Chapter Text
The Trick is to Keep Breathing
Chapter 1
“Are you quite sure that you’re prepared to do this, Minerva?”
Minerva McGonagall sighed inwardly, finding herself almost wishing for the days where Horace Slughorn was not quite so sombre, then almost immediately reminding herself that there was kindness in his question. It was just that she had faced so much of the same question in the past months that she was exhausted of all iterations of and contexts to it.
“I’m quite alright, Horace, thank you,” McGonagall answered, schooling her expression to be neutral as she glanced at her colleague. “Although if you don’t mind, I would appreciate going about this task on my own.”
“Would it be safe for you to go through their things on your own, though?” countered Slughorn, as he rounded about the further end of Albus Dumbledore’s desk. “You don’t know what Severus brought in with him when he took over Albus’ office, and Albus always had a different threshold for what was perhaps a good idea.”
This time, McGonagall fixed him with a stern look. “Whatever he was facing, Horace, I highly doubt that Severus would have permitted anything actually dangerous to be brought into his office, within possible reach of children.”
Slughorn looked slightly chastened at this, but then he raised his chin, and a stubborn cast came over his face. “I wasn’t necessarily thinking just of Severus’ things, Minerva. Like I was saying – you know how Albus was – things amused him, or he may not have fully thought of the implications…”
“If you are quite done, sir!” piped up Armando Dippet from his portrait. “Albus was a bit of a maverick, but he always had his students’ best interests at heart!”
“With due respect, in light of all that’s happened and all that we’ve found out from Harry Potter and his friends about what they were facing in the past year, I think Albus put an unconscionable burden on very young people…”
“Horace,” broke in McGonagall. She was suddenly very tired, and thankful that Dumbledore’s portrait seemed to have taken leave of his portrait ahead of this conversation. Impatiently, she pushed her glasses further up her long nose. “I am hardly in the mood to unpack Albus’ legacy or his plans with Potter and how right it was for Potter to have been made to do what he did at this point. I’m just about able to thank Merlin that Potter did not die doing so. Right now, I need the room while I look through the things of two friends who have passed trying to do what they thought was right, however they went about it. I appreciate that you care, but please – if you would leave me to it.” Her tone took on an air of finality, and she hoped sincerely that it would force the end of the conversation.
“Very well, Minerva,” Horace replied. Abruptly, years seemed to catch up to him and McGonagall could see the age in his face. Exhaustion was still making easy prey of all of them, and she did not know when they would outrun the effects of the past years. And they would have to pull together by the start of the school year, if only for the sake of the First Years, who had not witnessed the Battle, or lived through the war, and did not deserve to be touched by either of them.
“If you need me, I’m in my office,” continued Horace, already turning and leaving the room. “Do try to take breaks when you need to.”
McGonagall nodded after him. She knew it would be a long afternoon.
***
Roughly two hours later, McGonagall found herself thinking that perhaps Slughorn was right.
In her hands was a slim volume, tucked tightly between two large leather-bound books on advanced alchemy, their spines so stiff and dusty that they had very likely not been touched for a while. She had missed the smaller book between the other two at first glance on this particular shelf and now that it slipped out after she had pulled the books out, she wished fervently that it could disappear altogether.
It was a simple blank diary, save that it had a flayed hole right in the centre of it.
McGonagall almost imagined that she felt a shiver ripple under the surface of the leather cover of the diary as she ran her hand over the cover, but surely it must have been her imagination, her mind playing tricks on her because of how dangerous this book once was.
Why had Albus kept it? Severus could not have realised it was there – McGonagall didn’t know what he would have done with it, but he would surely not have kept it close by his person.
Briefly, she cursed silently that Slughorn was right and Albus had an inability to properly gauge danger and propriety.
And what ought she to do with it now?
Her first thought was to burn the book – if the Basilisk fang truly had destroyed the magic held within it, it would simply be paper, leather and what cloth binding remained igniting and curling, blackening into a fire. But some kind of fear took hold of her heart even as she thought of this solution. She could not be sure that it would be enough, or what could happen if she were to burn such a thing. Would anything be released from it? Would it be safe?
She knew that she did not want it to remain in this room. Already her hands were starting to tremble as her body caught up with the gravity of the situation, of the danger that could still lurk in the book, of what the book represented even if it held no more power. Quickly, she turned and placed it on Dumbledore’s desk.
