95Disclaimer: Pick one. I've written ten for this story alone already.
Author's Note: Bit of a longer wait for this one again, sorry! In the meantime I've moved across the country and changed jobs twice. With that out of the way—enjoy!
She had barely paid much mind to the knock on her doorframe, but the voice accompanying it gave her pause; she hadn't heard it in years.
"Minerva! I hope you don't mind me dropping by, Filius caught me in the hall, you know, told me you were here—good to see you again!"
She looked up, smiling, although she felt she had never been able to achieve the effortless warmth Horace exuded in droves. "Horace—I didn't expect you so soon. Welcome back."
She stood to summon tea, stifling the urge to roll her eyes as he took her bony hand in his doughy ones and kissed it. He did mean well, if he had always been a bit exuberant for her tastes.
"Thank you, my dear! I was only just—oh, no, I couldn't possibly, right before lunch—but if you insist—" He took the seat and the plate of biscuits she indicated. "It was all a bit spur-of-the-moment. Albus had mentioned by next weekend, but I gave it some thought, and why wait? And he was most gracious about my change of plans, most gracious, so here I am!"
"Here you are, indeed," said Minerva politely, settling back into her chair. "You're looking well, Horace."
He barked a laugh. "I'm looking old and fat, you mean!" he said, patting his middle; it did appear to be putting more strain on the buttons of his jacket than when she'd seen him last, although not by much, given he'd been rather rotund then, too. "But I don't mean to complain, it's entirely my fault, you know, indulging in the finer things while I'm getting on in years. Always a wonderful experience—perhaps I could persuade you to let me throw together some supper parties again, to share some of my finer discoveries with the more discerning?"
"I don't see why not, although you should really ask Albus," she said.
"Excellent! I'm sure he won't mind, it won't be disruptive, I'll make sure of it… You're invited whenever you like, of course, and Filius and Pomona… Who else is still here that I know?"
"Most everyone, I think—perhaps not Charity, our Muggle Studies professor. I believe she arrived a few years after you retired? And I can't recall whether Aurora started before then; she might still have been in the Astronomy department at Uagadou, assisting her mother."
Horace's eyes lit up with interest. "I don't believe we've met, no… Uagadou, you say? Talented witches and wizards, very talented indeed."
"She's said much the same, yes, although she maintains that our library is much more conducive to her work," Minerva said.
"No surprises there, I suppose… And who's watching my old house, these days? Severus still keeping them all in line?"
"Severus is still at his post, yes," she said cautiously, "but—"
"Excellent! I've been meaning to say hello, but he always ignored my party invitations, you know… but just like him, isn't it? Well, he can't avoid me now! Where has he been hiding?"
"If you find out, let me know," said Minerva drily. "I haven't seen him since last Thursday."
Horace's eyes went almost comically round. "But—surely that's—he's Head of Slytherin, for god's sake! He's got to be visible, uphold the standards of—"
"Severus is a fine Potions master, Horace, and a credit to your house," Minerva said. "But I'm afraid he's been very busy this term with other obligations."
Horace frowned. "I suppose… well, as long as the students have no objections, and Slytherin is not being neglected… "
"Ah—I am not sure what Albus has discussed with you, Horace, but I'm afraid there's been a bit of a snag with Slytherin… "
The crack of Apparition in the Restricted Section made Severus look up with a frown; a nervous-looking house elf stood before his table with a small stack of envelopes.
"I is bringing letters for Professor Snape," it squeaked. "You is not in the Great Hall for the owls, so we is making sure—"
"Yes, thank you," he said shortly; this didn't look like any of the elves who'd brought him his post in the past few days, but it was difficult to tell. "Just leave it here."
The elf pushed the letters on top of one of his books, then vanished with a bow and another crack. Severus eyed the stack without enthusiasm, but his concentration was already broken—he might as well deal with it now, anyway. He nearly vanished them all on the spot, as they seemed unimportant, but a familiar mark on one of them gave him pause.
