, though surely there had to be one. Though wandless witches and wizards had existed, history had examples- mostly dark, but they were there. Wandless magic was usually confined to smaller tasks, ones requiring less control. Rescuing her parents certainly didn’t fit that qualification. She frowned, adding burdock root and stirring carefully three times counterclockwise.
Maybe there had been a wand and she’d missed it; after all she’d had more traumatic things on her mind. But just in case, perhaps she decided to run through the other times she’s see Willow work magic… and came up short. Willow just didn’t use magic around the students, and Hermione couldn’t even remember seeing the tip of a wand peeking out of Willow’s robes. No quick spells, no cleaning charms, no summoning charms… wait! At the time, they’d assumed Draco had surreptitiously accio’d the invisibility cloak while they were overcome with shock at that kiss, but what if it had been Willow all along, not some part of a dramatic twist of paired magic…
Snape was out and moving through the students once again, muttering words of disapproval, causing Neville to drop in an extra pinch of candied moth wing. Hermione mentally rolled her eyes and scooted her cauldron a bit further away. In a few short minutes she was predicting an overflow in dramatic puce to come burbling out of hapless Neville’s cauldron.
Snape was already moving on, pausing by Blaise’s seat to glare ominously. As far as Hermione knew, the young Slytherin wizard had always done passably well at potions, or well enough not to draw the sort of attention that Snape seemed to level at his bench. Squirming uncomfortably, Draco’s potions mate avoided eye contact and meticulously cooled his cauldron. Bereft of any mistakes to criticize, Snake hissed a dramatic breath and moved on focusing his attention on the clueless duo of Goyle and Crabbe.
What was it about him? Hermione wondered. Had Draco done something to draw Snape’s hostilities? Not that she minded it being off her merry band of Gryffindors for once, but what could the coincidence be that both she and Snape were pondering the mystery of the Malfoy heir on the same morning?
The only thing she could come up with was the latest Death Eater activity. She knew that Snape had been exposed as a spy to some of the more prominent Death Eaters, and now resided almost entirely in the castle and Hogsmeade, believing until Halloween that they were both relatively safe from overt Death Eater festivities. With Harry’s propensity for finding himself in unwarranted trouble, Dumbledore had taken to treating him like the adult he was becoming, filling Harry in on things that potentially could affect his future.
Harry, of course, felt it prudent to share things with his two best friends. Thus, Hermione was aware that the entire faculty had been on edge with the recent Muggle deaths, though she didn’t need insider information to see that. Surely Draco hadn’t been involved in the attacks. Though he was ill, students had been to see him. Pansy hadn’t stopped wailing on the subject, saying her beloved Drakie was positively wasting away. Hermione hadn’t though that, though he had looked a bit worse for wear.
A bit worse for wear, complete with strange magical surges and alarming behaviors. Come to think of it, he’d been approaching civil all semester- distinctly out of character for him. Sure he was still snarky and rude and generally mean to non-Slytherins, but the baby Death Eater rhetoric had been nearly absent, with only a few lip service appearances. Perhaps it was Willow’s influence…
What was her influence anyway? Could Willow have done something to Draco, a spell perhaps? She seemed so friendly and open, and was close to both McGonagall and Remus. Surely they wouldn’t be friends with a dark witch, would they? They’d know the difference, right?
Hermione made a note to talk to Willow later since she hadn’t been able to speak to her after breakfast. This wasn’t that suspect, since she’d just returned from a visit home, even if she did look exhausted and a bit drawn. Breakfast had been chaotic as usual anyway, what with the hurried rumors about another attack in the wind-- students were eager to return home. Hermione thought this was a silly since there would be no places safer than Hogwarts, but maybe it would make them feel more secure around their families. Personally, she was more than a bit annoyed that the exams might be pushed back till after the Yule season.
Crystallizing out some impurities, she thought back to her non-Weasley ruddy-headed friend. From what she’d gathered, Willow’s home life hadn’t been all that great, what with her mother trying to burn her at the stake. Which, now that she thought about it, was very odd indeed. When she’d first heard the story, Hermione had been distracted by the horror of it, the idea that one’s own mother would turn on her children, but now… it made her wonder. Even if her mother was under a spell, how did she not know her daughter was a witch until she was almost an adult? Wouldn’t Willow have been in school by then, at one of the American Wizarding schools?
A bit baffled that she’d not really thought through all the discrepancies in Willow’s story before, she stifled her urge to whisper to the boys. They’d not been privy to her and Ginny’s research session, and she didn’t want to get them worked up over what was probably nothing. Telling them her concerns, that perhaps Willow was a dark witch working mojo on their worst enemy, wouldn’t do any good in the already charged atmosphere.
Nearly finished, Hermione gave one final stir and looked at her potion with satisfaction. It was fizzing slightly and gleamed like mother-of-pearl: perfect for the Evanescence Potion, designed to make the drinker lighter than air with a gentle gleam, a complicated party trick. She ladled portions into three small vials and stoppered them neatly, setting them aside for grading. Woefully, she saw the first frothing of poor Neville’s cauldron and said softly, “Oh, Neville. Not again.”
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Clinging to Draco’s torso like it was her last salvation, Willow broke down into sobs. They still lay on the floor where they’d collapsed only moments before in various stages of undress. He gently untangled and unstuck them, sweeping Willow up into his arms with a faint groan, burying his nose in her neck. She tightened her shifted grip on his neck, refusing to meet his eyes. He stood, carefully, and carried her into the bathroom. He sat her on the edge of the tub, still holding her close, and fiddled with a few knobs.
The warm fragrance of sage and chamomile flowed into the bathroom, swirling around in steamy wisps that tickled the nose and caressed bare skin. When the water was at the right temperature and the tub full enough, Draco lowered his wife into the bath, shedding his remaining shirt and socks and sliding in after her.
She still faced away from him, however, and he turned her such that her back was cradled against his chest with her body effectively trapped between his legs. Neither spoke for a few minutes, letting the warmth soak into their bodies, the warm scents relaxing tense muscles. Eventually, Willow’s sobs slowed to a few sniffles, and eventually to weary silence.
“What is to be done with you, my lovely witch? What brave new world awaits us now?”
Startled by the philosophical bent of his questions, Willow tensed. “What do you mean?”
“Are we to forever keep hurting each other? I cannot fathom a world without you, and despite being overwhelmingly relieved that you chose me, I will not allow that sort of behavior again.” Though softly spoken, Draco’s words carried a solemn, deadly weight. The feeling of those words in her mind was just as heavy, and he accentuated it with a mental push that nearly left her reeling. He sighed, pulling her tighter against his chest, watching her hair float out around them both like an auburn halo.
“Oh, believe you me, buster, I don’t want that again. The ooglies in my stomach were enough to convince me otherwise… I am so sorry.” She hitched her breath in anticipation of more sobs, but the soothing smoothing of long tender fingers down her arms stilled them before they began. He paired this with a soft crooning in her mind that sent Willow’s soul sighing.
“I know.” He rested his chin on her head, sinking a bit lower in the water.
“I thought I had a forever love, you know; then it was gone. I nearly ended everything because it was lost to me. Can I survive that again? Can this world?” Her eyes were wide and dark, the pupil almost completely obliterating the moss green iris. She spoke almost to herself, fixing her gaze on the far wall intently.
“You won’t have to; I’ll always be here for you.” Draco let out one trembling breath, eyes closed.
“Can you promise me that? Maybe living in Sunnydale has taken its toll- how can I believe in forever anymore? I could turn around tomorrow and you’d be nothing but dust on the wind.” The horrific image of a bedraggled Draco at the Summer’s kitchen island the morning after his encounter with the vampire pack flashed in front of her eyes and she shuddered.
“We aren’t in Sunnydale anymore. I’m not earmarked for a dusty death any time soon.” He could almost look back on the events of Willow’s home town with strangled humor, but he was sure it would be a while before his body forgot being thrown painfully into a tree and smushed on sun warmed asphalt.
Willow was silent for a moment, but couldn’t resist saying, “This may not be the mouth of Hell, but it may be no safer here. Have you heard about the attacks?”
“Attacks?” Genuinely puzzled, Draco drew his pale eyebrows up in confusion.
“Death Eaters murdered a family while we’re gone, and they’re considering ending school soon to send students home to their families.” Willow spoke plainly, starkly, as if to distance herself from the horror of rising tide of dark.
The young wizard drew in a sharp breath. Despite not being overly fond of anything other than pureblood witches, some of Willow’s compassion and humanity couldn’t help but have rubbed off on him. “Merciful Zeus.”
“Tell me about it. So you aren’t going to be eaten by vampires or sacrificed to apocalypse bound demons, but what about your other family legacy? The nasty, icky, black magicky one?”
He sighed, low and deep. “What will come, will come, but I won’t- I can’t!”
“We can never escape our pasts, Draco.” She twined her fingers with his, drawing them across her stomach. He tightened his grip, relishing the smoothness of her skin.
“I am not trying to escape. Thwart yes, reinvent yes, but escape no. I am a Malfoy, and there’s no changing that, not that I would want to.”
“But…”
“I think I have an ally though… my mother.” Draco’s tone was thoughtful; he’d obviously mulled the matter at great length.
“Your mother?”
“We talked yesterday, and she has some plans, I believe. As much as she’s Lucius’ wife, she’s also my mother. I don’t think she’d feed me to the lions.” He almost sounded sure, the tones of a child convinced that his mother would never lose him in the holiday shopping rush, but still had her coat tails clutched firmly in hand just in case.
