Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

"Standing Stones" (5/?)
by Christine Anderson
aka Lilly Malfoy

Hogwarts in the wake of Rookwood's arrest seemed almost a different place from that school whose troubled halls I had spent many a night walking. It seemed that things were looking up everywhere we turned. Even the rumor-mongering of Barty Crouch Jr. seemed to be over. Whether the rumors had died for lack of fuel or simply because he was busy thinking up something worse, I didn't know. And I didn't much care.

If only we had known what was coming- but we didn't, and so we knew no better but to drink our toasts, raise our glasses to the future, hope.

We had learned that tomorrow was something best not thought of until it came, but for that short time we allowed ourselves to think, maybe it really will be better somehow. It wasn't much, really, but it seemed a great thing then.

Rookwood's trial was mostly a sham, orchestrated by Barty Crouch Sr. But the Ministry spy had been questioned under truth serum- Severus's Veritaserum, in fact- and there was no doubt of his guilt. We let Crouch carry on with it, and the lot of us spent a glorious week in London, dancing in Diagon Alley, living in the minutes as always, and living them well, with the rest of the wizarding world. It was as if a dark cloud had passed over the sun and then began to clear away, so that we were left with something that was, if not light exactly, then not quite darkness either.

That little bit of light felt like salvation. Rookwood's capture being the first time anything had gone our way almost since the beginning of the war, we held up the event as being more than it was, let it mean more than it meant. Because we needed a victory, any victory, too badly not to.

And it was important. Just not quite as decisive as we all believed it to be then. But in those days in London, we thought of none of these things.

Severus and I stayed with Frank and Melyssa, who accorded us the sort of privacy and understanding Dumbledore tried his best to give us when he could. We slept late, and when we finally came downstairs, shared a companionable space with friends who understood, really understood, what it was like for us. We played with little Neville, and I think even Severus was charmed by him, much though he denied it.

We went out now and again, to places the Longbottoms knew, where it didn't matter who we were. Places where there was freedom enough for Severus to stare down a man who hit on me, slide his arm around my shoulders, and say, "She is with me."

Oh, such freedom! We should have known, should have remembered that it wouldn't last, that it couldn't. But we had had so little of it in the past, we were determined to savor every bit of what we had then. We lived in the moments.

---

Somewhere along the way we forget that it will end.

One night the Dark Mark burns black, and he wakes screaming. We hold one another in the darkness, he weeps from the pain, and I, from the agony of knowing how he suffers, and how little I can do about it. We cling desperately for a moment- And it isn't enough. It is never enough.

These moments, always stolen, are never enough.

We dress in a rush, and objects fly across the room as Severus hurridly Summons them into his hands. I duck a flying book; he catches it, tosses it into his bag...

"Leave the rest of it," I say quickly. He doesn't have much time; he never does. Because Voldemort thinks Severus his spy in our midst, he is not required to Apparate immediately to Voldemort's location, only to do so as soon as possible.

Severus nods. He picks up his bag, turns for the door. "Minerva-"

"I'll walk you out," I say, as if all of this were perfectly normal. As if inside my heart were not breaking.

I am always so afraid, when he goes, that he will not come back. That I will never see him again. Not afraid that he will leave me. Afraid that he will die. But there is nothing I can do. I can only walk him to the door, wait. Hope he lives to return.

Together we take the stairs at a run, his hand on my arm, guiding me, catching me when I slipped- How I wish that that guiding hand would always be there. That he would never let go, that I would never have to let him.

A voice calls from the living room, "Minerva? Severus?" Melyssa. It is then that I remember; Neville is not yet sleeping through the night. I had thought the scream must have woken them, that they would simply go back to sleep and ignore it- it would not be the first time; he has nightmares to match my own, and they often wake him thus- but they had already been awake.

We step into the living room and see them then, Melyssa walking with Neville, Frank pacing her.

"Melly," I whisper. I hardly recognized my own voice.