S—
While I am glad we have not had reason to see you in the past few days (no insult to you, of course), I'm afraid something has come up that we must discuss in person. N has the opportunity to leave this evening and will meet you outside the place I bought you your last birthday present at 9:00. Make whatever excuses you must, but be there.
-L
Severus resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. He was reasonably certain that no one took much of an interest in his post, but for all Lucius's attempts not to reveal much to prying eyes, the idiot had still used the Malfoy family crest. Perhaps he'd known Severus might have ignored the letter otherwise, but if anyone had been watching, this wouldn't look good for either of them—no matter whose side a watcher might be on.
Still, Lucius must have been desperate, if he was risking sending Narcissa out from under the Dark Lord's nose. She would have some other excuse, of course, but if the wrong person saw them meeting…
"Severus?"
He glanced up; Minerva was blinking at him, her arms full of books. He tucked the letter into his robes and tried not to look as though he had been sitting there for hours, although his own stack gave him away.
"Is this where you've been hiding all this time?"
He nearly scowled, but it seemed like too much effort, somehow. "I've hardly been hiding. It's not as though I haven't been in classes when I'm not here."
"No one's seen you for days."
"You could have asked Madam Pince."
"She's cross enough with me already, I owe her at least three books… She wasn't entirely helpful when I asked where to find these, either," Minerva said, indicating the pile in her arms. "Do you mind?"
"What? Oh—" Severus cleared a space on the table for them, although he raised an eyebrow at some of the titles. "Darkest Arts of the Dark Ages? That's a bit outside your usual, isn't it?"
"Perhaps, but I thought it might substitute for—oh, you have it," she said, nodding to an equally thick volume perched atop one of his piles. More Dark magic she's looking for, then. He narrowed his eyes.
"Minerva, what are you doing?"
"The same thing you are, I expect," she said, meeting his stare levelly.
"I doubt it. I'm trying to reconstruct a potion, remember?" He waved his hand vaguely at the few potions manuals he'd pulled from the shelves, very aware they were far enough away not to be convincing.
"Yes, Cursed Artefacts of the Middle Ages certainly sounds very potion-centric," she sniffed. "And—let's see—Secrets of the Ancient Cursebreakers—Morgana's Compendium of—"
"All right, you've made your point," he snapped. "I'm not just researching that potion, no."
He took a moment to rein in his temper; he'd had no further encounters with the Dark Lord since they'd last spoken, but he still felt horribly on edge. Stop. This isn't her fault. He suddenly remembered he'd never thanked her properly for offering him a room—he'd meant to leave her a potion, damn it—what else was he forgetting? No. This is how you'll get yourself killed. Focus.
Minerva was watching him. "Do you think there's any hope? For this, I mean?" she asked quietly, nodding to their book collection.
"Right now? No," he admitted, fighting the urge to look away. He hadn't considered it before, really, but it seemed far more difficult confirming for her that Albus was dying than it had been to tell Albus himself. "But I can't—I can't not try."
She sighed. "I thought not. But… understood. Clearly I've thought much the same, though I'm not even sure what I'm looking for."
"Well, you're in the right section, and that's about as far as I've gotten," he muttered. He examined her books more closely. "You can put those two back. I finished them yesterday. Nothing."
"That's something, at least," she said unhappily. She pulled out the chair nearest her stack. "I don't suppose you'd let me share until supper? Seeing as Irma likely won't let me leave with these?"
"If you like." He paused, unnerved at how quickly she settled into one of her books. "Minerva, I… I need to ask you a favour."
She looked up in surprise. "Which is… ?"
It was a risk, he knew, but he supposed he'd have to start trusting her more eventually, with Albus's days numbered… He shook himself and lowered his voice.
"I need to leave the castle tonight, for no more than a few hours. I'd prefer Albus didn't know about it, if at all possible."
"I can't guarantee that," she said slowly. "I will cover for you if necessary, of course, yes—but I cannot promise he will not go looking for you himself. Nor that he will not be able to determine your absence from the wards."
