The Mystery Wife

The problem with Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests was that they were, by their well-advertised nature, nastily exhausting. And given the standard plan to party all night and well into the next day on the night of the Leaving Feast and Ball, it was perhaps unsurprising that the entire graduating class settled in for naps after the Potions NEWT let out.

It was the last time most of them would sleep in those beds, after all.

The Leaving Feast was splendid, the Great Hall hung with gleaming samite banners in tribute to the fact that no House Cup was being awarded this year. Or, rather, four House Cups were being awarded this year, one for each in tribute to the crap year they'd all had. And if the other Houses resented Slytherin getting one as well, they would have resented it considerably more if Slytherin had won outright thanks to the Headmaster's cheating.

Then again, it would hardly be the first time a House Cup had been snatched from one House and given to another because of a Headmaster's partiality.

They were all given their own smaller copies of the House Cup as Leaving Gifts, as well, with the end effect that the Great Hall was absolutely swimming in gold, from banners, from House Cups, from plates, forks and knives, from glittering jewelry, caught and reflected in the shimmering fabrics of dress robes.

After the feast was ended, Snape rose from his chair, and a silence descended over the hall.

"The end," he said, "of a difficult year, for all of us. To those whom I could not entirely protect from the Carrows, my deepest and most sincere apologies. I can only tell you that I tried, as Albus tried to protect you from Delores Umbridge in your fifth year. Another torturer, subtler and more imaginative than the Carrows. What you have survived and endured, and what you have learned within these walls will have prepared you for the worst life will ever have to offer you. Whatever comes, know that you can and will survive to build a better world. I leave it in your hands, with confidence, with pride in your achievements, and with the sincere hope that you will do the thing well. I wish you fair fortune. Try not to be dunderheads."

There was a ripple of laughter and applause at that, and Snape acknowledged both with an idle wave and a quirk of his lips before he resumed his seat.

The seventh years stayed on for the Leaving Ball, and everyone else was shepherded back to the common rooms. The tables were cleared away with a wave of Snape's wand, the Weird Sisters came out to play and were greeted with rousing adolescent squealing, and off to one side of the room, a fountain appeared and began to flow with what turned out to be Madam Rosmerta's finest oak-matured mead. Insufficiently alcoholic to cause instant stupidity and riots, but an acknowledgement of their fully adult status.

Technically, they were now unquestionably and absolutely adults. They'd graduated today, with the last of their NEWTs behind them.

Snape hovered discreetly off to one side, looking, for once, rather pleased with the party he'd doubtless taken quite a hand in planning. He'd abandoned his customary suits of solemn black in favor of subtly shimmering dress robes in a deep, light-devouring wine red. And for once, he wasn't alone. He appeared to be deep in conversation with Professors McGonagall, Sinistra, Flitwick and Hagrid.

Draco watched him from across the room. There was, he realized, absolutely no reason they couldn't begin the traditional Master/Apprentice relationship tonight. The thought made his insides flip with nervous excitement. It was one of the unspoken traditions of Leaving Night that the seventh years tended to pair off somewhere in the course of it, and for just this one night, the staff tended to overlook it as long as everyone was discreet.

It wasn't entirely unheard of for former students and staff members to pair off on Leaving Night, either.

"Malfoy, truth or dare?" Blaise Zabini drawled, interrupting the rather wayward course of Draco's thoughts. Draco blinked and broke off his contemplation of Severus, and turned to Blaise.

Zabini was, it had to be admitted, looking rather good tonight. His dress robes, pale blue edged in silver, were striking with that dark exotic coloring. Pansy was on his arm in her hallmark execrable pink, of course, looking up at him as if she could eat him with a spoon.

Later, Draco thought a bit sourly, they'd probably try it.

"Was that an invitation to play? Or are we already playing, and I simply hadn't been informed?" he drawled back, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Oh, we're already playing," Blaise said airily. "I just had to cast a Cheering Charm on the lead singer of the Weird Sisters without being spotted. Now it's your turn. Truth or dare?"

Draco's eyes flicked to Potter, and his mouth twisted slightly. "Well, since I'll only be accepting dares from the male Slytherins this evening, I might as well get them out of the way. Dare."

Blaise's lips quirked. "I dare you to ask Professor Snape for a slow dance."