"Was that- What I think it was?" Frank asks, his voice catching.

Severus nods. "I-" But he shakes his head, not knowing what to say.

Frank nods back. "No rest for the weary, huh? Well. Good luck."

They shake hands. Melyssa passes the baby to her husband, goes to Severus, and much to his embarrassment, hugs him and kisses his cheek. "You get your arse back in one piece, Slytherin. Or else." These words are not as brave as they sound; Melyssa is crying.

"Or else?" Severus asks, not looking at her. Not looking at me, either. Trying for the usual disdain, and coming up short.

"Yeah," Melyssa says. "Or else. Whatever's left of you will be sorry, right?"

He nods, steps back. Severus looks to Neville before he looks to me. He gives the baby a little wave. Then, "Minerva."

"Severus, you don't-" have time for this, I finish the thought, but never get to say it. I do not see him move- like magic he is beside me, as if he had Apparated there, and at once his arms lock around me, fingers running through my hair, tangle, then twist, pain as I have never before known it, skirting the knife-edge of pleasure, and as I would have cried out, his lips burned hot against mine. We drink each other in as the dying of thirst drink in water, quick, trembling, furious... I feel his tongue part my lips, tease its way inward- Oh gods oh Merlin don't stop don't stop don't STOP-!

He pulls back, breaks the kiss. All I can do is moan softly.

His lips move, framing the words... There is no sound, but I don't need it. I love you.

"I love you, too," I say, and then he is gone.

It takes several eternal moments before I can pull myself together. Frank and Melyssa reach out to me, their voices low and comforting, but I shake my head. I have to write to Dumbledore, they must report to Alastor Moody.

It, as ever, goes on.

And if it tears me apart, then it tears me apart. I will put myself back together, go on. Because I have to. Because there is no one else.

I don't think of what will happen if he doesn't come back. Not now. Instead I write the notes for Moody and Dumbledore, coding them without thought, and send them off.

Mostly it keeps my hands occupied enough that they don't have time to shake.

---

Later that morning, I went home.

I left the Muggle world to return to the magical one onboard the Hogwarts Express. Alone.

Alone I entered King's Cross, dressed in ordinary Muggle sorts of clothes- green sweater and slacks. In younger days it would have been blue jeans, but I didn't want anyone to see me coming back to school in them- It would ruin my carefully cultivated image of the stern, always proper Professor. And the poor children had had enough shakeups. I didn't think that they could take Minerva McGonagall in blue jeans on top of everything else.

Alone I pushed my trolley across the station, alone I leaned casually against the rail, alone I slid through when no one was looking.

I expected to be alone on the platform, as well. The Longbottoms had seen me off only as far as their front walk, and I knew they had more important things to do than see me to the train, but I missed them already.

Missing Severus was a feeling more familiar to me than having him with me; That loneliness and I were old friends. Which made his absence no less painful, only a pain I was more accustomed to the weight of upon my shoulders. I seemed to miss him with every breath then, every footstep. Perhaps it was because we met here, on this platform all those years ago, and were together here ever after, boarding and disembarking from the train, running to greet each other or hugging and waving goodbye.

Here, too, I had met Lucius Malfoy, Dora Lestrange, née Clearwater, so many others. But it was Severus I remembered, because Lucius and Dora had betrayed us all, because they were no longer, perhaps never were at all, my friends.

Severus, though... Severus had always been present. Half my life I had known him, stood by him, stood up for him... Half my life I had been his friend, and he sometimes my best and only. Nearly as long, I think I loved him, though no one knew it then, least of all me.

I remember those greetings on the first of September, catching my breath after running through the gateway to Platform Nine and Three Quarters with my Hogwarts trunk and owl cage. My brothers were somewhere up ahead, laughing with their friends, probably laughing about my Slytherin friends and I, but I didn't care. I would look around, trying to spot him in the crowd, and then I would catch sight of a familiar dark head of hair, leaning out a window or the door to a train car, calling my name. "Minerva!" Or sometimes even just, "Min!" And I would run, dragging my things, drop them, throw my arms around him. My best friend, whom I was not allowed to visit or invite to my home for the three long months of summer vacation.