"He's got me keyed into the castle wards?" he said, momentarily distracted.
Minerva eyed him apologetically. "It's how I knew you were back the other night, I'm afraid. I assumed—I assumed it was something you had agreed to, to help ease your comings and goings for the castle?"
"No, it bloody well was not something I agreed to," he growled, pinching the bridge of his nose—but her explanation made sense, at least, if he was still offended Albus had never told him. Think, idiot. Of course he would have quietly put a watch on you, fifteen years ago—he owed you no explanation.
"I'm sorry," Minerva said quietly. "If it helps, the wards are rather overwhelming—I doubt he will be able to tell unless he's focusing specifically on you. There's simply too much to feel, otherwise. I will try to keep his attention elsewhere."
"It seems I have little choice. Thank you."
"I don't suppose you'll at least tell me where you're going?"
He hesitated. Outside the place I bought you your last birthday present… That had been a very selective bookshop, specialising in the Dark Arts, of course; Borgin and Burkes couldn't hope to compete. But Lucius had only mentioned it as a meeting place; surely Narcissa would want to go somewhere more comfortable to talk… the closest place being…
Oh, this looks bad.
"The south end of Knockturn Alley," he mumbled, feeling heat creep into his face. "Not—not for—" Minerva's arched eyebrow told him he was not helping his case. "I'm meeting someone." That's not better, idiot.
He fumbled for the letter again. "Here."
"I wasn't making assumptions," Minerva said, taking it. She frowned as she read. "You have no idea what they want?"
"No, but I doubt it's good."
"Probably not, no, especially if you're meeting there. Well, be careful, at least, if you really must go traipsing about the area."
"I can stay out of trouble, unlike some."
He ignored her very doubtful snort and returned to his reading.
Severus hadn't appeared that evening in the Great Hall, which Minerva thought was wise; he'd have drawn more attention by attending after so long an absence. No one seemed to pay any mind to his empty chair, anyway—most of the students were shooting curious looks at Horace, who was in his element reminiscing with his old colleagues, though thankfully within the bounds of a normal term dinner. She had a feeling they'd all be far less professional afterwards for drinks, though.
She frowned upon glancing sideways; Albus seemed to be having difficulties with his knife, though she'd hardly expected otherwise, given that his hand looked no better.
"Is it hurting you again?"
Albus shrugged. "Less that you would think, but it is a bit of an adjustment, I'm afraid. It could certainly be worse."
She certainly needed no reminder of that. She shook her head in exasperation and changed the subject. "Will you be joining us after dinner?"
"I think not," he said. "I trust Horace will want to become reacquainted with you all again, and as I've taken up much of his time here already…"
"Have you?" she said, suddenly frowning. "He didn't say, when he visited me earlier, only that he'd seen Filius. Speaking of which—may I ask why it seems to have fallen to me to inform him about his House?"
Albus shifted ever so slightly. "Ah. It must have—"
"I won't believe for a moment it slipped your mind, you know."
He sighed. "Forgive me. I was making an effort to remain in Horace's favour. He was not as enthusiastic about returning here as I have made it seem."
"He did make a fuss, so I suppose at least you avoided that. And you still haven't really told me why he's here, other than to help Severus, and I get the impression that was an afterthought."
Albus was uncharacteristically silent. She narrowed her eyes in thought.
"Don't tell me you two are—again—"
"Oh, no. We burnt that bridge many, many years ago," said Albus, chuckling. "Besides, it would seem cruel to begin any such thing now, knowing how little time we would have."
She was mostly sure he was joking, as he'd planned for Horace even before last week's incident, but she still shook her head. "I suppose it depends on… well, never mind." She gave him a sidelong glance. "We still need to talk. Properly."
"We do. But not tonight."
"When, Albus?"
"Soon. I promise." At her exasperated sigh, he shook his head. "We have time, Minerva."