“Then you’re lucky,” Willow murmured. Sadness caused her shoulders to slump; memories of her last contact with her own parents were still fresh in her mind.
“I’m lucky in more ways than one, Firestarter,” he whispered with a wiggle of his hips.
She smiled then, even though he could not see. She drew his fingers up from the water, placing small kisses on the tips. Draco moaned behind her, shifting to be more comfortable. Willow giggled faintly.
“Laugh all you want, love, but you’re stuck with me till the end of time. Those binding spirits said so, remember?”
“How could I forget, what with the blinding agony and pain?” She snuggled closer, watching the water swirl through her hair, wondering what it would have looked like with Draco’s silver locks floating like spun light.
“Yes, well, no one’s perfect. Speaking of my mother, we’re having high tea with her tomorrow at Lulalinda’s.”
“What?!?”
Draco couldn’t help the snicker that escaped his lips. “Didn’t I tell you? You’re going to meet your mother-in-law tomorrow-- and she knows more about us than I would have ever thought possible.”
“How much more?”
Suddenly serious again, Draco sat up straighter, twisting Willow around to face him. “She figured out the binding on her own, both that I attempted it and that it must have succeeded. I think we should let her in on your real story.”
Eyes wide, Willow just stared. Telling Narcissa Malfoy, wife of one of the most notorious dark wizard of the time, was not high on her priority list. “Did I hear you right? You want to tell your mother I’m from another dimension?”
“That about sums it up. Nothing about your abilities or past activities, but that you’re not… from around here. I believe she’s got something up her sleeve regarding your past anyway, and it may make it easier for you to blend into our world if she has all the assistance she needs. I know this sounds like a lot, since only Dumbledore, McGonagall, Lupin and Snape know your situation, but believe me when I say Mother knows how to keep a secret.”
Having very little doubt that Narcissa was more than capable of keeping a secret, Willow was suddenly struck with the image of herself in strange old fashioned gowns serving Victorian tea to a bunch of old biddies wearing witches hats and discussing the latest uses for flobberworms. “Um…”
“I think Mother will be quite taken with you; how could she not be? I only want your transition into the Malfoy household to be as easy as possible.”
“How easy can it be with your father there? He has to remember what happened at Halloween! I don’t see him welcoming me with open arms.”
Draco frowned. “No, I agree. But Mother… well, let’s wait and see what she has to say tomorrow.”
Arching one copper eyebrow, Willow just shook her head, bending her neck to lean her forehead against his chest. If she was going to rebuild the shaken trust with Draco, she’d have to start listening to him, or at least acknowledging he may have a point. He needed that from her. She whispered softly, “What ever you say, dear.”
The next day dawned bright and cold, not a cloud in the sky. The rest of Friday morning had been spent in Draco’s rooms, looking through all of the things he’d retrieved from her world. There were a few copies of the Harry Potter books, one signed by Dawn, an entire wardrobe or two, and surprisingly several examples of Muggle technology. Most notably, a flat screen TV, Xbox console and a large trunk of games lay miniaturized on the floor of Draco’s closet. Willow wasn’t sure exactly what he planned on doing with them, but the embarrassed flush on Draco’s cheeks was enough to entice a snicker from her.
After a sparse lunch served by floo from the kitchens, Willow had wandered the castle, speaking with the professors about ‘wrapping up her study’ with the intention of leaving after this semester was done. Lupin had seemed genuinely delighted that she’d returned, much like McGonagall, and was elated to accept the books from Giles’ collection dealing with spiritual and mental control of lycanthrope transformations. Willow had said she wasn’t sure if they were the ones that Oz had used, since they were in Tibet, but they would be a good place to start.
Dinner was another brief affair, in which she noticed several strange looks from Hermione, but Minerva had dragged her away after dinner to talk with Dumbledore. Snape had been in his regular seat, glowering at his plate, but neither of them had wanted to look at the other. If anyone noticed, no one mentioned the stiffness to Willow. Back in his office filled with wonderful gadgets, the headmaster had handed her a sheaf of newspaper articles dating back to the summer of the Tri-Wizard tournament detailing anomalous sightings in both the Magical and Muggle communities, and asked what she made of them.
Much of the night had been spent in perusal of said articles, but when the cold fingers of sunrise crept around her window sill, Willow was snoring gently amongst the feathers. Eventually, though, she shook herself awake and got ready to meet her Mother-In-Law, with very definite capital letters.
She looked through her wardrobe with a critical eye, discarding sets of robes left and right, until she settled on a pair of sky-blue outer robes lined with fleece, with a set of soft cream-colored inner robes trimmed with embroidered tapestry material in the same, slightly shiny shade of cream. When she was ready, she headed off in search of Draco’s quarters.
What she didn’t expect to find when she arrived were Slytherins littered about the living area of Draco’s rooms. She knew he’d been planning on talking to his closer friends, especially as he’d said that Snape’s memories from the past week had been very interesting in that regard. Draco had been rather cryptic about the exact nature of Snape’s interaction with his housemates, but Willow new better than to press again so soon. Draco’s mental walls were intact but still fragile from her bulldozing through them the previous day. However, the young witch had not expected to see a full house that morning. This was to be Draco’s first outing from his sickrooms, and Willow knew the meeting with Narcissa was worrying Draco almost as much as it did her. Why he wanted his friends around before hand was puzzling to say the least. She reached out softly with her mind, and found him to be rather excited, but it was tinged with dread.
The door was cracked so she pushed it open to the loud laugher of Draco’s housemates. She froze in the painting frame, unsure of what she was supposed to do, as awkward as she had ever been in high school. While the Slytherin house as a whole had been nothing but scrupulously polite during her stay at Hogwarts, she’d not interacted directly with many of them, and certainly not in a personal fashion. It was almost like walking into a room full of strangers, and it made the butterflies in Willow’s stomach, already riled up due to the tea time meeting, kick into overdrive. When he looked up from the book he was flipping through with Goyle and smiled at her, though, her worries melted away at the delight on his face. He waved her inside with a wink.
“Everyone, I’m sure you know Willow. Willow, this is Pansy, Millie, Vincent and Gregory.”
She nodded, still feeling slightly shy, and was surprised at the, while calculating, warm smiles she received in return from nearly everyone.
Everyone, however, except Pansy. She stood with narrowed eyes, her loose pony tail swinging over her shoulder to lay flat down her back. “So, you’re the one who captured Draco’s attention.” The Slytherin witch crossed her arms tightly over her green jumper covered chest.
Willow froze, unsure of how to react. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed, but Draco stood gracefully.
“Really, Pansy, I didn’t think it was that obvious…”
With a careless flick of her fingers, Pansy indicated her distain. “Pfft, Drakie, we’ve all seen you watch her, even before that stunt at Halloween.” The two witches regarded each other tensely, and Pansy’s pug-like face was far from friendly.
Willow felt as if time slowed down in that instant. These children of Death Eaters could ruin everything before it began. If things were out in the open before Narcissa had time to fix Willow’s past, then questions that were better off avoided could come smack her down in an instant. The chance for a normal, or normalish, life was too precious to be shattered so soon… Fine tremors started in her fingers, and she fought down the urge to babble something defensively. Instead, she managed what she hoped was a serene smile, waved her hand expressively and said as lazily as she could manage, “Can you blame me for getting his attention any way I could?”
Draco groaned slightly at the ridiculousness of the statement, but no one paid him any attention. The long haired Slytherin witch sniffed, tilted her head, and just like that the tension was broken. Pansy gave her a measuring look then laughed. “Well, it certainly got everyone’s attention, Draco included. Not to mention his father… So, you’re having tea with Narcissa?”
Willow blinked, startled at the change in mood. It seemed Pansy was probably more complex than she let on. Still cautious, Willow responded, “This afternoon.”
“Ah, shame it’s not going to be a Malfoy Manor; she makes biscuits that are just to die for.” With that, Pansy sat down and flipped through an old copy of Witches Weekly, pointing out something she found humorous to Millicent.
“Willow, I’ll be ready to go in a second.” Draco paused briefly, chin raised proudly, surveying the room as if it were a stage. Willow tilted her head in question, and Draco made a sweeping movement with his arm, both gathering and directing the attention of the others in the room. The Slytherins appeared casual, but all were tense, as if waiting for something that had taken too long in coming.
“We were just talking about what the world would be like without our parents.” He walked over to her, touching her arm softly, ignoring the snickers from behind him. Willow could see Pansy watching them from under her eyelashes, but she did nothing. The redhead nodded, unsure of how she was supposed to react. Draco continued, “We could be whatever we wanted, then. Goyle and Crabbe would run a Quidditch supply shop, Millicent wanted to open a haberdashery, and Pansy would write gossip for Witches Weekly.”
Willow looked around the room, eyes wide. No one was laughing now, and everyone was very focused on Draco. He seemed to hold their attention with tangible threads, pulling them closer to him with word and movement. Willow could easily see how he came by the moniker Slytherin Prince; he was deadly grace and razor-sharp polish in each breath, with each step.
“Think of what we could accomplish then, my little Firestarter, think of that brave new world.” Willow caught her breath, remembering how recently he’d said almost the same words to her the day before. “And what would you be, Willow, without your parents, if you were free?”
The words slipped out before she could think what she was saying, “I would be yours, and the world would be laid at our feet.” She looked deep into his eyes, almost as if she was falling, wrapped in silver light. Suddenly she was shaken out of the feeling by the sound of a sigh from the couch.