Did McGonagall want to surrender this to aurors, or to the Unspeakables, though? There was bureaucracy to that, and there had been enough questions about the propriety – again, propriety – of what Albus had done with the school ahead of the war. There had been moments where she kept herself up at night, worrying about whether students would even return to Hogwarts, after everything. There had been moments where she thought the aurors and the magical trace teams were never going to leave the grounds. And although months had passed, McGonagall was not confident that the Ministry was rid of Voldemort sympathisers. She did not know that she could trust every auror, or every Unspeakable who could encounter this book.
No - she needed it away from her, but also in the school, somewhere she could summon it, knowing where it was if required, but also somewhere students would not be in danger of encountering it. Hardly anyone, after all, knew of this diary; the only students who knew were certainly not looking to encounter it, and only one of those students was returning this year.
At this, McGonagall realised with a start that she had her answer. The Room of Requirement – the Room of Hidden Things, as the children called it. If she hid it there, and with none of the children using the room requiring it, surely it would be safe.
***
“Do you think she’s going to be alright?” Harry Potter asked Ron Weasley, watching as Ginny Weasley boarded the Hogwarts Express. Already he missed her and wished he had held onto her just a bit longer.
“Mate, you’re acting like it’s the first time Gin’s actually gotten on the Express,” Ron chortled, rolling his eyes. “And it’s Gin. It’s been a hard one, but she’s always been able to chug right on. She was like that after her first year, too.”
Harry winced inwardly at this, realising not for the first time that he often forgot that Ginny had gone through enough trauma aged eleven, same as him. It was just that Ginny had such light and warmth to her, since he had been able to properly see her, that he couldn’t always reconcile that Ginny with his Ginny.
“I’m rather thinking that I’m scared for us,” continued Ron. “I can’t believe after all we’ve been through, that you talked me into joining auror training in less than a week. You would’ve thought we’d seen enough of all that, but no, now we must go through the works formally. As if we’ve not seen more actual combat than some aurors will see in their lifetimes.”
“I told you – maybe we have a knack for it. And maybe it’s just the right thing to do,” replied Harry, his eyes still on the train although Ginny had disappeared. She hadn’t turned back to wave at him again. “Voldemort wasn’t the only villain doing bad things in this world.”
“It’s your saving people thing,” grumbled Ron. “I’m just there to make sure you have someone with you…” his voice trailed off.
Harry knew what he was thinking of, knew how Ron still felt guilty about leaving them on the hunt for Horcruxes, and quickly said, “And I appreciate that. I’m glad you’re going to be there with me, mate. Especially when Hermione’s decided she needs to swot more instead. Can’t believe she’s going for an internship which is basically like going to Muggle university for research.”
“At least she’s not going away to Hogwarts,” laughed Ron, his countenance brightening again. “Although I’ll hardly get to see her, what with training starting and me helping George out at the shop on weekends.”
The boys started walking away from the platform.
“I’ll miss her though – Gin,” said Harry. “We’ve barely had weeks to be together, properly.”
Harry still couldn’t quite believe they were now together, without reservations, even as it felt like the thought of Ginny being away for the semester made his chest hurt. He thought fondly of the moment that Sunday morning when Ginny had come in from flying, her hair windswept and glinting in the morning sun. In front of the Weasleys, and Hermione, he had reached out for her, holding her hands. It finally wasn’t a funeral, wasn’t a memorial, wasn’t a hearing. The holding was just because they would be together. He didn’t need to say more.
The weeks of summer he had with Ginny had been perfection.
“Yes, I didn’t need to witness all of that,” said Ron mock-disgustedly, shaking his head. “You’ll think you would remember she’s my sister and all, I didn’t need to see or hear you snogging her every moment you could.”
“We weren’t nearly that bad.”
“You were quite enough.”
“Could say the same for you and Hermione, who’s practically my sister.”
“Not quite the same when Ginny actually is my sister,” remarked Ron, “I couldn’t decide at times whether to hit you or be happy for both of you. Merlin knows you deserve some happiness after all of that, but again – didn’t need to be around for all of that.” Ron ran a hand through his thick, messy red hair as they came out onto the street in Muggle London. Harry had promised him a good brunch out among the Muggles, followed by a matinee showing of a movie. Ron had never been to a movie theatre, and Harry had had a sudden hankering recently to be in one for the first time in years. It was also nice – different – to be doing something with just Ron for once.
