The Mystery Wife

Draco swallowed hard, straightened his shoulders and marched through the front doors of Hogwarts.

His father had been right; this was a lot harder without Crabbe and Goyle to back him.

Minerva McGonagall bustled forward to greet him; she had clearly been told to expect him. "Mr. Malfoy," she nodded coolly, shaking his hand. "Welcome back to Hogwarts."

Draco glanced around the entryway. They appeared to be alone.

"I thought it best to give you a bit of privacy on your return," she said. "I would imagine it difficult enough without everyone gawking at you. I must say, I was surprised by your decision. None of the other Slytherins have opted to sit for the NEWTs. I wish they would have. I suppose they have until tomorrow to change their minds..."

The corner of Draco's mouth twisted upwards. "Unless they've changed their minds about... other things, I don't think they will, Professor. The next time you have Slytherins at Hogwarts, they'll probably be the freshly-Sorted variety. Professor Slughorn will just have to make do with me."

McGonagall sighed and closed the doors behind him with a wave of her wand. They shut with a metallic and very final clang.

"A letter from you might do much, Malfoy," she said, leading him in the direction of the Slytherin dorms. He followed her, his trunk floating along obediently behind him. "The mistakes of youth are just that, and at your age, they're still redeemable. Your classmates will have very limited futures if they dinna graduate."

Her brogue was rather thicker than Draco remembered it, and she walked a little more slowly, with a limp.

"Would you really want them back?" Draco replied, trying not to sound cynical, trying to conceal the shiver between his shoulderblades that had been crawling there ever since the doors locked behind him. No Apparition on the grounds of Hogwarts. And the Vanishing Cabinet had been destroyed in the fire. No way out but forward. This had been a stupidly Gryffindor thing to do. "I've heard people say that Hogwarts would be better off without Slytherin House."

"I've heard people say that, too," she said frankly. "And the war is over at last, and none of that nonsense matters anymore. They're young people throwing away their futures. If anyone has a chance of getting them back here to at least try to pass their NEWTs, it's you. You were always their ringleader; they took all their cues from you. You and Professor Snape."

Draco allowed a flash of anguish to cross his face, quickly suppressed. It wasn't hard to create. All he had to do was remember his dreams. He had enough of that stored up to last him years.

"Which leaves me," he said, very quietly. "Alright. I don't have a lot of influence left in certain circles, but I can try. What about the students in the other Houses?"

"Everyone else is coming back," she said, smiling at him in a way that warmed him in spite of himself. "Including Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, who also missed this past school year."

Draco controlled a wince, and forced it into a semi-amused smirk instead. "Well, good," he drawled. "I need somebody to compete with."

She actually barked a surprised and rather rusty-sounding laugh at that. "We should get you settled in your dormitory, and then perhaps you'd like to check in with your Head of House?"

"I suppose I'd better, hadn't I?" Draco wasn't looking forward to that at all. Slughorn had never liked him, and the contempt had been emphatically mutual. Not to mention that ever since Draco's apprenticeship-- and Draco's learning exactly what that position usually entailed-- his reaction to the person of Horace Slughorn could probably best be summed up by the word squick. "Did he know I was coming back?"

"Of course," McGonagall nodded. "Everyone does. He'll be pleased to hear you're willing to help us try to get the Slytherin contingent of the graduating class back. We've been racking our brains, in truth. I don't know if they've all been frightened into hiding or if they're simply being stubborn, but either way, they're jeopardizing their own futures. Severus would never have approved."

Draco lowered his eyes, so she wouldn't see the amusement in them. She had that right. The man-- woman-- whatever-- had been a bloody slavedriver for the past few weeks.

"No, he wouldn't, I must say. It's probably a bit of both. I'll appeal to their pride. Always a safe bet with Slytherins, you know." He gave her another wry smirk.

He got a smile in return. "The Slytherin dormitories," she announced unnecessarily as they descended the last staircase and came upon the frieze of serpents that guarded the door. "I believe the password is still 'pureblood.'"