Millicent had a dreamy look on her face and Pansy seemed strangely satisfied, the hostility from before completely gone. Crabbe had a soft flicker of light in his eyes, and Willow was surprised to recognize hope there, something she’d never seen before. Goyle looked as if he were actually thinking, the great slow gears turning round and round in his head. She looked back to Draco and the intensity on his face was frightening.
“I have promised them that, Willow, a new world. I will see it done.” He nodded sharply as he said this, taking her hand firmly in his own. “I wanted you to hear this, as much as I wanted them to hear you. You’ve said it yourself: the world is changing.”
She spoke softly, “It always changes; the trick is changing it into something you want in the end.” Visions of the temple spire breaching through the dirt on top of the hill so many months ago burned through her mind, and she felt Draco’s compassion through their link, the feeling that she was no longer alone.
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He smiled then, looking far older than his nineteen years. “Come on, we’ll be late if we don’t leave soon. And no matter how much my mother loves me, you never, ever keep Mother waiting.”
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Lulalinda’s Tea House was quaint and charming from the outside, almost overwhelmingly chipper from the inside. It seemed to be crafted entirely of nooks and crannies ideal for private conversations over cucumber sandwiches and curried pinwheels.
The mistress of the establishment bustled to and fro, showing guests to overstuffed easy chairs and intricately-carved rockers with tiny tea tables at easy reach. Though her eyes widened a bit at the arrival of young Master Malfoy and the new American witch in her doorway, Lulalinda Limmerstund lost not a moment showing them to Narcissa Malfoy’s usual booth.
The lady in question was already ensconced in a particularly fluffy chair that managed to both clash with and complement her ermine trimmed, silver silk robes. Narcissa’s startling blond hair, like her son’s, was bound up in a series of intricately braided loops and whirls, and Willow felt as if she were horribly under-coiffed with her neatly brushed, straight locks.
Narcissa stood, the picture of polished grace, and offered one jewel-encrusted hand to her son. Draco took it warmly, bending to kiss her on the cheek. Willow stood stiffly, trying not to look as awkward as she felt, desperately mentally convincing herself that it was not okay to turn around and sprint for the other side of the room and hide behind the coat rack.
“Mother, may I present Willow Rosenberg?”
And then her attention snapped back to the entirely intimidating woman that reached elegantly for her hand, light blue eyes boring into her. Willow felt her hand being captured by smooth, cool fingers, startlingly reminiscent of her son’s, even as she took a half step back.
“My dear, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you.” Narcissa stroked the back of her hand, and tilted her head slightly, as if to get a better fix on Willow. Willow almost though she felt a pressure on her skin, a faint frizzle of energy, but dismissed it as nerves.
“As it is for me. A pleasure to meet you. Finally.” Inwardly, Willow groaned, already mortified at her behavior. She silently wished for a bit of Evil Willow back again, since she certainly didn’t seem to have self-confidence problems, or even a smidgeon of Vampire Willow’s cool composure.
To her relief, Draco’s mother smiled slightly and tugged her back into the alcove to sit in matching arm chairs within close reach. She turned Willow’s hand back and forth, idly stroking the ruby ring that Willow had been sure to put on.
“What a lovely ring. Draco was right to think it may suit you, though before he gives you any more family heirlooms, I’d appreciate knowing about it before hand.” Willow swallowed, but Draco only grinned gamely. Narcissa gave the equivalent of a high society eye-roll.
“Don’t worry, dear, this table is sound proof-- our conversation will be totally private. Lulalinda respects the wishes of her patrons.” The severe tone was at odds with Narcissa’s pleasant demeanor and Willow was uncomfortably reminded of a cat happily toying with its meal, purring up a storm.
“Er,” the red head squeaked.
Draco, sensing her distress on several levels, diverted the conversation. “What a lovely cloak, Mother. Is it new this season?”
“Draco, dear, my cloaks are always new this season; I would have it no other way. And as much as I’m sure your lovely lady friend appreciates your attempt to derail the conversation, I am very interested to hear her story. We have much to discuss about publicizing your relationship to the wizarding world, and I need to know all the complications I must maneuver around. To organize a debut for a witch that for all intents and purposes does not exist is a challenge, even for me.”
Inwardly wincing at Narcissa’s all too apt assessment of her situation, as well as the possibility of a debut, whatever that meant, Willow took a deep breath and to whatever Powers that were listening that day that Draco was right about trusting his mother. “I’m not from around here.”
“I know that, dear, you’re American.” Narcissa spoke the last word with tangible distaste even while trying to cover it up with a smile.
“Mother, I don’t think you understand. Are you sure those silencing charms are impenetrable?” At her arch nod, he continued, “What she means is that Willow is not from our dimension. She has no counterpart here and no traceable connections. For all intents and purposes, she does not exist. She has no family, and other than those at Hogwarts, no friends. Er, none here anyway.”
For a heartbeat, no one said a word. Then Narcissa broke into a wide, perfect smile. “I can’t believe it one level, but just looking at the two of you, knowing the incredible feat you accomplished in the Anima Conligato, I have to accept your tale. There are many things in this world that I cannot explain, and many more I have no knowledge of.
“If you say it is possible to hop from one world to another, and I know you would never lie to your mother, then this fetching young witch must indeed be-- how shall I say-- an impossibility come to life. And as strange as it seems, my job has just become exponentially easier.”
Draco and Willow blinked in unison, turning to each other with an incredulous look on their faces.
“That said, however, I do need to make sure you’ll be sufficient to present to society here when all the arrangements are made. Your status as a pure-blooded witch would have made life easier, but I’ll go out on a limb and guess that isn’t something your world places much emphasis on… No, I can see it didn’t. Also, I would assume that my son would have chosen a witch of at least notable power, and given your rather public display of personal magic, that qualification is taken care of. Nott found some lovely shoes for his wife on his unplanned sojourn to the American Heartland, in case you didn’t know. I have a feeling Rivenda will thank you once she finds out who you are.”
Willow nodded a bit numbly, guessing Nott was one of the Death Eaters she sent to the Mall of the Americas, but it was a bit of a surprise to think of them getting any shopping done while they were… banished.
Narcissa however, continued on as if disappearing, reappearing wizards was an everyday occurrence. “As for the more relevant questions, you have not been married before?”
“No!” Willow flushed, not even remotely interested in commenting on her past relationships. As reasonable as Narcissa appeared to be at the moment, finding out her daughter-in-law was bisexual just didn’t seem like it would sit well.
“You are of good health?” The older witch nodded briskly, as if going down a mental list.
“Of course.” Willow was relieved at the line of questions so far, all easy to answer. Now that she met Narcissa, she was sure she was more perceptive than even Draco gave credence to. Willow wouldn’t even be surprised to have her mother in law question her ability to use a fish knife, or exterminate a rival in one breath. Willow was convinced that Narcissa could do both with ease.
“You love my son?” Now Narcissa focused her attention both on Draco and Willow, flicking her eyes to their touching knees and small, casual caresses.
Taking a moment to give the question the time and weight it deserved, Willow was delighted to realize she meant her answer with every fiber of her being. “With all my heart.”
Narcissa seemed to shift gears, relaxing slightly as if the hard questions were over with. “You have no familiar?”
At that, Willow balked. “Um, no, but what does that have to do with anything?”
“My child has never told you?” Narcissa glared at her son, arching a very expressive eyebrow.
Draco looked uncomfortable and Willow shook her head. “No…”
“Ah. The Malfoy family has only one familiar, Glacies.”
Never having heard of such a thing, Willow couldn’t help the curiosity in her response. “What happens when Glacies dies? Does the family replace him?”
“Oh, no my dear, Glacies never dies- he’s a Quetzalcoatl; they’re immortal.”
“But I thought they were just—“ Draco stepped on Willow’s mental foot and she shut up.
“Extinct? Yes, all but a few are. Glacies was a gift to seal a trade agreement between the house of Malfoy and a great Incan holy man many years ago. Glacies is nearly a millennia old, and has seen more than his fare share of the dark deeds of the world. He exists to serve the family as a guardian for the next generation. He will truly only answer to the lord and lady of the house, and will not tolerate any other familiars on the grounds. Of course we have the usual family owls and stable creatures for the carriages, but as for house familiars? I’m relieved that I don’t have to inform you that you would have to give yours away. That is always hard to do…” The somewhat sad look on the woman’s face left no doubt in Willow’s mind that exactly that had happened to her mother-in-law.
“And what of me? Draco mentioned that you had plans for me…” Willow couldn’t help the somewhat wistful tone that crept into her words. Narcissa was a truly frightening woman, entirely in control of her own destiny, shiny and polished and perfect. But what Willow found the most remarkable was her calm acceptance of Willow’s future position in the family. Perhaps Narcissa had pitched a well bred fit behind closed doors, but the face she presented to the world was a unified one with her son’s wishes. Willow had wanted nothing more than a family that cared, and just maybe the much maligned Malfoys were the ones to give it to her.
“Yes, my dear, I do.” With a sly smile, Narcissa reached under the table to pull up a beaded handbag covered with what Willow was almost certain were diamonds. Narcissa undid the latch and pulled out a packet of papers.
“Your Uncle Elias had come in most handy recently, Draco; I’ll have to reconsider inviting him to the family Yule festivities. Perhaps it’s about time to forgive him for that dreadful incident with the garden gnome and the horseradish.” She shook her head in distaste and continued, “This is your family history. You are Willow Rosenberg, yes, but you are the last remaining member of the MacNaughton clan. A very old and noble family of some power, the MacNaughtons were primarily known for their transfigurations.