"Not nearly enough," she said. It occurred to her that this might be his own way of becoming accustomed to the idea of his death, and she might show more restraint when asking for a conversation about it, but his avoidance was no less irritating. Still, she didn't press further, and nodded when he excused himself after a brief dessert.
Pomona caught her eye as she pushed away her plate. "You'll be joining us for a nightcap, Minerva?"
"I suppose so. I'm not in the mood for much else."
"Rough first week for you, too, then," said Pomona. "Well, come on. There's something up there with your name on it, weekday or not."
Minerva didn't particularly want to socialise with Horace and the rest of the staff, so she settled in one of the comfortable armchairs near the edge of the room. Pomona looked surprised, but didn't comment, instead pouring them both sweet spiced rum.
"How is your nephew's wedding planning coming along?" Minerva asked, trying to keep her focus away from the school or the war at the moment. Pomona didn't seem to mind.
"Better than it has a right to," she chuckled. "They want it done quickly, of course—I'd say they were rushing, but, well… You can't blame them. It's not like we haven't seen this before, last time. But they've done very well so far. Dress robes ordered, nearly set on a guest list and refreshments, I think, although there is some debate about the location…"
Minerva shook her head, recalling memories of her own wedding—odd though they were to dredge up, now, but better than alternative lines of conversation. "Goodness. We took months to decide all of that, and we were all for a simple thing."
"Well, so are they," said Pomona, "but you know my sister… "
"I do. They have their work cut out for them."
Pomona grinned. "Well, Ansel says if they're not all sorted out by the end of the month, they're eloping, but I'm not to tell her that."
"Some people have all the fun," said Minerva wryly.
"Ooh, they'd better not, I don't want to explain how I knew about it ahead of time, and you know I can't lie."
"I'm sure they will work something out before it comes to that," said Minerva. "Besides, if they did, no one could expect you to have known. That's rather beside the point of elopement."
She very nearly mentioned that she should know—she'd been very close to running off with a young man herself, once—but it didn't feel right to say it, even to someone as dear as Pomona. She'd only told Albus, and as much comfort as it had been at the time, it still made for the occasional embarrassing moment when she wondered whether he still remembered.
Then again, she was fairly certain Albus had embarrassing secrets on all of them. She tried not to imagine what Pomona's might be.
"—know you had advised against it," Pomona was saying, her cheeks pink, "but it's such a small thing, and I hardly leave the grounds as it is. I'm not much like the rest of you, but if a few public words are best how I can stand against him, then I think I should."
It took Minerva a few moments to realise where the subject had shifted, and her heart sank. Charity's book. Merlin.
"Oh, Pomona, you didn't."
"I know, I know," she said. "But, like I said, I'm not often off the grounds, and I think the likelihood You-Know-Who takes an interest in me is so little—it's not like I wrote the damn thing, did I? And I'm not in your Order."
"I don't think he cares about that. You're allied with us, at least," said Minerva quietly.
"Look. He's not going after every Prophet reporter telling people how to resist him, is he? Two sentences on the back cover commenting on the fine depth of Charity's research can hardly mean much to him. I'll be fine, Minerva." She gave a lopsided grin. "And if I'm not, then I suppose I'll be spending all next summer here, then."
"I hope you're right," said Minerva, shaking her head. "And I do appreciate—well. But I'm still going to worry."
"You don't need to right this minute. Worry about Horace and Moody in the same room together, if you must."
Minerva shuddered. "Oh, believe me, I do. I suppose I'd best stay for a while, then."
She doubted Horace would make much of it, but Alastor had never been particularly fond of the old Slytherin in past mention. A flippant remark—even as well-meaning as Horace usually was—had the potential to turn uncomfortable. She sipped her drink and wondered when faculty gatherings had started to feel more like child sitting.
Pomona sighed, clearly thinking along the same lines. "You know, whether or not he's planning on his supper parties again, Filius and I were thinking of meeting an evening a week or so, once the term's settled a bit. Just a few of us. Perhaps you'd be interested?"