“Anyway,” continued Ron, “it’s not like you can’t Owl her, or visit her on Hogsmeade weekends. I’ve seen you the way you look at her too – you’re practically able to communicate telepathically at this point, I’m sure. She’s not about to go run off with some other bloke in Hogwarts.”
Harry laughed; he hadn’t been thinking along those lines at all. He and Ginny were like James and Lily – they were just right.
“I mean, hell, mate, it’s not like any other bloke in Hogwarts saved Ginny and Hogwarts and all.”
***
“Didn’t expect to see you back, Malfoy.”
Draco’s head jerked up. At the threshold to his compartment was Blaise Zabini, looking as unruffled as ever, nary any hostility on his perfect face. Then again, Blaise’s perfect face mainly rested at lazy hostility and disdain towards one and all, so Draco wasn’t sure if he was reading into it.
“I’ll be joining you,” Blaise announced, sliding into the seat across from Draco. “My mother insisted I repeat my “fiasco of a seventh year”, as she put it, though I’d pointed out to her that also had a lot to do with the fact that she pulled me out barely two months into it. But what are you doing here?”
Draco felt the ghost of a smirk lift his lips as he met Blaise’s eyes. It almost felt like how it used to be, except everything was no longer as it used to be. “If you weren’t around physically, Blaise, I was hardly around mentally,” Draco responded, and the small smirk quirked into a smile. “It’s good to see you again, mate.”
Blaise looked mildly surprised at what counted as a sincere and enthusiastic greeting from his fellow Slytherin. “I suppose I’m glad I’m not the only one repeating seventh year in Slytherin,” Blaise drawled in reply, “Do you think they’re going to make us room with the first-time seventh years? How awful.”
“Well,” said Draco, “If there aren’t that many returning Slytherins, we could very well spread out at least. Anyway – you’re out of luck there, Zabini. They made me Prefect again this year, and Slughorn’s allowed me to retain my Head Boy room in Slytherin. You’re going to have to survive the other seventh years by yourself.”
Blaise raised his eyebrows at this but thankfully didn’t remark on this news or the suitability of his appointment. Draco found that he was glad that if any of the boys from his year in Slytherin had to return, it was Blaise. There were times when Blaise knew when to hold his tongue, and there were at least half of those times when Blaise did.
“Who d’you think they made Head Boy?” asked Blaise. Draco noted that this was usually about the time they would have previously asked after each other’s summers, and he was glad that Blaise seemed to have decided to let the topic slip away. Certainly a few weeks of Draco’s summer had been publicised on the Prophet for all the wizarding world to know.
“Salazar knows, hopefully not a Hufflepuff,” replied Draco. “I’ll let you know after the Prefect meeting on the train.”
“You do that,” laughed Blaise. “I’m just absolutely dying to know.”
Draco found himself smiling at that as well, and a pleasant beat of silence passed between the two boys.
“Do you know if anyone else’s coming back?” asked Blaise, as he relaxed further into the seat, stretching out his long legs on the length of it.
“I don’t know who is,” replied Draco. Then, before he could stop himself, he added, unable to keep a note of bitterness out from his voice, “It’s not like I was receiving Owls throughout the summer which weren’t from the Ministry or our lawyers.”
“Mate,” said Blaise levelly, his eyes cool as he looked straight into Draco’s eyes, “I don’t think any of us were up for much correspondence. Why do you think I’m asking you? I thought at least Parkinson or Greengrass junior may have said something to you. The girls were anxious about you for ages.”
“That was before you left.” Draco’s voice was clipped now. “I haven’t seen or heard from them since…we were all last in Hogwarts.” He didn’t need to say when that was.
“It might just be us, then,” said Blaise. “From our year. Shambles, mate.”
Draco found himself nodding. Even if he didn’t know what he had been expecting when he decided to return, he also hadn’t thought fully about what it would mean with a diminished Slytherin.
“We might even have to play every position on the Quidditch team,” continued Blaise. “Well, we’ll have to play every position before we let some of those dire fifth- and sixth-years play…”
Out of the corner of his eye, Draco saw a flash of red outside their compartment, and turned just in time to see Ginny Weasley, her eyes straight ahead as she walked past. She looked more freckled than ever, even as her skin looked somehow both creamy and lightly kissed by the sun.
He wondered briefly how her summer had been.
***
“Malfoy,” Ginny greeted in a clipped voice, as she entered the carriage where the Prefects were meeting. She was coming in late, and it appeared he was just entering before her.