With him would be Lucius, Dora, Evan Rosier and the others, their little group of Slytherins, and right away I would have to step in between them and my Gryffindor friends, stop Severus and one of the boys- James Potter, sometimes Sirius Black- from fighting. There was always tension there, and I the rope in a sort of tug of war, and yet- it was home, wherever they were, all of them, fighting or not. My friends. And Severus.

How I missed those days. And how I missed them all... Even Lucius and Dora, damn them both.

But Severus more than any of the others.

In the years that had passed, my circle of friends had grown smaller, and the number I could truly confide in smaller still. Frank and Melyssa were nearly all that remained of that group, and without them I felt suddenly lost. I had no one who understood my pain, and no one to whom I could confide it.

I thought little of other friends, in the present day, though I did have them still, and some of them even knew. The problem was that of those others, few approved, or understood- or even wanted to. And those who did had their own parts to play, their own roles to fill and duties to see to, just as I did.

And so I had expected no one to meet my train. Everyone must, I thought, have better things to do. And it wasn't as if I didn't know my own way home.

It was, then, a bit of a shock to see Sirius Black standing on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. It took me a moment to spot Peter Pettigrew beside him, standing in Sirius' shadow. It was, in one way or anther, the only place I had ever seen Peter standing.

I saw no one else there; clearly the only person they might have been waiting for was me.

"Sirius, Peter," I said, nodding. Trying to figure out what they were doing there.

"Alright there, Minerva?" Sirius said.

I shrugged. You have no idea, old friend. "Alright. Yourself?"

"Been enjoying the last week a lot," Sirius said. "First break I've had in- well, a long time anyway."

"That's for sure," said Peter. "Shame about old Rookwood, you know- I always thought he was alright. But I'm glad they caught him."

"So am I," I said. "Where have you two been?" I hadn't seen them in London, but one would think, if your old school friends knew you were in town, and were there themselves, that they'd have looked in on you. I realized I was a bit put out with the two of them.

"Oh, here and there," Sirius said. "Been in Godric's Hollow most of the week actually, visiting James and Lily. Remus, too."

"Ah," I said.

"James told us they'd sent you an owl, but Dumbledore sent it back. Said something about you going off to London, taking a bit of time to yourself and such. We decided not to bother you."

I nodded. "How are James and Lily?"

"Worried," Sirius said. "Rookwood's arrest takes one more worry off our backs, but there are still too many others. I have this feeling..." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"He's been like this all week," Peter spoke up at last. "Next he'll be seeing Death Omens everywhere like Sibyll Trelawney."

I raised my eyebrows. Sibyll Trelawney was a self-centered fraud, but if Sirius Black was seeing death omens- But then, perhaps not.

"Really," I said. "And what would they look like, I wonder, to someone who flunked Divination?"

"Same as they look to someone who never took it," Sirius shot back with a grin. "Good to see you, Minerva. Wit's sharp as ever. Though I guess it'd have to be this year, wouldn't it? Rumor has it you've gotten stuck with the Serpent brats while the bastard Slytherin is off doing who the hell knows what."

"They're all the same, Sirius- Gryffindor, Slytherin, it doesn't matter. They're all children. Some are just a bit more trouble than others, that's all."

I would not- I would not- acknowledge that awful little quip about the 'bastard Slytherin'. If I so much as spoke Severus's name to Sirius, he would know. He had known us both too long, and hated Severus just a little too much.

Peter laughed. "Not much has changed, I guess. But I'd love to know what the hell Snape thinks he's doing."