Draco's head snapped back around to stare at Blaise incredulously. It wasn't that he didn't want to, he bloody well did, but... "You bastard," he said emphatically.

"Could be worse. Could be Potter," Blaise shrugged, his smile widening.

"That could be more fun," Pansy frowned consideringly, tapping a nail against her cheek.

"Oh, hell no," Draco replied, immediately and even more emphatically, spun on his heel and headed for Severus.

He hovered on the edge of the circle of staff members, waiting for a pause in their conversation, and closed his eyes. He was trying not to wince too openly. Not only was he going to have to ask in front of the bloody teachers, he was also going to be given a scathing set-down for doing so.

Probably. Maybe.

It was only a few seconds that he ended up having to wait there like an idiot, but it felt like a small eternity.

"Draco," Severus acknowledged him with a nod. "Enjoying the party?"

"Yes, thank you, sir," Draco replied respectfully, although the corner of his mouth was struggling to curve upwards, and his face felt much too warm. "But I must say, sir, it does strike me that the other ghosts are being a bit rude."

One of Severus' eyebrows climbed. "How so? I have not noticed anything amiss." His dark eyes flicked over the Great Hall, taking it in at a glance. Nearly Headless Nick was over talking to Potter and Ginny Weasley, who were holding hands and apparently An Item once again. The Bloody Baron was hovering, the Gray Lady was chatting with Luna Lovegood, Peeves was mercifully absent, and Moaning Myrtle was sulking in a corner and stealing glances at Draco. Severus' eyes snapped back to Draco's with a question in them.

"None of them have asked you to dance," Draco explained mock-soberly, clasping his hands behind him. His stomach was doing flips again.

Those impossibly black eyes widened, then narrowed, then rolled heavenward. "And why would they do that, unless they'd either lost a bet, or foolishly involved themselves in a Wizarding Truth or Dare game?" Severus asked, rather more gently than he might have done.

"Oh, well, if none of them are clever enough to provide themselves with a plausible cover story, there's no hope for them," Draco drawled, the impish smirk escaping just a little. "It does save face, when you're asking someone who's probably going to say no."

"I should say no, you realize..."

"Go on, Severus," Professor McGonagall of all people chided him. "It's Leaving Night. And it was a brave thing to ask you."

"Minerva, he's playing Truth or Dare," Severus protested. "And we should be encouraging neither that nor student/faculty liaisons."

"Oh, button up. He's not a student anymore. Go dance with the boy. You're a ghost; no one will believe you're taking advantage of him."

Severus hesitated fractionally, then nodded. "Very well. Shall we, Mr. Malfoy?"

He floated over to where Draco was standing, close enough to touch, and he raised his arms, clearly not entirely sure what to do with them. Draco stepped in to his rescue, placing one of Severus' hands on his waist, and clasping the other. The Weird Sisters struck up a slow dance with suspiciously convenient timing, and Draco glanced at them to find Blaise and Pansy right there by the stage, apparently just having made the request.

The song was 'Magic Works,' one of their old hits; they'd played it at the Yule Ball in Draco's fourth year.

"Are you quite sure you want to do this?" Severus asked him. "I truly have no wish to damage your reputation or cause a scandal. It isn't quite too late to tell them I refused you."

Draco smiled at him, stepping smoothly backwards as if being led, drawing Severus subtly along with him. "Oh, no, you don't. You said yes-- I have witnesses among your own staff. No crying off now. Remember to make it look as if we're not quite touching."

This probably was going to cause a bit of gossip, if not precisely a scandal, but Draco didn't care. The lyrics were appropriate enough that he had to wonder if Blaise or Pansy had chosen this song on purpose, and if so, which of them had figured out the crush he'd been fighting off for his entire school career. It must really look like the final dance, to anyone who believed Severus was dead: Draco's last, tragically-too-late chance to do something he'd been waiting to do for years.

Severus followed him into the dance, floating along and allowing Draco to backlead. "So, which one of them made the dare, out of curiosity? Mr. Zabini, or Miss Parkinson? And what terrible thing will you do to exact your revenge?"

"Zabini," Draco confessed, smirking. "And I'm not sure. It's difficult to think of an acceptable revenge when I'd really rather thank him."

The Headmaster actually smiled at that. "As would I," he admitted. "I did not think I would have the pleasure, tonight."

Draco told himself sternly that he was much too mature, now, to run around the room crowing over the fact that Sev had actually wanted to dance with him.