The doors opened obediently at that, the serpents hissing as they made their way inside.

The Slytherin dormitories were entirely deserted, and obviously had been for some time.

"Claim any room that pleases you," she said. "With luck, you'll have a few classmates to share it with, by this time tomorrow. Shall we leave your trunk here and go see Horace?"

Draco nodded, not quite able to speak, and followed her out again.

"Did you lot know you were insulting Professor Snape with that password, or was it mere coincidence?" she asked as the doors shut behind them.

"No," Draco said, a little stiffly. "I didn't, anyway. If I'd known, it wouldn't have been that password. Things in general might have been a bit different, if I'd been told that early enough."

"How so?"

"He was my favourite teacher. He was brilliant, talented, a powerful wizard. The news that he was half-Muggle would have come as a bit of a shock. It might have made me think about a few things." Draco's mouth twisted, and he walked a little faster. "Or made me shut up and change the password, at least."

McGonagall nodded. "Well, if it's any consolation, I also made some decisions I regret, decisions based on insufficient information. I now have proof positive, for example, that Severus' intentions were honourable all along, and he was acting under Dumbledore's orders." She looked rather dyspeptic.

Draco blinked at her. "What finally convinced you?" He had to bite back an irritated exclamation of Potter's word on the subject? And then another exclamation of Oh, his memories-- you've still got them, haven't you?

"The Headmaster's office will no longer admit me," she said a bit stiffly. "I attacked a Hogwarts Headmaster, to wit, Severus, invoking an ancient set of protections that have barred me from the office, figuratively as well as literally. And the fact that Severus killed Albus did not prevent him from becoming Headmaster, and only one explanation is possible. He was acting under Albus' orders that night, and the school itself knew as much. As Headmaster, Severus continued to protect the students and faculty from the Death Eaters as best he could, while keeping order in the ranks. No mean feat, that." She shook her head. "I wish I'd known. I would have helped him."

Draco blinked at her again. And then a slow, extremely rueful smile crept onto his face.

"How?" he asked, then added hastily, "Not that I don't think you could have helped. I'm just wondering how you could have helped him without blowing his cover. I wasn't here... but I think he needed everyone here that wasn't a Death Eater to despise him, as openly as he could let you get away with. He was being watched, you know. The Death Eaters always watched each other, and reported to the D-- to You-Know-Who. And Professor Snape... well, he didn't exactly go out of his way to make himself charming, did he? The Death Eaters all hated him. They would have jumped at any opportunity to bring him down. I'm sorry that it turned out the way it did, you know, with the Headmaster's office... but I really don't think he could have taken the chance. He really couldn't have explained your co-operation."

She sniffed. "It wouldn't have had to be overt or obvious. But he could have used a pair of eyes on the staff. There are a hundred small ways I could have made his last year easier, if I'd known." She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Puir Severus. I hope wherever he is, he's happy at last."

Well, he's BETTER. But he's stuck with me for the rest of his life, you see, and that's not a good forecast for anything except exasperated...

No.

"I hope so." Draco murmured, then added with a very shaky laugh, "I'd give a lot to see someone try to make him wear a halo and play the harp, though."

Professor McGonagall laughed rather shakily herself, and blew her nose delicately. "Well, here you are, Mr. Malfoy, Professor Slughorn's office. Will you want me to wait for you and accompany you back to your dormitory?"

Bloody hell, yes. I have no bodyguards.

He was thinking of asking an old, injured witch who'd just been crying to wait around in a damp corridor so he could be walked back home.

Sod THAT. He wouldn't rather die, he supposed, but repeated Cruciatus was definitely on the list of preferable activities.

"I think I know the way," Draco said with a faint, crooked smile. "And frankly, I'm going to head right back, write some pointed letters, and cram until I fall asleep. Thank you, Professor."

"It has been my sincere pleasure, Mr. Malfoy. If you get into trouble or change your mind, the portraits and the ghosts are all set to watch out for ye. Just pass the word through them and I'll be along directly."

She whisked away, her long emerald robes hissing along the floor as she headed off.