"I—of course, but—"
Pomona waved away her question. "I know you're busy. Bring your paperwork if you want, Merlin knows I probably will. But things have gotten gloomy and there's no sense in us being shut up alone working all the time, either."
"Very well. I'll await your invitation."
"Please. Nothing so formal. Filius's rooms, next Friday, unless you've got plans?"
"Other than patrol duty, no."
"That's all right. I'm on the off hours, I think." Pomona shrugged. "Just the three of us for now, though you might try to bring Severus, if you'd like. That boy still doesn't get out nearly enough."
Minerva snorted at the irony; he was out far too often for her liking, though not in the way Pomona meant. She shook her head at Pomona's raised eyebrows.
"That boy is nearly forty years old, if he isn't already," she said instead.
"Is he? I've lost count." Pomona grinned suddenly. "Happens when you're old."
Minerva smirked. "And what does that make me?"
"Still younger than me."
"Five years!"
"Prettier, then."
"Hush."
It was cooler than he would have liked, and raining again, which made Severus wonder whether Narcissa was going to meet him inside the bookshop rather than near it; it probably would be smarter, anyway. If Knockturn Alley was dodgy, the south end was the sort of place even powerful wizards kept their wands concealed in one hand and a dagger in the other. Association with the Dark Lord meant little to those just as dangerous and opportunistic.
Besides, there were people who took rank as a challenge, to say nothing of those who might harbour some grudge. Severus kept his face well hidden in the hood of his cloak, though he lamented the slight loss of hearing and vision the cover cost him. His only consolation was that everyone else he encountered was at the same disadvantage, though it didn't stop him feeling the obvious appraisals he exchanged with them. He was an equal threat, maybe, or not worth the trouble. Anywhere else he might have been insulted, but here he didn't care what anyone thought as long as he didn't look weak or lost—which was harder than he wanted to admit.
The south end was less an end than a labyrinth of backstreets and odd corners that had somehow devolved from one side of the main alley; it was nearly impossible to find an address if you hadn't been there before. There was no rhyme or reason to the types of establishments crammed into unlikely spots, a good chance their real locations were behind hidden doors anyway, and a better chance someone was waiting to jump the passer-by who unknowingly lingered too long outside them.
There. The bookshop Severus sought was sandwiched between a drapery and a place that either sold cursed musical instruments or served as an exotic butcher shop; it was difficult to tell. He was only halfway through the door when someone inside grabbed his hand, and he fought the urge to strike without looking first.
"Hands off if you want to keep them," he snarled. The hooded figure paused, apparently examining the wand it found pointed at its face.
"Severus. I thought that was you."
He blinked. Narcissa immediately let him go and uncovered her face slightly; he lowered his wand and followed suit, frowning.
"Are you mad? I might have cursed you."
"I know you better than that."
"And if it hadn't been me?"
"Then I would be another aggressive palm reader in this alley that no one pays attention to. I'm perfectly all right." She sniffed. "Honestly, you're worse than Lucius. Even if I'm not one of His chosen, I can still take care of myself."
Severus reappraised her; he'd so long thought of her as Narcissa Malfoy that he'd almost forgotten she'd grown up with two imposing sisters and still held her own. She was far less delicate than Lucius, in a way, although to think either of them so because of their finery was a grave mistake. He nodded and cast an eye around the bookshop.
"I assume we're not staying here?"
"There are better places to talk."
He grimaced. "More private, at least. I wouldn't call it better."
Narcissa sniffed. "Don't be ridiculous. Endora's is more discreet than even the Leaky Cauldron."
"Tom doesn't run a brothel out of his inn," Severus snapped. "I'd like to hope anyone who does is more discreet."
"You can argue your opinion of the establishment later," said Narcissa, drawing her hood up again. "I don't have much time. I expect you don't, either."