"Well, even if we hadn't, you have at least three years in which I'll be yours to dance with exclusively," he murmured for his Master's ears only, smiling back. "I'd be only too happy to perform that duty. I have such brilliant memories of the last occasion I danced with you." He glanced teasingly down at their robes. "Better dressed, this time, though."

Everyone watching...and everyone was watching, openly or surreptitiously...was stunned to hear the Headmaster laughing as he danced with Draco Malfoy.

"You are never burning my 'The Who' t-shirt, Draco," he said dryly. "Put it from your mind."

"Oh, come on," Draco pleaded, smothering his own laughter. "I bloody suffered in that t-shirt. I mean, brown. Of all unholy colors to put me in, brown. Fine, I'll have to burn it in effigy... I wonder where I can get brown origami paper..."

Severus Conjured a small brown paper t-shirt with a flick of his fingers, holding it teasingly. His other hand, he left at Draco's waist, drawing him just a little closer.

Draco went willingly, his smile going just a tiny bit wicked. "Hmmm. What do I have to do, to get that?" he whispered.

Answering heat flared in those dark eyes. "How badly do you want it?" he teased, and then he seemed to think better of it. "We have dozens of witnesses, and enough scandal attached to our names that I will not give you any of the suggestions springing to mind. I will simply have to make you a gift of it."

"Damn," Draco sighed, although he was still smiling. "Alright, here isn't the best place, I suppose. And I still have to go to the party after this, to look after the Slytherins. If I started in on any of your suggestions, there'd be no bloody way I'd want to stop."

Severus' breath hitched quietly. "Nor I. But...you are still young. And I am realizing that I have asked too much of you, in enforcing the fidelity clause of apprenticeship. I release you from it. You should be free to make your own choices in such matters, without compulsion."

Draco looked at him with an arched eyebrow, his mouth quirking. "If I'm free to make my own choices about that, everybody in this room is about to get an eyeful... and I won't even have to take two steps to do it."

"Not even one," Severus agreed, stuffing the little brown paper t-shirt into a pocket of Draco's pearl gray dress robes. "But I want it to be your choice, not your damned duty. You and I have had quite enough of constrained choices and forced acts. I want both of us to be free of them, at least as free as we can be, given the constraints of the Vow." His lips quirked in mordant amusement. "Remind me to send your mother a Howler, and to include your father in it, just to be perverse."

Draco laughed shakily. "I'm... really sorry about that," he murmured. "I didn't ask her to, you know. I wish you weren't bound."

"Not your fault. If I must be bound again, at least this time it is to you. Not Potter, not Voldemort, not even Dumbledore. And this time, the residual effects of the bond are decidedly more...enjoyable. I wonder if Narcissa had any idea what she was getting us all into."

Draco made a comically horrified face. "Holy God, I hope not. Father's prurient remarks on the subject are bad enough."

Severus snorted soft agreement, and finally let Draco go as the dance ended. "Time to continue your Truth or Dare game, I suppose. No letting it get too far out of hand. We're still within the fading edges of my tenure as Headmaster."

He looked around the glittering hall rather forlornly as he led Draco off the dance floor.

Draco had to stop his hand, as it lifted of its own accord towards him. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I wish that had turned out better. You'll be remembered well, if that's any comfort. No offense to my ancestor... but you're the Headmaster we Slytherins are proudest to claim as our own."

There was a brief, astonished pause in Severus' steps. He glanced at Draco, his expression rather poleaxed. "Thank you," he murmured.

Potter cornered them before either of them could say anything else, an earnest frown knitting his brows. "Sir," he nodded to Severus. "Malfoy. I was wondering if I might have a word. I'm afraid I may have admitted something stupid, and it might cause you problems."

It was visibly on the tip of Severus' tongue to say something barbed and cutting, but he held it. "Go on, Mr. Potter." He cast a Silencing Charm around the three of them, for relative privacy.

"First off, I have to ask this. Are you really... never mind, that's none of my business. But... well, it occurred to me that you might not really be dead, sir, and I'm afraid I said something to Hermione, and now she won't let it go."

One of Severus' eyebrows climbed, and his face froze. "What, precisely, would make you disbelieve the evidence of your own senses?"

Potter's earnest frown deepened. "It's little things. Like the fact that the school still acknowledges you as its Headmaster, but there isn't a portrait of you in the Headmaster's office. There should be, if you're really dead."