She had to wonder what logic had been applied in Malfoy’s being appointed a Slytherin Prefect again, after everything, but then again – perhaps there wasn’t much of anyone left to appoint from Slytherin, and McGonagall being who she was, had pushed through on keeping the same number of Slytherin Prefects as Hogwarts had always had, even in the circumstances. There were times when Ginny hated how fair-minded and principled her head of House – now Headmistress – was.
Also, thought Ginny, she remembered how Malfoy, then Head Boy, had cast a Cruciatus curse on her on behest of the Carrows, but she had known the spell had been a mere echo of what it could have been. Her nerve endings whispered rather than screamed with pain. Other Slytherins had not nearly been as merciful. She remembered his slate grey eyes staring at her as he kept his wand trained on her, as if willing her to play her part.
Ginny had done some of her best screaming for him.
Now, Malfoy held her gaze, grey eyes widening in surprise initially, then he simply looked away and moved towards a seat in the magically enlarged compartment.
Well then. So much for her effort at baseline fellow-Prefect civility, despite everything.
Ginny settled into the remaining seat across from Malfoy, coincidentally next to another Slytherin Prefect, sixth-year Alec Vaisey. Ginny didn’t know much about him but noticed briefly that he was all cheekbones and pale skin, and that he nodded in silent greeting when she met his gaze.
“Weasley,” he said, “Alec Vaisey. First time doing this, like you.”
Ginny smiled. “Good to know someone else is new to this, and that I’m not seeing you on the pitch for once.”
“You’ll be seeing me on the pitch soon enough, O star Gryffindor Chaser and Captain,” replied Vaisey, smiling lightly. Ginny decided she liked his smile, even though it reminded her strongly of another boy from another lifetime, close-lipped and somewhat tight, not quite reaching his dark eyes.
For a Slytherin, Vaisey seemed friendly. She also didn’t remember seeing him the entire of the last school year, which in the circumstances, had to suffice.
“Settle down all,” came a voice from the middle of the compartment. Anthony Goldstein from Ravenclaw and Hannah Abbott from Hufflepuff were the Head Boy and Head Girl respectively this year.
As Anthony started his speech, Ginny found her attention wandering and she started looking around the room, taking note of her fellow Prefects. She didn’t know how she felt about becoming a Prefect – in a sense it felt like another thing thrust upon her. Dutiful Daughter, Grieving Sister, Girlfriend, Gryffindor Quidditch Captain, Prefect.
But there hadn’t been much time to think about all of that.
Her fellow Gryffindor Prefects were (somewhat surprisingly, thought Ginny) Seamus Finnigan from seventh year, Romilda Vane and Luke Lang from sixth year, and Dennis Creevey and Melissa Stone from fifth year.
Dennis. Ginny stilled for a moment, studying Dennis’ wane face. She had written to him a few times over the summer but hadn’t heard back from the younger boy. She hadn’t known that he was going to return.
A sudden prick of tears came to Ginny’s eyes. It still shocked her sometimes how the pain could still be fresh, could still come in waves, crashing in out of nowhere.
“So – while previously patrols were done by individual Prefects, following all…that’s happened,” said Anthony, his voice coming back into focus for Ginny, “…I’ve discussed with the Headmistress beforehand that perhaps this year we should institute pairings for Prefect patrols as a permanent feature. It’s not that we expect any more danger, but perhaps this could promote…more balanced handling of incidents across the board, and at least some reassurance for the students.”
Right, thought Ginny darkly, because who knows how people will react when coming up against a lone Slytherin Prefect these days.
“Do we get to choose our pairings?” asked Benjamin Sykes from Hufflepuff, who had returned to repeat his seventh year. Ginny remembered that he had spent quite a chunk of his first time being punished by the Carrows, having taken it on himself to look out for his younger, terrified Housemates, and mentally shook herself to stop the memory of Benjamin, his long fringe matted against his bloody forehead, eyes bloodshot, coming to mind.
“No,” responded Hannah, her low, sweet voice firm. “Anthony and I have discussed at length about the pairings, and we’ve made sure to pair Prefects from different Houses together. We’ve done our best to ensure that the pairings are – well, hopefully, manageable and uncontroversial. You’ll see your pairing in the sheets,” she continued, as she passed out copies of the patrolling schedule.
When Ginny received her copy, she quickly scanned the page for her name. Her heart dropped when she saw her schedule.
Friday evenings – Ginevra Weasley and Draco Malfoy.
***