Draco looked at the door to Slughorn's office for a long moment before he knocked. The door swung open of its own accord, and Draco peered inside.

The office was dimly lit, and resembled a Sultan's boudoir more than a proper office. There were brilliantly colored silk hangings draping the ceiling and all four walls, and that stupid, omnipresent fez was still perched on Slughorn's fat, balding head. The man himself was a little thinner and grayer than he had been last year, when Draco had had to sit through his classes.

"Come in, young master Malfoy, come in!" he beamed effusively, and Draco complied, taking the soft pouf opposite the desk and biting back a sigh. "I'm so glad you made it back in time for your NEWTs!"

"Thank you, Professor Slughorn," Draco replied with a crooked smile, managing to keep what he was thinking completely off his face. "I am, too. We had to have at least one Slytherin present, after all."

"That we did, my boy, that we did. Has Minerva talked to you about approaching some of the others? Slytherin House has suffered through quite enough this year, without allowing its entire graduating contingent to flunk out on top of everything else. So many promising young minds..."

"I promised I'd write some letters tonight," Draco drawled wryly. "Whether they'll listen to me is another thing entirely. But I'll try."

"Thank you, dear boy," Slughorn beamed at him. "And they'll all thank you too, someday, when they've got cushy and upwardly mobile jobs at the Ministry. Would you like paper, a pen, ink, some space on my desk to write?"

"Actually," a dry voice interrupted them, "the boy is wanted in the Headmaster's office." Draco looked around a little wildly for the source of it, and spotted a dusty portrait of a rather seedy and clever-looking older man, sitting in a green leather chair while a Slytherin banner fluttered behind him.

"What?" Slughorn sputtered. "But... Phineas, the Headmaster's office hasn't allowed anyone but Potter in, ever since Severus left the school..."

"Nevertheless, his presence is being requested," said the portrait. "Alone, that was very important. The doors are still being barred, to anyone but Draco Malfoy."

Draco managed, with an effort, to yank his eyebrows down from what felt to be about ceiling level.

"Isn't that interesting," he drawled, getting up from Slughorn's horrible pouf. "Was that known to the staff, or is the fact that I'm the only one invited a new bit of information?"

"The staff knows the Head's office has been barred for over a month," said Slughorn. "The Governors are interviewing prospective candidates for a new Headmaster, but until they select one, we all just assumed the room would only open for Potter, because... well, he's Harry Potter, isn't he? But now... Phineas, would the room still open for young Harry?"

"Only Draco Malfoy and the former Headmasters and Headmistresses," said the portrait, rather smugly.

Draco couldn't have helped himself if his life had depended on it. His mouth curved upwards in a smirk.

"Pity," he murmured with a faint note of mock-sympathy. "It'll have to be me, then. I'll be there directly--" Draco looked hard at the portrait for a moment, and identified, "--Professor Black."

The portrait nodded. "The password is 'Dumbledore,' and it will only work for you."

Draco nodded back politely and saw himself out of Slughorn's office, practically skipping down the hall and up the five flights of moving stairs to the Headmaster's office. He got to go somewhere Potter didn't. He finally got to go somewhere Potter didn't, la la la...

Then again, what, exactly, was waiting for him up there? Something Sevanna had set up for him? Or Albus Dumbledore's ghost, wanting to have a little chat with him?

His footing became a little less certain on the stairs, his steps slower. But they took him to the Headmaster's office, and inside, with the password, and up the moving spiral staircase to the dimly lit, circular office beyond.

"Hello?" Draco called into the gloom. There were little whirring silver contraptions on a small table by the window, and the portraits of past Headmasters were all looking down on him.

"Hello, Draco," a woman's voice purred, and Sevanna became visible in the Headmaster's chair. She was smirking.

Draco had a split second in which the lower part of his brain thought, Oh, bloody hell, that's hot, before the wittering remainder managed to catch up with it.

"What the hell?!" Draco then yelped. He pointed at her wildly. "You're supposed to be--"

He chopped off the rest of this sentence, glancing quickly around the room at their portrait audience. Merlin only knew who some of these would blab to.