“Though there were two dark witches of note in the fifteen hundreds, they were most creative. In fact, your new Great Aunt Meliflua was known for her ability to transifigure relatively important parts of former lovers into living ice sculptures as a warning to any future partners. The family was mostly wiped out in the war with Grindlewald, but one squib daughter escaped to America to start over. She dropped from sight to live as a Muggle, and eventually had several children. Most of them disappeared from record, which made Elias’s job much easier. As it says here, your family remained as squibs, until you.
“Your parents—“ She looked at Willow who supplied the names Ira and Shelia, watching with fascination as they appeared in the blank spaces at the bottom of the document—“had no knowledge that their daughter was a witch. Given their outdated ideas on magic, you were educated in secret by Elias who found you a tutor in Mercas Mallywindle. Mercas is a family retainer who will swear to his death that this is the case. Elias is fond of projects, and discovering a witch of your power would be a great coup to him. He will have approached your parents while you were a child, answering an add for home schooling, and providing Elias’ name as a tutor. That is what the Americans call it, is it not? I would tender that your parents were aware of magic, but violently opposed to its use. This situation works well for all parties involved, particularly as it explains your familiarity with the Malfoy name, and Draco’s acceptance of your mudblood status.”
Willow blinked as Narcissa continued, “Your absence from the American Wizarding schools, as well as your parents’ refusal to admit your magical nature, is easily explicable as jealousy from a long line of squibs. They will remain firmly out of the picture, disowning you. I would suggest that you present the story that your family sent for you to express their disgust at your life choice and ban you from their wills…”
Here Narcissa trailed off, seeing the tears gathering in the young woman’s eyes. Draco’s hands were clenched tightly around her knees and Willow took a shaky breath. Her silver-haired son ground out, “Well, Mother, it seems I may have been right about you having the sight. Willow did indeed just return home to her dimension, and her family did… disown her, in a manner of speaking.” Willow attempted a smile, but broke down with warm tears sliding down her cheeks.
Narcissa, in all her formal glory, reached over and pulled Willow into a tight embrace. Draco couldn’t decide who was more shocked, his mother or his wife, when Willow hugged her desperately back. After a second, they separated, looking at each other through new eyes. Narcissa reached out one finger to trace Willow’s cheek, rubbing through the tear mark.
“It’s no wonder you sought refuge in our world. I had always hoped for a daughter, but Lucius would only permit one child… one son. I am not so terrifying as all that, if you’ll have me for a mother.”
Willow couldn’t decide to laugh or cry and settled for a damp smile. “Of course. After all, it’s a bit late to say no.”
Narcissa laughed daintily at that. “Oh yes, I’m well aware, though you’ll have a formal binding ceremony as soon as Draco graduates. You’ll announce your engagement at Yule, preferably at our annual gathering, and come to live at the Manor with me until then. There are things for you to learn about our world, and it would be easiest if I were to teach you myself. The Malfoy name has connotations that are important and difficult, all at once. It is not an easy mantle, that of a Malfoy wife.”
“What about Father?” Draco was fairly singing with tension, his back rigid.
Narcissa sobered instantly. “Our world is about to undergo a major upheaval… as I said before, your father is at the center of it. Whatever is happening will happen soon. When the dust settles, I think you’ll find things will go on as they always have. It is the way of our world, and I do not see it changing.” She was almost sad at that, eyes distant. “I believe Willow will be welcome in our lives, regardless of her indiscretion with your father’s business associates.” She turned a face devoid of emotion in Willow’s direction. “I cannot say that things wouldn’t have been easier if you had not acted against Lucius, but we must hope for the best. The future is cloudy at best…”
Willow found herself nodding along, almost mesmerized by the future Narcissa saw… there was much to learn, and perhaps it would not be so lonely at the Manor as all that, and she could visit Hogwarts whenever she wished. It was almost a relief to have someone interested and invested in her future, who cared what happened to her life. Besides, she could see Narcissa being a very thorough teacher… She smiled faintly, holding Draco’s arm tightly. “I don’t know what to say besides ‘thanks’. I know that’s not much, but—“
“It’s nothing, my dear. We are naught without our children. If not for them, there would be no world to preserve. Even if Draco acted rashly in binding the two of you together, I do not believe it was in error. You have an incredible aura around you, a strange mix of steel and flame, and I would not want to risk your anger. I do not have the gift of true sight, but the women of my line have had more than their fare share of intuition.” She turned fond eyes to her son, reaching out to touch his cheek lightly. “He is a handful, but worth the effort. I have every belief that the two of you will do amazing things.”
Draco smiled at his mother, and Willow felt a great tension draining from her body. The Mother-In-Law had turned out not to be so terrible, the future was looking hazy but not doomed, and she found a family, however strange. She let out a small noise of contentment.
Narcissa serenely raised an eyebrow in her direction and gestured to the teapot. “Can I interest you in a cup? Lulalinda makes excellent cream puffs; you must certainly try one.”
And Willow was delighted to do just that.
Chapter 38
Tea had ended pleasantly enough, and now the young ones had to get on with their school errands. Draco’s white haired head was bent, the shine of his shorn locks contrasting nicely with the ruddy red of the petite witch. Narcissa watched her only child disappear through the doorway with his lady friend. She snorted lightly to herself, lady friend indeed.Willow.
Madame Malfoy set her cup down carefully, centering it neatly in the saucer with rosebuds and leaves lined up, the formal smile sliding off her lips. She could put on a façade with the cream of society, making all the niceties, performing all the small courtesies. But what she felt when she touched Willow’s hand nearly unraveled all of that cultured charm.
She had meant every word she had said to the strange young woman. She would train her to become the ideal Malfoy wife. She would welcome her with open arms into the life Willow had chosen. She would be the mother to a daughter she had always wanted.
But that did not mean she would do it without her eyes wide open.
Willow had felt like steel wrapped in flame, as Narcissa had stated, but something else as well. A faint tinge of death wove throughout her aura, the flavor that some of her husband’s associates brought into her home. That unassuming, almost shy child was steeped in a darkness that took her breath away.
She could see them passing by the window now, wrapped up against the late fall chill. They stood moderately close to each other, but there was nothing in their stance to indicate their status. Draco offered his arm in courtesy and Willow accepted, but there was still distance between them.
A small smile graced her face, as if she were answering an unsaid question, and Draco shook his head lightly. It was an uncanny movement, and it reinforced the alien feeling Narcissa had felt when watching the two of them partake of tea. She knew the Anima Conligato was a powerful bond, but no one alive knew for sure what it did exactly. Or what the lasting effects on the participants would be.
Despite the lingering darkness, she didn’t believe that Willow as a practitioner of the arts, as were some of her companions. Narcissa had never bothered herself. Dark magic was for weak witches and wizards who couldn’t get what they wanted by other means. Narcissa was anything but weak. But Willow’s taint was more the taint of someone who lived in a dark place, for good or for ill. It made her extremely curious as to Willow’s upbringing, horrid parents aside.
From what she could tell, Willow was extremely bright, caring, motivated, and powerful—never forget powerful. Narcissa valued intelligence and the desire to learn, but had vehemently negated the Sorting Hat’s wishes to put her in Ravenclaw. She had a feeling that Willow would have done well there, too, but she was more complex than could be sorted easily. Her poor son had absolutely no idea what he’d gotten himself into, she mused. Much like his father.
The rest of the conversation had veered away from the oddity of Willow’s situation, and focused more on the thoughts the young woman had for her future. She’d asked several insightful questions about the businesses the Malfoy family ran, as well as how involved they were in Muggle affairs. While Narcissa wasn’t too thrilled to hear that, it was refreshing to see her son’s wife taking an interest in the family businesses. While she, herself, wasn’t all that involved in the monetary side of things, it was probably good that her son had someone he could rely on for business matters.
The pair disappeared from sight, rounding the corner to the main square. Draco, she knew, was headed to buy some repair gear for his broomstick. Willow probably had some errands of her own, though she wasn’t sure what they consisted of.
A few seconds later, another familiar figure came into view. Dark hair whipping around his face in the wind, her cousin Severus hunched away from the cold and damp, curling himself into his cloak. He was scowling, as was his usual expression, but Narcissa saw something in the way he moved that concerned her. A wounded hitch to his gait, though mental rather than physical. Perhaps it was the maternal feelings coursing through her after a tea with family, but she couldn’t let him pass, not with such pain evident.
With a faint sigh, Narcissa unfolded her gloves onto her lap, eyeing the last treacle tart warily. It wouldn’t do to over indulge, so she edged the china plate further away and stood, nodding to the other patrons before exiting the tea house.
Severus was examining something in a nearby shop window and did not see her approach. When she lightly grasped his elbow, he jumped with a snarl. The fierceness in his eyes faded, however, when he saw who stood there.
They looked at each other for a moment in silence.
It was always complicated, meeting out in public. They had never been extremely close, but she was one of the few family members he could stand. His inclusion into her husband’s extra curricular activities hadn’t crimped their relationship one iota, and he, despite his surly exterior, had always been one of her favorite dinner guests.
Unfortunately, the unmasking of her cousin as a spy for the side of light after He Who Must Not Be Named became He Who Had No Discernable Body had rather dampened the companionship her husband showed to Severus.
In public, Lucius was stiffly polite, if difficult. In private…well, in private no longer existed. Her husband would have happily executed the traitor, except murdering your in-laws was terribly frowned upon. Especially if one was trying to maintain innocence in the face of accusation that one had indeed supported the not so dead Nameless Evil.