"No, although I did convince Minerva McGonagall to keep Dumbledore occupied. Even if she does think I'm visiting your preferred establishment for the more obvious reason." The half-truth came easily; he ignored Narcissa's soft laugh and followed her back into the street, directing his steps towards the largest building on this side of the alley.
It was, perhaps, the only place here the average wizard might have heard of, though its entrance was still concealed through its left window rather than the door. "To keep out the riff-raff," Lucius had said once, although to keep out Ministry raids was more likely in Severus's opinion. He still hesitated at the entrance, and Narcissa sighed.
"Come on. No one will bother us if I'm with you."
He glanced sideways at her, but of course her face was still hidden; he wondered whether her preference for Endora's was indeed for its privacy or whether she had another connection. Not wanting to ask, lest she take it the wrong way, he followed her through the window and nearly stopped dead.
The clientele still weren't the sort that would frequent the Three Broomsticks, but the pub itself was nearly as bright and clean as the Leaky Cauldron, with nothing obvious to suggest the presence of its more lucrative business. Narcissa tugged him towards a corner table and pushed back her hood slightly.
"Endora has upgraded the place since you've last been here, obviously."
"Obviously," Severus agreed, feeling wrong-footed. "I haven't been here since—"
"—Lucius brought you to help sell, back when you were still dealing in illicit potions. Yes, I knew about that," she said, smirking. "Endora is a distant cousin, you see. Very distant, but helpful."
"Not just a friend in low places, then," he murmured; that at least cleared that up, though it didn't make him feel much better.
Narcissa nodded, motioning to the bar staff. "She's still in that business, too, not that she needs it… Wine?"
"If you like," he said, though he doubted he'd be drinking much of it. He waited until she'd ordered and they were alone again before lowering his voice.
"How did you manage to leave?"
"Oddly enough, illicit potions ingredients," she said softly. "The others he would have trusted to go were busy elsewhere, and I'm sure he wouldn't have bothered you for a small thing like that."
"I suppose not," he said, though he wasn't sure whether he found that concerning. They fell silent as a younger woman brought them both drinks and vanished behind the bar again. Neither of them touched the goblets.
"You said your time is short. Why am I here?" he asked bluntly.
Narcissa took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for all the secrecy, it's just… Lucius and I, we thought you might be able to help, what with being his favoured advisor these days, and now…" Unless he was mistaken, her eyes had filled with tears. "Draco's been Marked."
He searched her face, but he had no doubt her upset was genuine. Lucius's, too, if their last conversation could be believed. Severus sighed. "I'm sorry."
She gave an odd little hiccup and something that was almost a smile. "That doesn't sound like something a Death Eater would say."
He glanced at her sharply. "I was under the impression that you and Lucius did not want—"
"We didn't. Please, I'm not questioning your loyalty. Please hear me out."
Had it been anyone else, Severus would have put it down to a trap—it was probably foolish to think this wasn't, but a part of him found it difficult to care. Besides, hearing her out meant nothing. "All right."
Narcissa toyed with her goblet, but appeared to think better of drinking from it. "You know we wanted Draco to wait… but the Dark Lord had other plans. There was nothing we could do about that."
"Was he the only one?"
"I'm sorry?"
"Draco. Was he the only one underage to be Marked? Or have there been others?"
"I don't know," said Narcissa, frowning. "I think… just Draco. That is all Lucius and I know of, for now. We've certainly heard of no plans otherwise."
"Why Draco, then?"
"To punish Lucius, I think," she said. "He knows Lucius and I didn't want… and he is still angry with Lucius for last June… and we couldn't very well refuse…" She sniffled quietly and swallowed. "There is nothing we can do, but we thought if you—perhaps—"
Severus nearly laughed, though certainly not at the thought of what would happen if he really were that stupid. "And what do you expect I could do that you cannot?"
"I… You are his favourite, Severus, his most trusted servant—surely—"
"I cannot change the Dark Lord's mind, Narcissa, nor am I stupid enough to attempt it. It is done."