"Why are you here?" he demanded. "Not that I'm not glad to see you, of course," which he was, fiercely, and he was certain that was showing on his face, which was embarrassing as hell, "but isn't it rather dangerous for you?"

One of her shoulders rippled in a shrug. "Unimportant. I am supposed to be seeing to your safety, and I can hardly do that unless I am here."

That did rather stop him in his tracks. The Vow. He should have thought of that.

"I would have thought that got covered, in that week of really painfully abrupt lessons I got in Defense Against the Dark Arts," he replied lightly, smirking at his own expense. "But I'm glad you're here anyway."

A corner of Sevanna's lips quirked in a smile. "I hear you're going to be writing to the other Slytherins, trying to get them in here in time for the NEWTs," she said. "I approve wholeheartedly." She rose and walked around the desk, perching on the edge of it, and it occurred to Draco that it was both really dimly lit and seriously warm in the Head's office.

And he was NOT putting Sevanna and the words 'Headmaster' or 'Headmistress' in the same mental sentence, thank you very much. No. A world of no. La la la la la...

"If you like," she said, "I'll teach you a spell to duplicate a single letter, so you aren't up writing half the night. And I'll give you a Sleeping Draught, to make sure you get a decent night's rest before your exams."

"Something that would also keep me from dreaming would be greatly appreciated," Draco said, struggling to keep his voice innocent and level and not at all breathless, thank you very much. "Do you have any suggestions, for the letters? Other than the generic 'get your pasty, cowardly arses back here, you House traitors, you're shaming the lot of us'?"

Sevanna laughed at that, an honest, open, ringing laugh. It was rare and shocking enough that it gave Draco a rush of pride to have caused it.

"Dear Ambitious Slytherins," she said almost merrily, "If you don't come back and sit your NEWTs tomorrow, you will have a number of fabulous options for employment before you. You could wait tables in the Leaky Cauldron. Or drive the Knight Bus; Ernie's getting ready for retirement. Or perhaps you could clean up after the shitting, feather-molting merchandise in Eeylops Owl Emporium. Come sit your damned NEWTs. Love, Draco."

Draco's mouth twitched quite wildly at this. "Not bad," he pronounced, in a voice that tried to be thoughtful and instead was shaking so hard that it was barely comprehensible. Then he fell into the nearest chair, howling with laughter.

"I'm stealing it. Verbatim," he managed to gasp. "Where's a quill?"

She Conjured him quill and parchment with an idle wave, sat back and had a glass of wine while he wrote, and taught him how to copy the letter afterward. She then lazily Summoned six owls to the window - so many of the Slytherin graduating class had died or been arrested in the battle, she only needed six - and the letters were sent off.

What any of the others would make of them, Merlin alone knew.

"And now, for the seriously awkward bit," Sevanna muttered as soon as the last of the owls was away. "The sleeping arrangements."

Draco froze. Then he exhaled and raked both hands through his hair. "This has really been the most surreal month, I must say," he said under his breath before looking up.

"Sleeping arrangements?" he asked with forced, cheerful innocence. "I'd assumed a bed, in my case. In yours, as well. It is the traditional thing to do."

So is shagging your Master, an unhelpful little voice drawled, insinuatingly, in his head. Draco told it off rather violently and shoved it into a mental image of the Vanishing Cabinet.

"I hate to say it, but we'd both be far safer here in the Headmaster's quarters than we would be in the Slytherin dormitories. Not to mention more comfortable. It's entirely up to you, as you're the one taking the exams tomorrow. But all my books are here, and it's going to be a long night."

Was it ever. But the idea did have considerable appeal. Draco was keenly interested in safety, at this point-- nearly as interested in comfort-- certainly interested in studying a bit more before his tests--

...and definitely interested in the company.

Draco shoved the hormonal little voice back in the cabinet, cursing internally.

Besides... why should Potter have all the fun of being whispered about, around here? Draco Malfoy was summoned to the Headmaster's office when he came back to Hogwarts, and didn't come out until morning...