It was rather tiresome from Narcissa’s perspective. She didn’t particularly care what Severus did with his spare time, much as she held no notions about prevailing on Lucius’ recreation. But the fact that her husband got a murderous glint in his eye every time her relations were brought up was annoying.
As a result, if they met in public, Lucius and Severus were achingly polite and Narcissa would smile, nod and take her husband’s arm, put out with the pettiness of it all. They would depart each other’s company as soon as possible, pretending as if their lives were no more than the carefully constructed facades the rest of the world saw—that dark revels and painful curses didn’t haunt the memories of both men.
But sometimes she found herself missing him. Not the rude, arrogant comments that so enamored himself to the students, but rather the biting wit and sharp mind. Severus was never boring.
She snapped back to herself when he cocked his head and murmured, “May I help you, Madame Malfoy?”
Narcissa arched a brow and turned to face the window as well. “I saw you standing here and thought I would say hello.”
“Hello then, cousin.” He nodded stiffly and pointed to a selection of dried herbs. “The lamb’s ear has been poor this season. There was a dreadful slug outbreak, it seems.”
Inclining her head in polite interest, Narcissa said just as blandly back, “Is that so? I wasn’t aware, though our gardener has been buying more supplies than usual. We have had a lovely crop of arrowroot, but it’s been an altogether depressing year for our may apples.”
“Hmmm.”
Severus made as if to keep walking, and Narcissa turned with one hand laid lightly on his chest.
“Are you alright?”
Sharp black eyes focused on her face fully for the first time.
“Why, cousin, I don’t believe such questions are asked of traitorous kin.”
She stifled an undignified eyeroll. “Traitorous? Perhaps. Kin? Most definitely.” She ran her fingers lightly over the embroidered edging of his cloak, feeling for the unique currents of magic that were all Severus.
Narcissa had often used her minor gifts at school, seeking the advantage where she could, the quintessential Slytherin. Few students or faculty knew, though Severus was one of the exceptions. Eyes widening in alarm, he made as if to step away. Fingers firmly wrapped in his cloak now, Narcissa breathed deep. He tasted of ebony light, dark tonics of bruised egos. Narcissa rolled the sensation around in her mind before widening her eyes. “Love, Severus? How…droll.”
Immediately, he closed down, eyes shuttering almost visibly. A sharp hiss and he backed away, brushing her hand sharply from his chest. “It is no concern of yours.”
“No, it is not. But that doesn’t mean I won’t meddle. After all, it is one of my specialties.”
He stood stiffly in the chill, seemingly unconcerned about the wind turning the tips of his ears pink. His back was to the herbalist’s shop, lank body framed by bunches of dried herbs and flowers. The stark, unrelieved black seemed so out of place in front of the casual warmth of the shop. Severus stepped back, flush against the window, as if to escape the conversation altogether when Narcissa showed no sign of leaving him in peace.
“Is it so strange a thought?”
“That you found love? No, Severus. That you found love in the same woman as my son, then yes.” She gave a faint smile at his shocked expression. “You taste of her darkness, but also of her flame. It suits you.”
He blinked, still trying to edge away without seeming to move. It was the cautious movement of prey, the attempt to hide in plain sight.
“But do not think I won’t protect his interests.” Ice blue eyes narrowed, Narcissa stalked one step closer. “He is my son, and I protect my own over all else.”
Holding himself still as a wild thing, Severus nodded. “Yes, Madame Malfoy, I remember that about you. Over all else. It would not do to forget.”
She smiled, a cold smile, a maternal smile, the smile of a creature with very sharp teeth. “No, cousin, it would not do to forget.”
He looked down his nose at her, eyes carefully blank. She sighed deeply, wrapping her robes closer. “I have enjoyed the conversation, Severus, for what it was. And I do wish you happiness. Perhaps we can meet again sometime under pleasanter circumstances, once our world sorts itself out again.”
He relaxed a bit, gesturing with his arm down the street towards the main square of Hogsmeade. “May I walk you into town, milady?” She grasped his forearm lightly, stepping in stride with him, feeling the familiar brush of history. They had walked the same road too many years ago. Time before the world ran red and chaos disordered her table.
All too soon, Severus reached his destination, and Narcissa gathered herself to apparate home. The square was bustling with students, and out of the corner of her eye she saw the bright sheen of Willow’s hair, bent in conversation with a bushy haired brunette. It was that mudblood Draco had ranted about so often in previous years, though Narcissa had to admit she’d grown into a rather attractive young woman. Draco, himself, was nowhere to be seen.
Willow turned her head to look across the square, inadvertently meeting her mother-in-law’s eyes. Narcissa’s own eyes widened at the furor contained therein, but in a blink, the passion was gone, leaving the sweet, friendly Willow in its wake. Somewhat shaken, she apparated to the Manor. The wards pulled at her skin, testing, tasting. When the magic was satisfied she was indeed the lady of the house, she rematerialized in the front hallway.
She’d been quite taken with the young wizard who had set up the wards. He was…creative in a way she appreciated, and he’d been able to hold dinner table conversations that did not bore. It was really a shame he’d died in Azkaban. She would have liked to have him over for aperitifs.
She fished the shrunken packages from her outer cloak and restored them to their proper size, nodding to the housekeeper as she appeared in the doorway.
“Mrs. Ennuit, please see that these are taken to my study. I will also need the invitation list for the Yule celebration.”
With a nod, the severe witch turned on her heel and left. Narcissa removed her cloak and gloves, handing them down to one of the miscellaneous house elves at her side. The elf bobbed its head and popped out of sight.
Tapping a thoughtful finger on her upper lip, the blonde witch surveyed the entry hall and the broad staircase arching to the second floor. Rich dark wood gleamed in the low light, dappled with rainbows from the intricate stained glass windows depicting the Malfoy crest amongst other things. The walls were a pale ivory, all the better to show of the shifting patterns of light. It had unnerved her, when she first came to live at the manor, walking through this living light day after day. Her world had been considerably more stationary, windows that didn’t ripple with enchanted life, walls that did not listen, rooms that did not move on a whim. But now this was her home now, her realm.
The master suite was to the left with Draco’s and the guests’ rooms to the right, overlooking the formal gardens. They were bedded down for the winter season, but in the spring they bloomed with the finest flowers the isles had to offer. If she was to add a place for young Willow, it should perhaps be separate from the main house, on the other side of the gardens. There was a caretaker’s cottage that could easily be converted into something suitable, if she put her mind to it. If she could adapt to life at the Manor, she was certain Willow could. The American witch was full of a resilience that left Narcissa faintly in awe. Willow had rather calmly accepted the facts of her new life, the direction for her future, and had done it all with an almost smile on her face.
Still lost in thought, she started at the pop of apparation behind her. A low chuckle caused her to smile at her husband as he swept her into a spin, feet lifted from the ground effortlessly.
“Hello my sweet.” He placed a kiss on her temple. He was still chilled from the outside, and the touch of his lips caused her to shiver.
A bit taken aback by Lucius’ behavior, Narcissa thumped him lightly on the shoulder. “Hello yourself, darling. What puts you in such a good mood today?”
He smiled a wicked, secret smile and began undoing the serpentine clasps on his cloak. “I’ve had the most excellent afternoon, Narcissa.”
“Oh?” Lucius’ most excellent afternoons usually involved the house elves cleaning unmentionable stains from his clothes, but today he was as neat as he was when he left in the morning.
“I think we should set a few extra places at dinner tonight, just in case. I think some of the Ministry’s members may be curious as to our whereabouts in about three hours. I believe Fudge enjoys your vichyssoise.” He hummed to himself, swinging his cane, as he walked from the main hall towards his study.
Narcissa blinked in the thin afternoon light. It really was going to be a bother to reset the table, especially since she knew how Patricia Parkinson despised Fudge—something to do with an inappropriate pass years ago. It meant little, however, as the damage was already to be done.
With a small sigh, she set out to track down Mrs. Ennuit again.
Chapter 39
Exiting Lulalinda’s caused Willow’s stress level to plummet. She took Draco’s arm and heaved a huge sigh of relief. She heard his mental chuckle before the tentative question of whether or not she was alright. She just smiled in response. Yes, she was just fine.The streets were more crowded than when they’d gone to tea and Willow was almost grateful for the crush of bodies cutting down the raw air. No matter how pleased she was with her desire to stay with Draco in this new world, she wished it were a bit sunnier. Not Sunnydale sunnier, but still a bit warmer.
“Here.”
She tilted her face to look up at Draco as he pressed something into her palm. She looked down at the small leather pouch with scrunched brows. It was dark green with a silver crest stamped onto it, twining snakes in a complicated knot.
“It’s a few galleons, nothing much.”
“For what?” He was smiling down at her, a real smile instead of his characteristic smirk, and Willow’s heart melted a little bit.
“Because you’re chilled. The gloves we transfigured for you this morning are fine, but I want you to have real ones, ones that won’t disintegrate in case of accidental finite incantatum.”
She beamed up at him, shivering a bit. “I—thank you.”
“Not at all, Firestarter. There’s an apparel shop that my mother frequents and she swears by their ermine lined kid gloves.”
Only mildly squicked at the idea of fur gloves, freezing one’s patootie off did wonders for altering views on wearing little furry animals as clothing, Willow nodded. “Alright. You’re going to get things for your broom then? I’ve got to pick up some writing supplies, and then I’ll head to the shop. Where is it?”