"Not change his mind," she said quickly, her voice breaking. "I know that. But if you could perhaps… keep Draco from most of his attention… Please, Severus. You've been like an uncle to Draco, and he is still so young… He has no idea what will really be asked of him, the harm that could come to him—but if you were there to help—"
"You know I have no desire to see him harmed," said Severus. "But I cannot promise—if he angers the Dark Lord—"
"Then help him. See that he doesn't," she begged. "The others don't care, they will not show him how to keep himself safe... and there are plenty who would try to see him fail, out of spite… Please, Severus. He's my only son."
Severus avoided her eyes. It would be cruel to guarantee Draco's safety; he had no way to make it so. But he was still a child, albeit a misguided and annoyingly arrogant one.
"I will do what I can," Severus said quietly. "You have my word."
"Thank you." Narcissa dabbed discreetly at her cheeks, though she was still trembling slightly. "I wish you had at least been the one to stand for him, if Lucius wasn't permitted."
"Then who—?" he started, though he thought he already knew the answer.
Narcissa confirmed it. "Bella. Please be careful—if she thinks you are interfering—"
"I can handle your sister."
"You know she doubts you."
"And if she thinks any of my concern for Draco is cause to doubt further, then she is madder than I thought," Severus said flatly. Narcissa flinched, but didn't argue the slight. "And if so, then I suggest you remove any fondness you have left for her."
"Severus, she's my sister."
"Do you think she would care about that if she thought your loyalty to Draco or Lucius was greater than that to the Dark Lord?"
Narcissa looked up, her face white. "I—that is not what I meant to suggest—you know I am loyal—"
"I know you are," he said, though he'd told that lie enough times to recognise insincerity when he heard it. "And I rather think, if it were questioned, the Dark Lord would be more willing to trust my—"
"I wouldn't be so sure," she said.
"I was under the impression that Bellatrix was as much to blame for last June's failure as Lucius," he said carefully, "if not more."
"Of course it was her fault," Narcissa snapped. "But she—that is—she has—regained favour with the Dark Lord more quickly than Lucius."
Severus frowned; the Dark Lord did not forgive. "How?"
"I don't know," she said quickly. "But she has." Narcissa looked around anxiously. "That is—she is in a greater position to have his ear—and I have no doubts she will use that to her advantage if you anger her—"
"You don't know how, or you can't tell me?"
Narcissa bit her lip. "I've been forbidden to speak of it, yes."
"Then you ought not."
"I know. If the Dark Lord discovered you knew, it would be your head as well as ours." She fell silent and fished a galleon from her robes, leaving it on the table beside their untouched wine. "I need to go. You should, too, before Dumbledore starts to wonder."
"Of course." He rose from his seat carefully, trying not to draw too much attention to their corner. "Did you still need your ingredients?"
"Some I have already. The others are waiting for me with Borgin."
Severus nodded; she was clever enough to make any gaps in her errand harder to spot. "Let me at least escort you closer to his shop."
"Certainly." She got to her feet and tugged her hood down further again, though he didn't miss the last glance she cast around the room. But the pub had been as good as her word; it didn't seem as though anyone had taken any interest in them since they'd arrived.
He accompanied her back through the alley in silence, pleased no one gave them more than the usual suspicious glance, though he still clenched his wand tightly beneath his cloak. Narcissa didn't pause until they were in more familiar territory, the sign for Borgin and Burkes dimly lit at the corner.
"I'll go, now," Severus said quietly. "Good luck."
"Thank you." Narcissa hesitated; he could feel her eyes boring into him from under her cowl. She surprised him by eschewing the more practical farewell for a more formal embrace, but as she dipped her head close, she breathed, so softly he almost couldn't hear: "Bella's pregnant. His."
Before he could so much as blink, Narcissa turned and hurried away as though he didn't exist.
Author's Note: I will fix the bullshit from Cursed Child if it kills me. Ahem. Thanks for reading! :) As always, feel free to let me know what you think (or just scream about Harry Potter with me).