I shrugged. "Peter, Sirius..." I sighed. "Didn't we agree years ago to disagree on the subject of that person? Let it go, alright? I know you don't like him and you don't trust him, but Dumbledore picked him to head Slytherin house, and he wouldn't have done that if he didn't think-"

"I know, I know," Sirius said. "Likes his second chances, does Dumbledore. And sometimes he's alright in that- Hagrid, Argus Filch-"

"I totally disagree about Filch!" Peter cut him off.

"Alright, so Filch is an obnoxious git, like some other people I could name-"

"What are you two doing here?" I interrupted Sirius quickly. If I let him get going on the subject of Severus again, there'd be no shutting him up short of smacking him upside the head.

"Silly," said Sirius. "We're coming to help Dumbledore, of course. The Minister of Magic is worried that Voldemort might make a try at Hogwarts, so he wants you lot to have a bit of backup."

I looked the two of them over, and laughed quietly. It was a bitter laugh more than one of amusement. "Sirius, old friend-"

"Yeah," he said seriously. "Tell me about it. If Albus Dumbledore needs backup, we're already in trouble, and I don't see how there's much we can do, but- Hell, at least we're doing something."

Peter worked full-time for the Ministry; I believe he was a secretary in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, for whom Sirius worked part-time. What they were supposed to be able to do to help us, I didn't know, but I could certainly understand their desire to help in some way, however small it might be.

I nodded. "Are the two of you all Minister Garrett plans on sending us?"

Sirius sighed. "Yeah. Remus offered to tag along with us, but you know, that whole werewolf thing..." He said it flippantly, but I could see how much it ticked him off.

"Idiots," I said. "When we get to Hogwarts, owl him. Dumbledore won't turn him away."

"That's what we tried to tell him," Peter said. "But Remus-" He shook his head. "I think he's tried of having the door slammed in his face every time he offers to help. He forgets Dumbledore isn't like that."

"Albus Dumbledore is unique," Sirius said. "Thank Merlin. So, Minerva... Slytherins and Gryffindors and all, how are things going at the school?"

"For some of them, I don't think that it's at all real," I said as we boarded the train. Sirius and I had to help little Peter with his trunk, as someone usually did. "Voldemort has been rising for as long as many of them have been alive. They don't understand- They don't understand anything."

"Isn't that better?" Peter asked.

I turned and glared over my shoulder at him, almost dropping my end of the trunk. "No! They have to understand what they're up against. Ignorance won't save them, Peter. If they don't know what is going on around them, it's too easy for them to become victims- or worse, to be tricked into joining Voldemort."

Peter winced, and I felt suddenly as if I had been caught kicking a puppy. Peter was so small, so quiet and frail, and yet I often lost my temper with him. I could never seem to help it, though I did try.

Once we'd gotten settled, we talked of other things, deliberately light. Eventually they asked about the ring, and I only gave them an enigmatic smile and refused to comment.

"Why not," Sirius said as we pulled into Hogsmeade, "say I gave it to you? It'll shut them up."

"Hmm," I said. "I'll think about that, Sirius."

Right. Perhaps not, old friend. Believe me, I have troubles enough without that. I am too tired to keep you and Severus from each other's throats yet again. I shudder even to think what would happen...

"Why not me?" Peter asked.

Sirius looked at him and laughed.

I patted his hand. "Dear, sweet Peter. Perhaps when you grow up."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Okay. But you're really not going to tell us, are you?"

"No. I'm not."

"Sirius," Peter said, "do you think it's Remus?"

"Nah," said Sirius.

"Suppose you're right," said Peter. "He'd have told us. Wouldn't he?"

"He'd have to have won the Daily Prophet Grand Prize Galleon draw first, Peter," Sirius said, not unkindly. "Hmm. Who the hell do we know who's rich, and has the good taste to do the Gryffindor crest with rubies?"

I smiled and said nothing. The cost of the ring, you see, had never even occurred to me. It wasn't the quality or even the beauty of the ring that made me love it so, though it was both well-made and lovely to behold. It was, of course, the fact of who had given it to me, and why. Not that I would be explaining these things to my old friends any time soon.