Draco pointed it out, and with a final squeeze to her arm, they parted ways at the entrance to the Quidditch store. Willow headed across the square to pick up some new ink. The dramatic shades of purple and green just tickled her, and she’d run out taking notes on the papers Dumbledore had entrusted her with when she’d returned. Somehow, annotating distressing events in lavender made them easier to stomach. She was only a few stores away when she heard a voice calling out.
“Willow!”
The red head turned to see Pansy waving at her. “Um, hi!” The brunette’s ears were pink with cold, and her hair blew around her face, unnervingly reminding Willow of Medusa and her snakes.
Obviously still feeling the flush of unusual camaraderie from that morning’s interlude, the Slytherin witch smiled a bit before waving in the direction of the Three Broomsticks. “A bunch of us are meeting there in a bit, want to join us?”
Willow blinked. While there were reasons to distrust the situation, she had to admit it would be nice to see Draco’s friends interact, especially if she were going to have to deal with them for any length of time. Besides, it would be pleasant to just relax and not worry about mother-in-laws, prophesies, impending doom, and complex love lives. “I’d love to.”
Pansy offered another uncharacteristic smile, less predatory this time, and nodded, pug like face scrunched against the wind. “Good. See you there then.” At this, she headed off in Millicent and Blaise’s direction, tucking the end of her scarf into her cloak.
It was evident that after that morning, Willow had made Pansy’s list of Useful People. Never once had Willow qualified as anyone’s Useful Person, not really. It was a strange feeling, knowing that once she and Draco became public, there would be more than one or two people that suddenly found her very interesting and worth cultivating. She hoped Narcissa would have some plan to deal with it all. Shaking her head a bit, Willow turned away, only to come face to face with a concerned looking Hermoine.
“What are you doing with Pansy?”
Taken aback at the uncharacteristic hostility in Hermione’s tone, Willow stepped back a bit. “Excuse me?”
The Gryffindor heaved a sigh of apology and muttered, “Well, it’s just that she’s evil, and well...” Looking uncomfortable, Hermione shrugged.
Willow followed that line of thought to the unpleasant next logical step. “And associating with her might make me evil? Is that what you were thinking?”
Flushing guiltily, Hermione shifted her stance to clutch her books across her chest. “The Slytherins have been nice to you, for them, and you don’t seem to understand what they’re like. And the other day Draco did this thing when he got all upset, with his eyes all weird and all, and the only other time I saw that was with you…” She looked away, off across the square at nothing in particular before continuing, “When you did that thing with the Death Eaters…and…”
Shocked, Willow could feel her magic tremble and flare, an unconscious reaction that she tried to stifle. Her first instinct was to lash out, to protect herself. Hermione was still talking, but Willow couldn’t hear it. Here she was, finally accepted into a family, going to get her life on the track she wanted it to be on, and someone she thought was her friend was accusing her of being evil.
That’s just not what friends did at all. Ever so gently, Willow’s magic reached out, wrapping itself around Hermione, her thoughts and memories. It would just be so easy to burn away those images, the ones of both her and Draco, paint a new picture of what had happened. She didn’t even need the crystal and Lethe’s bramble any more. When she’d tabula rasa’d everyone last year, she didn’t really understand what she could do, but now it was all so much easier. Hermione wouldn’t even know.
Still ignoring Hermione’s uncomfortable conversation, Willow centered herself, glancing across the square, feeling the warm buzz of power under her skin. Her eyes met those of her mother-in-law and she froze.
Narcissa.
Narcissa had given her another way out.
A way that meant that she could find new ways to explain things, that she didn’t have to manipulate Hermione the way that she had Tara—
Tara. Oh God, Tara.
Tara had left.
Tara had abandoned her because of the magic, because of exactly the same thing she was trying to do to Hermione standing on a street corner in broad daylight, casually, without a second thought.
She blinked harshly and took a deep breath. The red head plastered on the smile she knew made her seem so harmlessly geeky and cleared her throat.
“Hermione, there’s an explanation.”
“For what? We looked, Ginny and I, and there’s nothing. I mean, even in all the black magic reference books we’re not supposed to know exist in the restricted section.” The Gryffindor looked at Willow with such distress, as if she couldn’t possibly be saying what she said, and couldn’t possibly mean it.
It was the same expression Willow had when she found out about Xander and Cordelia, when the walls of illusion came crumbling down and there was nothing left to hide behind. Willow’s stomach gave a lurch and she tasted magic like bile and bitters on the back of her tongue, still there, needing a way out.
“The eyes thing? Did you look in books about animagus transformation?”
Hermoine stopped her awkward ramble and tilted her head. “No, but I don’t see why—“
Unbelievably relieved, Willow spun out the lie, praying her acting would hold. Her whole existence had been one lie after another, and not just since she’d arrived at Hogwarts. She’d been playing at being other Willows, the Willows that people wanted to see for far too long.
“Before I came here, I was working on my own transformation. I hadn’t gotten all the kinks worked out, and I don’t think I knew exactly how muddled it was with my every day magic.” Hoping Hermione hadn’t noticed the shaking in her hands, she continued, “When I finally worked it all out, I didn’t realize that some of the other form leaked through sometimes when I worked spells.”
Hermione looked somewhat skeptical, but the awful tension loosened in her shoulders. “So that’s why your eyes were darker…and Draco did look kind of, well, feral.”
“That makes sense.”
“It was almost like fur or something…and he had been sick.” A quizzical tilt to her head, Hermione asked, “Do you know if he was trying himself? He did look exhausted; maybe it was magical exhaustion? Would he have figured out how?”
Willow nodded, thrilled that Hermione was interested enough in the subject to buy the lie. Nothing quite like relying on the mini-Watcher in the witch. It was as easy as derailing Giles, and if she pushed her enough in the right direction, maybe the younger witch would take the idea even further. “I’m not sure, but he did mention working on it. I don’t know whether or not he succeeded, but since he’s not stuck as an animal, it couldn’t have gone that badly.”
The brunette mused, “I wonder what kind of animal he’d be? Probably something like the Amazing Bouncing Ferret.”
Willow hmm’d non-commitally, looking around to see if their conversation was gathering an audience, grateful it was not. People bustled by, oblivious to the minor drama unfolding.
“What are you?”
That snapped her out of her thoughts. “Pardon?”
“You said you were working on it. What are you?”
“Er.” Eyes wide, Willow did some quick mental calculations. If Hermione decided she was an animagus and she didn’t come clean to everyone, then that would be just one more thing the Gryffindor would be able to hold over her head. Not that she thought Hermoine was a consummate blackmailer, but remembering the incident with Rita Skeeter made up Willow’s mind. “A lynx. I’ll be registering myself with the British Ministry of Magic soon, since I’ll be staying.”
“You’re staying? I thought you were going to return home after the Yule?”
Surreptitiously feeling for the packet of papers in the inside pocket of her robes, Willow nodded. “I was, but I was called home to deal with my family. It seems that…I’m no longer welcome there. Narcissa Malfoy has invited me into her home after the holidays.”
A look of utter nausea marred Hermione’s face. “Narcissa Malfoy? But they’re evil!”
“You keep saying that. I do not think that word means what you think it means.” When Hermione looked blankly at her, Willow decided she’d get her a DVD of the Princess Bride for Christmas if they were still speaking.
She sighed. “Hermione, evil is never black and good is never white. That’s just not the way the world works. We’re all shades of gray—the trick is learning to live with yourself. Don’t you think that people like the Malfoys and Pansy brush their teeth and put on their clothes just like you do?”
Hermione just glared at her.
“All I’m saying is that people are never so easily classified. I knew this man once that was the epitome of Boy Scout. He did everything right, shook the right hands, made the right speeches. Then I learned he’d sold his soul a way long time ago and was about as devoted to the badness as pirates are to their rum.”
Hermione still didn’t look impressed.
“Okay, so the Malfoys might not be the shiniest apples in the barrel, but they can do good things.” Praying she remembered her new history right, she continued. “After all, it was a distant relative of Narcissa Malfoy that helped me with my magical education.”
“What?”
“Do you think I was kidding about my mom trying to burn me at the stake?”
“Well, kinda.”
“My family doesn’t like magic, doesn’t want me to have anything to do with it. Call it a long line of bitter squibs. Anyway, I had to be privately tutored, and it turns out that my tutor is an acquaintance of Narcissa’s family.”
Still cynical, Hermoine crossed her arms. “What about the wand?”
Feeling a bit like she was drowning, Willow wrapped her arms around her waist. “What wand?”
“Exactly. I’ve never seen you use one.”
The magic that still sang at her fingertips flared again. Frantic that she was losing control of the conversation, Willow reached inside her robes. Her fingers brushed against a pencil and she gripped it tightly, pouring the desperation into the wood, coaxing it to mold itself to her will.
Trusting the Powers that got her into this mess to begin with, she pulled a slim wand from her inside pocket. She tried not to seem surprised as she rolled the amber hued wood around her palm.
“Oh.” Hermione reached out to touch it. “So, cedar? I didn’t—it’s just, well.”
Willow laughed weakly. Lying really wasn’t her thing. It was almost as bad as lots of coffee for making her heart beat too hard. Fabricating was so much easier now than it had been, but the possibility of failing miserably still gave her pause. “See? I have a wand.”
“But…” Hermione trailed off, confused. She frowned, plucking at the edges of her sleeve with her nails. “So you’re not evil?”