"And you mentioned this to Miss Granger?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. I'm really sorry."

"And she is sharing her suspicions with others?" Severus asked tightly, his features darkening like a thundercloud.

"No! No, she isn't, not even Ron. She promised she wouldn't... it's just... if she comes nosing around you, try not to hex her or anything? She doesn't mean any harm by it, she's just naturally..."

"Nosy," Severus cut him off, pinching the bridge of his own nose to forestall the coming headache. "Does it matter, Potter, whether or not I am truly dead?"

"It matters to me, sir. I hope you aren't, and you've been having us all on. I... I get why you'd want to be free, why you'd want to disappear and let everybody think you were dead. But you're one more death on my conscience, and if you aren't really dead, if you've managed to fake all this, I'd really like to know."

The boy was pleading with his eyes. His mother's eyes, Draco had often heard it said, and he knew, or thought he knew, how Severus had felt about Lily Potter.

"I won't tell anyone but Hermione, sir," Potter said quietly. "And I'll swear her to secrecy. I'll even take an Unbreakable Vow on it if you want. But... look, I saw you fly out the window, that night, without a broom. So I know you can do that. And Dumbledore could turn invisible without an Invisibility Cloak and could have taught you the trick, as his spy among the Death Eaters, and maybe you've figured out a way to control how visible you are and be translucent, I dunno. So you could be flying and partly invisible, right? And that's how you manage to look like a ghost..."

Severus barked a harsh and entirely convincing laugh. "Potter... why on earth does it matter? Alive or dead, I still exist..."

"Yeah, but I saw Voldemort set Nagini on you. I was right there. I could have done something to stop him, I could have saved your life... if you're dead, it's my fault, Hermione's and Ron's, too, and if it maybe hasn't occurred to Ron to be bothered by that, it's tearing the hell out of me and Hermione. Please, sir. Please tell me you faked your own death and made it safely out, and now you're..."

The light visibly dawned on Potter's face. "That woman," he said. "The one who looked like you..."

He glanced wildly at Severus and Draco in turn.

Draco felt rather sorry for Potter, to be honest, but he'd be damned if he said a word-- not until Severus gave him permission. He was a lot of awful things, but he wasn't going to be disloyal. The least Severus was owed at this point was his freedom.

He flashed a glance of well-feigned dubiousness at their Headmaster, and murmured quickly, as if supplying an explanation to someone who could have no possible idea of what was being referred to, "He's talking about my new Mistress, sir. She was keeping an eye on me, and a good thing too, as it turned out... When we were out drinking, he was talking about you. He was pretty bloody upset, but I didn't realise it was this bad."

Severus' eyes lit on each of them in turn, and a swift series of calculations were clearly going on behind them.

"Very well, Potter," he said at last. "I will have your word that you will tell no one but Miss Granger, and that only if she has given me her word that it will go no further than the two of you."

"Of course, sir, you have it," Potter said hopefully.

One last pause, heavy with internal calculation, and Severus took the plunge. "You are...correct in essentials. I did indeed fake my own death and create a new identity for myself, in the form of the woman you saw that night."

Potter breathed an audible sigh of relief, his eyes overbright. "So you're...Malfoy's new Mistress?"

Severus' lips quirked. "I am indeed." His amusement was fleeting, and faded as quickly as it came. "The ring's curse gave Albus only a few months to live, and the Unbreakable Vow I took with Narcissa made it very nearly a certainty that I would have to kill him, as the best of all our bad options. Knowing that the murderer of Albus Dumbledore would be reviled the world over, and knowing as well that it was virtually inevitable that Voldemort would turn on me, I set multiple contingencies in place against all those mounting eventualities. My alter-ego has been carefully crafted over a number of years, a Potions Mistress of some note, by the name of Sevanna Prince. I've been passing her off as a cousin on my mother's side, and I've been passing off a number of my inventions and papers as hers, to build her reputation against the day I would be forced to assume it."

A sound broke from Potter's throat, something between a laugh and a sob. "Thank God," he said fervently. And then he looked up at Severus with those brilliant, wet, impossibly green eyes. "Thank you, sir."

He chanced a smile, and the Headmaster returned a cautious one of his own.

"Remember, Mr. Potter, not a word to anyone but Miss Granger, and only once I have her promise of discretion."