Let them wonder.

"Alright. Let's stay here, then," he drawled. He even managed to keep his colour down to a faint pink as he added, with a rueful smirk, "I suppose it's too much to ask that there's more than one bed in here, isn't it?"

Sevanna snorted. "I'm afraid not. But you may have the bed, and I'll take the sofa. It's not as if I'll be sleeping, anyway."

"You are not taking the sofa," Draco replied indignantly. "My mother would hex me. I'll take the sofa. I'll be knocked out-- it's not as if I'll notice if it's uncomfortable. Why are you not going to be sleeping, anyway?"

"I plan to be guarding you, as it happens. Technically, I am still the Headmaster, until a new one is appointed. I have a duty to see to the safety of the students, particularly if the Slytherins are going to try to come back to sit their NEWTs."

"Damned straight," the portrait of Phineas opined.

Draco waved around at the room in aggravation.

"Who's going to get me in here? I'm the only Slytherin student currently in Hogwarts-- if the others come back, it won't be until morning." He paused, frowning. "Well, probably not. And they'd have to get in the normal way, I would hope, by someone letting them through the front doors. We could set Slughorn on the alert for anyone arriving before then..." He swallowed hard. "And have him send a message up here if they do. I should be there. He won't watch them carefully enough, and you can't be seen."

"I won't be," she smiled thinly, and shimmered out of existence.

Draco picked his jaw up off the floor after a moment, and complained irritably at the air, "Could you please be visible when I'm arguing with you? I'm trying to be a gentleman, here. And the sheer rarity of that should add to its value, I would think."

She snorted soft derision. "I was unaware that we were arguing. You will be sleeping in the bed. I will be staying awake on the sofa, reading. Was there anything to argue in that, or were you merely being habitual?"

"Yes," Draco snarked, folding his arms. "To both. I can always shout, if you're having trouble noticing that we're arguing. Or were you planning to Imperio me into taking the sleeping potion, and then frog-marching me into bed while I was unconscious?"

She shimmered back into existence, looking annoyed. "You are being irrational. There is a bed. I can assure you it is extremely comfortable. You are going to sleep tonight, and I am not. It is therefore logical that you will take the bed. If you are entertaining antiquated notions of being a gentleman simply because I am now female, you needn't bother. I was a man for nearly forty years."

Draco allowed a tiny, impish smirk to surface on his face. "Then I'm being dutiful. The Apprentice sleeps on the sofa, surely."

Her eyes flashed, and she launched herself off the desk to stand toe to toe with him. Which, of course, immediately gave him Ideas he had to Forcibly Quash.

"My pet would sleep on the sofa, if I had one," she said silkily. "My Apprentice, I expect to be a deal brighter. You have, need I remind you, a crucial examination in the morning. Take the damned bed. Sleep. I'll wake you when it's time. This is not subject to debate."

There was a low whistle from one of the paintings behind him, someone who by the sound of it was equally impressed and amused. Draco ignored it. He was rather more concerned with keeping his hands to himself, and thus living to see another day.

"Yes... Mistress," Draco whispered pointedly, neither moving nor looking away, his heartbeat throbbing at the base of his throat.

"I can think of one way to ensure his obedience, Severus," one of the female portraits purred.

"Shut. Up," Sevanna said tightly. "I can handle this without lessons in being a dominatrix, thank you."

One of the other portraits fell apart laughing. It turned out, embarrassingly enough, to be Albus Dumbledore.

"Will you two please kiss each other so the rest of us can breathe?" he asked, lifting his half-moon spectacles to wipe tears from his eyes.

Draco went scarlet. "I can't. I have a crucial examination in the morning," he drawled stiffly, stepped backwards, and stalked towards the door that must lead to the headmaster's bedroom. "I have to go to sleep."

There were disappointed 'Awwws,' laughs and a few 'Boooos' as Draco stormed off. Behind him, Sevanna started bellowing at the portraits in her barely parsable Yorkshire dialect, rolling Rs, funny words and all.