It was so easy to answer no, to forget that she nearly wiped her supposed friend’s mind clean without a second though. If that wasn’t evil, Willow didn’t know what was. Feeling slightly sick, she shook her head. No wonder the Powers had her slated from some Angel style redemption. “No, not evil. And really, Draco’s mother is lovely.”
“To you. Bet she’d have drowned me at birth.”
The bitterness in Hermione’s tone made Willow wince, partly because it was likely to be true. “You don’t know that.”
“I don’t know lots of things: like why we saw you kissing Draco Malfoy, like why he’s decided to be almost human, like why my world is crumbling around me and the Ministry won’t do anything to stop it.”
“The attacks?”
“Yeah.” Glumly now, Hermione waved at the bustling shoppers, adult witches and wizards and students alike. “Why don’t they see? What’s it going to take? I mean, it’s obvious what’s going on, isn’t it?”
“Never underestimate the power of denial. Believe me; I’ve seen it first hand,” she muttered, almost wistfully thinking of Joyce and Buffy’s relationship when they’d first moved to Sunnydale.
“What if it gets worse?” There was real fear in Hermione’s eyes: the fear of someone who had seen darkness afoot in the world, the fear of someone who knows what’s coming.
“I don’t know.” Willow turned her head, chilled by more than the wind. The awkwardness lingered between them, slivers of discontent and suspicion and guilt needling them both. “I am sorry, Hermione.”
The brunette frowned. “Why?”
Willow didn’t answer, merely shook her head and sighed. “I’ve got to get on with the shopping and it’s getting dark. Would you like to, only if you want to, maybe get together one night?” Wincing at the stutter, Willow gave her best innocent face. She didn’t want to lose Hermione as a companion. Losing her would be one step closer to being lumped in with the evil Malfoys for the rest of her existence. She wasn’t ready to accept that yet.
Hermione looked at her closely, almost warily. “Yeah. That might be nice.” She straightened up, gripping her bag close to her chest. “There’s Ron and Harry. I’ve got to go.”
Willow watched as she strode off across the square, exuding confidence with each step. It was with a much more hesitant stride that Willow turned and went into the shop.
Chapter 40
A/N: This chapter deals with rather upsetting subject material, especially in this post 9-11 world. Any distress is unintended, and if you are particularly sensitive to this subject, I suggest you skip this chapter.Willow sighed, stacking up the books in front of her. There were tomes on dream states, manuscripts on prophetic warnings, maps of Britain, and assorted papers and journals from the last three years. She had a sinking feeling she should have been doing this all along, looking for an answer to this world’s problems, rather than being paralyzed by her own. All those months investigating how to get home, when all she really wanted was to stay here. And she most definitely wanted this world to be intact.
With one last glimpse out the library window over the darkening grounds she stood, shoulders firmly back. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the whispers. Apparently the school gossip mill was running full steam ahead after the Hogsmeade outing that afternoon. While her incident with Hermione had gone unnoticed, her round of butterbeers with the Slytherins had not. Particularly of note was the fact that Draco had pulled out her chair.
Why this was important to anyone other than her or Draco she had no idea, but a pair of third year Hufflepuffs in the next row of books seemed to think it was the most fascinating news of the holiday season. There were titters and snickers and covert looks in her direction as she rounded the corner.
Cheeks burning, she ignored them and kept walking.
Personally, she was relieved that she’d remembered to take off the ruby ring after the tea. There was no knowing what the students would be saying if they’d seen that. Certainly Pansy wouldn’t have let it go unnoticed, though she had been…pleasant…for Pansy. Millie followed the brunette’s lead on all things, so Willow was confident that if she could keep Pansy happy, then the rest of the gang wouldn’t give her any problems.
Not that she wanted problems. She had enough stacked in her arms to last her a good long while. The only reason she’d had to come to the library was to fix the appropriate passages in the animagus books in case Hermione came looking. Ever since her little black magic sucking episode, manipulation of the printed word had been as easy as breathing.
The doors to the library snicked closed behind her and Willow heaved a sigh of relief. She turned to head back to her chambers when a hand on her arm caused her to jump.
“My apologies, Willow. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
The grizzled werewolf smiled apologetically and rebalanced the toppling stack of books.
Willow flushed gratefully. “Sorry about that. My mind is elsewhere, I suppose.” She turned somewhat gracelessly to follow him down the corridor.
“On a certain blond Slytherin, perhaps?”
Grimacing, Willow rolled her eyes. “Not you too. I mean, really, is it anyone’s business who I have a butterbeer with?”
Gently, Lupin said, “No, Willow, it’s not. But it is remarkable, and students are bound to talk. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear, but surely you remember what school was like. I understand your discomfort, though.” He noted her frown and waved his hand towards the tower in which he had rooms. “Would you care to join me for a cup of tea? It’s chilly tonight.”
Willow jiggled the stack of papers and sighed. “I don’t think so; I’ve got a lot to go through.”
“And no library to go through it in. Come on, you can sit in my study and have at it. Sometimes it’s better not to research alone,” he said quietly.
In all honesty, Willow had to agree. She didn’t miss that much about Sunnydale, but the donuts and demons parties were definitely on the list. She was relieved to give him half her papers and they passed through the halls in companionable conversation. His rooms were sparsely furnished, but neat, and he had a low oak desk in one corner, perfect for spreading out papers.
She slid into the seat with a sigh, not looking at the teacher as she restacked her papers in the proper order. Part of her was afraid to see some kind of condemnation on his face. He was obviously aware of the afternoon’s events, or at least that she was openly dining with Slytherins, and she knew how much he didn’t care for the house, or for the Malfoys in general.
Feeling slightly sorry for herself, she pulled out a blank piece of parchment and smoothed it flat. She just stared at it, however, not having the first clue how to start. She’d gone through all the newspaper articles from the wizarding papers, but they felt like they were missing something, something important. That was why she’d specially requested copies of the Muggle journals that Hogwarts kept on hand. It was this stack she was set to go through, but first she had to make a list.
It wasn’t a good list, or at least she didn’t think so, and she’d been dreading making it since she got back from Sunnydale. Maybe it was compulsive drive to have things in order, but she really wanted to know what she was doing there. Ever since the first time Tara popped into her dreams, doubts about her accidental wandering into Hogwarts had nagged, and now she decided to just go be logical about it all. That, and she wanted anything to take her mind off her love life. Grimly she dipped the pen in the ink and wrote out in neat, emerald hand,
Why Me
She jumped at the touch on her shoulder, almost squeaking as Lupin set a cup of tea down on the table in front of her. It steamed fragrantly of assam and she breathed in with relish.
“Willow, I don’t bite.”
She looked up, surprised to see a faint glimmer of humor on his lips. “What?”
“I know you’re concerned what we think of you and young Master Malfoy. Honestly, it’s a bit unsettling, but not surprising. We’ve been watching this unfold since before the Halloween dance. And remember, whoever you choose to associate with is your business, not ours. A true friend won’t desert you over choice of mate, not when there are so many more important things in the world.”
Willow surreptitiously glanced at the pile of papers before meeting his eyes, relieved. “I, well, thanks.”
He nodded, slate eyes twinkling. “I’ll leave you to your list then.” He tapped the words with his finger. “Ever the perennial question. If you find the answer, let me know.”
Willow laughed weakly and took a sip of tea.
Pen back in hand, she began her list.
1. I’m a witch.
This was the most obvious reason she could think of that the Powers That Be tagged her for this adventure. Given where she ended up, it was also the most ridiculous. She was surrounded by witches and wizards, and that particular skill of hers was unlikely to be the deciding factor.
2. I’m a different sort of witch.
More likely. She didn’t use a wand, and wasn’t sure her sort of magic was even the same. There had been cases of wandless magic in the books here, but nothing to the degree of scale that she was accustomed to. Back home, wandless was the only way to go. There was something to this, but it was also unlikely to be the penultimate reason. After all, why her and not the thousands of wandless witches back home to choose from?
She took another drink, grateful for the warmth against the chill of the stone room, and remembered the other event of note this afternoon, the one that wasn’t connected to a Malfoy of sorts.
Hermione.
3. I’m a murderer.
Not that she had killed, she thought, but that she was of flexible morality. That was how that movie with John Cusak about hired killers had phrased it, wasn’t it? A certain moral flexibility. After all, normal people didn’t nearly mind wipe their friends. She squeezed her eyes tight and took a deep breath.
Was this it? That she would do things that others wouldn’t? It couldn’t be, right? After all, Faith had killed people, and she wasn’t doing anything these days besides washing the prison whites. Why not her?
Willow glanced over her shoulder at Lupin reading in a fluffy armchair by the fire. Frowning, she erased the words from the page with a small hand wave, just in case he decided to come see what she was up to. Her guilty conscience aside, she wasn’t interested in sharing her skeletons to any one new, especially the literal ones.
3. I’m a hacker.
She scrunched up her brow at that one. Hacking hadn’t been high on her priority list recently, but she did still identify with it. She understood computers, the way they worked, the way they thought, the way to make them do whatever she wanted.
Thing was, no computers. Not here at Hogwarts anyway. And if that was the skill in question, then wouldn’t the PTBs have sent her somewhere she could actually use it? The Matrix or something?
4. I’m slated for redemption
Pretty obvious, really, what with the flaying and near world endage, but she honestly still couldn’t come up with much remorse for either. There was an intense blankness when she thought of Warren’s death and subsequent rampage, a curious lack of anything. She decided to chalk it up to shock; it was preferable to the alternative.