"But, sir, you've been pardoned, you could come back..."

"Few if any would be glad to see me return from the dead, Mr. Potter, not after so many genuinely good people gave their lives. It is altogether too soon. You have done what could be done to redeem my name, and thank you for being the Horatio to my Hamlet. But I could not appear in Diagon Alley without being lynched for the things I did in both wars, official pardon or no. I am better off leaving the name of Severus Snape well behind me."

Potter pursed his lips and nodded. "Can I wish you happy, then, at least? In Paris, Malfoy was telling me..."

Severus nodded. "Again, correct. And I wish you...a better life than you have had thus far. I am truly sorry for my own part in that."

"You made a mistake, and you spent my whole lifetime trying to make up for it," Potter said. "You promised Dumbledore 'anything' in exchange for his protecting us. Not you, us. And it frankly should have been his job to protect two Order members, without your having to promise anything, let alone...well, anything. If I've forgiven Dumbledore for failing my parents and setting me up to play sacrificial lamb, guess what? You're easier to forgive, and I did, a long time ago."

The Headmaster gave a soft answering snort. "You are entirely too good for the world, Potter. Hate me a little, can't you? Hold a grudge. I'll give you pointers; I'm extremely good at holding grudges until they expire of old age, and then I pickle them and preserve them in glass jars."

"Oh, well, you do that with everything," Draco quipped under his breath. "Up to and including dunderheaded First Years."

Potter barked a laugh, and was instantly sorry he had, as Severus' black eyes fixed on him again with amused calculation.

"It occurs to me, Draco, that you have yet to bestow your next truth or dare," Severus drawled, "and Potter, it seems, is here. Not that I would encourage you to dare Potter to declare his love for Filius Flitwick in loud tones to the entire hall, or anything of that ilk. Nor would I suggest having him serenade Minerva McGonagall with a romantic song, or dance with Sibyll Trelawney..."

"Hey!" Potter protested with a laugh. "And here I thought we were forgiving each other!"

"Optimist," said Severus, softening that with a smirk. "But you are two young people at the Leaving Ball; you shouldn't be spending it with a doddering ancient. You should be spiking the punch and dancing and flirting and doing other things of which I would officially disapprove. Miss Weasley is looking at you rather hopefully, you know, Mr. Potter."

Potter turned around to find her in the throng. "Oh, damn, that's not 'hopeful,' that's 'get over here and dance with me now before I kill you...'"

"Truth or dare, Potter," Draco immediately drawled, smirking. "The Littlest Weasley can kill you in a minute. Possibly really violently, if you pick 'dare.'"

"Um. No. Because I'm not stupid. Truth," Potter stammered.

"Who's the most embarrassingly inappropriate person you've ever fancied?"

Potter had to pause to think about that. "Probably Parvati Patil," he said. "I found myself fixating on her hair while I was in the middle of one of my OWLs."

The damnable part was, he looked so bloody sincere. And innocent. He probably hadn't had any seriously inappropriate or awkward crushes, say, on another boy or a teacher. Nothing he would have recognized as such, at any rate, though Draco still had his suspicions about Potter and Ron Weasley.

Draco snorted. "Too good for the bloody world," he drawled, shaking his head in disgust. "The rest of us get to suffer embarrassing dreams about teachers or family members or enemies, and your terrible secret is a temporary thing about the pretty hair of someone you once took to a dance. Run along, Potter."

Potter blinked at him. "So how does this work, exactly? Do I ask you for a truth or dare back, or does it have to be somebody else?"

"Generally it's passed on, otherwise you can get into a vicious 'oh, yeah?' sort of spiral and nobody else gets to play," Draco shrugged. "But you're allowed to ask anyone you want."

"Hmmm," Potter frowned. "Right." He glanced up at Snape. "So, no asking you, then?"

"Not if you value your testicles, no," the Headmaster drawled.

"Right," Potter said hastily, going pink. "Ginny?" he called, turning away and walking off in her direction.

Severus snorted softly after him. "Can I confess to not quite disliking the boy, without having my Slytherin membership revoked?" he inquired ironically of Draco.

Draco laughed. "I know what you mean," he replied with a wry smirk. "The most I can manage these days is hugely irritated bemusement. I won't tell anyone if you won't."

"Not a bloody word," Severus agreed.