Maybe the PTBs were going to force a redemption kick on her whether she wanted it or not. After all, Angel hadn’t gone angling for a soul when he munched the gypsy.
Frustrated, she ground the nib of the quill onto the paper, creating a green splotch. She frowned, poked at it with a finger, grimacing at the stain on her fingertip, and sighed.
That was probably the key. She’d be slated to clean up messes until she saw the error of her ways. Honestly, she thought she was making progress, what with leaving Hermoine’s mind intact—but the temptation had still been there. Ever Eve with apples, tested at each opportunity. Funny thing, being married to the serpent.
5. I know something they don’t know.
Er, maybe. Well, definitely, she did, but the problem was she didn’t know what she knew that they didn’t know. And it was starting to sound like a comedy routine. If she knew, then she wouldn’t be sitting here writing out a list, now would she?
Feeling a bit maudlin and out of her depth, Willow blew on the parchment to dry the ink then rolled it up, sliding it to one side. Maybe she’d think of other things, or ask Draco. It was surprising how insightful he could be if he was interested.
And something told her that he’d be interested in anything Willow.
Remus muttered something under his breath by the fire and she twisted in the chair, leaning her arm on the latterback.
“Can I ask you something?”
He raised his head, tilting it to one side. “Anything you’d like.”
She smiled gratefully, relishing the warmth of the fire on her face, warm tendril of smoky heat. “Do most wizards read the Muggle newspapers?”
He blinked. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I know there are a few wizarding newspapers, so do wizards read Muggle newspapers?”
“Not as a general rule, no. Some do—those that work in Muggle affairs or were Muggleborn, but not the rest.”
Willow nodded, brushing her hair back over her shoulder, and turned back to the stack of papers. She spread them out, flipping to local events over the span of the last few months. There were mentions of civil unrest, some human interest articles, some to do with progress or regress, depending. A lady in Hampshire was mugged. A father entered his sons in a royalty look-a-like contest. A bombing in north Wales killed four, blamed on terrorists. The local akita won the best of breed. Three men blown up in gas leak, two deaths, one still in critical condition. Usual human articles about usual human things.
She huffed out a breath and rearranged them, convinced there was something she wasn’t seeing. Nothing jumped out at her, so she pulled the wizarding papers out and set them in order, focusing on the publicized events by the Death Eaters. As she laid them out, Willow’s hands began to tremble in excitement.
“Remus, come here.”
Eyebrow arched in question, the werewolf walked to her side, peering down at the papers. “What?”
“Do you see this?”
He cocked his head, trying to see whatever it was she saw that was so interesting. He gave up after a moment with a shrug. “Apparently not. Care to enlighten me?”
Willow put her fingers on four different events in Muggle papers and the three documented attacks in the wizarding ones. “See anything similar?”
“Not really.”
“The timing, they’re equally spaced. And in all cases, the victims didn’t see their attackers.”
“Yes, but what do the Muggles in Kent and the Muggles that got blown up in a gas leak have anything to do with each other.”
“You just said it,” she said, eyes glittering, “They’re Muggles.” She pulled out a map of Britain and marked the spots of each incident with a check. “And if you look here, they’re roughly concentric around centers of concentrated magical communities. Look, here’s a ring around Hogsmeade, here’s one around London, here’s one—er, sort of—around Stonehenge. Is that important here? I have no idea.”
A look of dawning horror came over the man’s face as he finally began to understand. “They’ve been…practicing.”
Willow laughed hollowly. “I knew there was something, I just couldn’t pin point it. Why would wizards pay attention to Muggle affairs, particularly if there was no evidence of magical interference?”
“They’re branching out, using Muggle weapons against Muggles.”
“Exactly. They were trying out the efficacy of different techniques. I bet if we went back and looked at the time since he’s resurfaced after the Tri-Wizard tournament, we’d see similar things. Voldemort wasn’t just biding his time, gathering his strength, he was trying something new.”
“Sweet merciful Zeus.”
Remus slid down in the armchair nearest the table rubbing his hand roughly over his face. “All this time we thought he was gone, or at least hiding. What if…”
A look of profound sympathy crossed Willow’s face. “I think that’s the answer to the ‘why me’, Remus, or at least part of it. I spent almost six years of my life reading for the extraordinary in the ordinary. In my world, the baddies look like everyone else, unless you know how to find them. School records, coroner’s reports, little links from one thing to another. He’s not gone, Remus, he’s just changed his methods of attack.”
“We should tell Albus.” Remus stood to walk to the fire, but something stalled his movement. “Willow, do you see that?”
Looking out the window at the gathered dark, Willow had to squint. “Is that birds? Owls? Isn’t it late for a flock to be out?”
“They’re not a real flock, I don’t believe. I think they’re heading here.”
Their eyes met, silver brown to green. Willow said softly, “We’re too late.”
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Willow stared numbly at the other teachers as they slid, defeated, into their accustomed chairs. To a person, each had a look of profound disbelief on their faces, silent as a grave.
“The students have been confined to their dormitories. All owls will be routed through the owlry and Filch will be in charge. We must decide what to do.” Albus looked weary, aged, and just a little bit lost. His eyes lost their typical shine behind moon shaped glasses, and he absently plucked at the hem of his sleeve, a heavy fabric of silver stars on magenta waves.
McGonagall waved her hand slightly, enough to get everyone’s attention. “Are we sure about this? Do we really know?”
Albus steepled his hands together in front of his face, leaning his chin on his thumbs. “All the letters say the same thing, but I’ve not heard back from the Ministry. It may be too early yet.”
Snape, glowering in his traditional corner, said in a gravelly tone, “For those of us who weren’t unlucky enough to have received one of said letters, would you care to fill us in.”
McGonagall pulled one from her pocket. “After this afternoon’s attacks, we’ll be withdrawing our son from Hogwarts. We believe he’ll be safer at home, especially since we don’t know that Hogwarts won’t be next. Signed Edwina Finnegan, That’s Seamus’ mother.”
“Are they all like that?”
“To a T.”
Willow said, softly, “Do we know what happened?”
The headmaster took a deep breath and focused his eyes in the roaring fire. “All entrances to the Ministry, all entrances to any Magical place that is frequented by Muggles have been blown up. Not a single brick left. Any place where the Magical regularly contacted the Muggle ceased to exist. The platform for Hogwarts Express, the phone booths to the ministry, the secret entrances through the Tube. All of them. Who knows how many innocent lives were lost, both wizarding and Muggle. These places were designed as an interface between the two societies, and now they’ve been obliterated, along with the people in them.”
The entire room stared at the Headmaster in horror.
Professor Sprout squeaked out, “Blown up? With a hex or curse you mean?”
“No, blown up with regular Muggle explosives. It seems that Voldemort has changed his signature.”
“How do we know it was him? Why not regular Muggle terrorists?” Snape snapped out irritably.
“Because he’s been practicing.” Willow said softly to herself. When the table turned their gazes her way, she sighed, resigned. “I was reading this afternoon, with Remus, in the papers. I thought maybe there were other avenues. I mean, why would Voldemort just disappear? Just regaining power? I don’t think so. And when I looked, well, there were other incidents. I could have been wrong, but not now. I think it’s too much of a coincidence.”
“And you just bring this up now?” Snape leaned forward, voice harsh.
Willow thumped her fist on the table, her own anger fueled by guilt and horror. “Because I just found out! Don’t you think I don’t wonder what would have happened if I’d been looking for this instead of how to go home all those months? Don’t you? Do you think I don’t care that those people died?”
“Do you?” Snape’s voice was flat, hard, and Willow gasped at the naked pain behind it.
“Severus, Willow, that’s enough.” Albus’s eyes were grim. “Whatever the reasoning, such vituperation doesn’t become either of you.” He gestured around the table. “We know because he signed it. Not with the traditional mark in the sky, no, now he’s burned it into the sides of the buildings in question. That way it can more easily be explained to the Muggle press as something tragic, but humanly tragic. To eliminate the object of one’s hate with the very methods they developed has a certain poetry. Tom always had a lyrical bent.”
McGonagall gave Dumbledore a funny look and slid her glasses back up her nose. “The parents are calling for closing the school temporarily, at least until after the holidays. The Ministry’s Education representative has been pushing for the same thing for over a week. Does anyone see another recourse besides acquiescing?”
Willow looked around the table, searching for hope in the teachers’ faces, but found none. And if she were honest with herself, she could see why the parents wanted their loved ones close. Hogwarts was a place where Muggle born learned along side those of pure magical origin. What if it were attacked next? Most defenses the wizarding world had developed were against magical means. What happened if Voldemort’s supporters decided to be a bit more creative? Learn from their enemy with other means?
“So it is decided then,” Albus said shaking his silvery head. “The school will be shut down tomorrow. Students can be collected from the main hall by floo. Minerva, please see that the student’s families are all connected to the network in some fashion and that all are informed of the impending change in schedule.”
Across the table, Professor Sprout began to softly cry, accepting a tiny hankie from Professor Flitwick. Lupin shook his head sadly and looked out the window at the darkened distance. Snape sunk lower in his chair, studiously ignoring Willow. Willow fiddled with her new wand, watching the cedar glimmer in the firelight, idly wondering what the core was made of, anything other than the tragedy at hand. It sounded so terribly familiar, so awfully like the destruction Sunnydale endured all too often. If she thought of something else, it made it all so much easier to bear.
Albus clapped his hands. “Please see to your houses. Until we know for sure, there are likely to be several students to have lost family members in the attacks. Be sensitive to their needs.” He looked around at the mournful table. “All our needs.”