Minerva woke to pain. At her involuntary moan, someone with a voice she really should recognise said, “She’s awake, Coz.”

She tried to sit up, but gentle hands kept her down. For a moment she panicked, thinking she’d been blinded, but then realised she just hadn’t opened her eyes yet. She opened them to stare blankly into a pair of intense green eyes.

“How are you feeling, Professor?” Harry Potter asked. “Pretty awful?”

“Like a building fell on me,” she said, listening to her body’s aches and trying to remember what had happened. Her thoughts drifted erratically and she forced them to focus.

Harry laughed, and said, “Probably because a building did fall on you. Here, drink this.” He lifted her head with tender care and tipped a potion down her throat. “Don’t worry, Professor, you’ll be fine. You’re a lot tougher than Madam Pomphrey thinks.”

“Thank you, Mr Potter,” she managed to say, startled by this sudden endorsement. “What--?”

He looked sympathetic but cheerful. “Can’t remember? We’re at Grimmauld Place. Some idiot,” he rolled his eyes in self-chastisement, “thought it would be a good idea to have a meeting here. Then Coz dropped by and then some Death Eaters turned up. That’s when the ceiling caved in,” he added. “We’re in the basement. No apparation - no magic at all, apparently. Either the wards went crazy when they were squashed, or the Death Eaters are still up there. Either way, we’re not going anywhere for a while. We’re lucky potions are just passive magic, or you might be dead.” She tried to follow this. “Feeling better?” he asked.

“Yes, actually,” she said in surprise.

“Good. Drink this.” She hesitated at the smell. “It tastes better than it looks,” he assured her. “And it’s quite safe. My dear coz made it, not me.”

“I do wish you would desist in using that appalling appellation, Anton,” came another voice. “Nevertheless, he is correct, Minerva.”

Minerva stared as Severus stepped into view, a black bruise on his cheek. Her first thought was that Albus would be pleased to know he was safe. Her second thought was that Albus was dead. Four months were not nearly enough to stop that hurt. In her moment of weakness, Harry got the potion down her throat. She closed her eyes as the world started to spin, and clenched her fists.

“Hang in there, Professor, it’ll be over in a moment.”

To her immense relief, he was right. Her head was clearing, and she recalled the meeting with Harry, though still not the Death Eaters. The aches and pains drifted to the background, except for the intermittent stabbing pain in her head.

“Would you like to sit up, Professor?” Harry helped her up. She was on a low bench, padded by several over-robes, and she looked around to find a potions lab of sorts, with no door. If there was a door -and she assumed there was - it had to lie behind the pile of rubble and debris that blocked off the far wall.Someone had been working at clearing it away, but hadn’t gotten very far yet. There was so much rubble, completely sealing off the room, that she wondered if the entire house had come down on them.

“You got the worst of it,” Harry said. Severus went back to the lab bench in the centre of the room, and she noticed he was limping. “We were just lucky to land in the middle of a potions store.”

“Land?” She hesitated. “We were on the floor above, weren’t we?”

“Yup.” He smiled. “But it’ll take more than that to kill us. Don’t you move from this bench, Professor, you’ve got some internal damage. Coz’s potions’ll keep you alive, but it’s going to take you a while yet to heal.”

Pulling up her sleeves, she saw bruises over much of her skin. “And you, Harry? And Severus?”

“Anton! If you’ve quite finished gossiping!”

“As you can see,” Harry grinned, “Coz is in fine form.”

Coz? Minerva finally thought to wonder as Harry hurried away, walking a little stiffly. Wait a second. Anton? They had to be Death Eaters. After all, Harry hadn’t come to the meeting as himself, he’d come in disguise. They must have hit her with some kind of confusion spell, but her brain was working again now (after a fashion), and she wasn’t going to be fooled by them. They weren’t very good actors. Coz and Anton?What kind of idiot did they think she was?

“Not the red, you dunderhead,” pseudo-Severus snapped. “We want to heal her, not kill her. I was under the impression you were actually successful at sixth year Potions.”

Harry hastily reached for a different phial. “Got Slugged, did you?” he teased, apparently unfazed by his companion’s glare.

“Frequently. ‘Oh, Severus, why didn’t you tell me Lily’s son was so talented?’, ‘Oh, Severus, you’ll be pleased to know that Lily’s son has--' As if I cared.”

“Poor Coz. Forced into a semblance of parenthood for me! Serves you right, too.”

“Ten points,” Severus growled.

Harry sighed mock-dreamily. “Just think - you’re not my professor! You can’t take points!”

“I knew I should have kept to Potions. Blast Albus and his plans. Five grams, not three.”

“It’s three in Moste Pot--”

“We are not in Moste Potent Potions, however.”

“Yes, all right, O grumpy one. Five it is.”

All the while they bantered their hands were moving swiftly, chopping and grinding and stirring. Minerva was impressed despite herself. That swift skill was all Severus, and she knew Harry could be clever when he put his mind to it - she could almost believe it was really them. But they just couldn’t be Harry and Severus.

“Billywig stings?”

“Over there, Coz.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Oh, but Cousin Severus...” Harry pretended to whine. If it had really been Harry, Minerva would have been happy to see him acting so juvenile, so young - as he truly was. But no one could believe these two were Severus and Harry. Severus and Harry couldn’t stand each other.

“Anton, you are a brat.”

“Why, thank you, Coz.”

“I liked you better on parchment.”

Harry’s eyes were full of laughter and she wanted it to be him, she wanted him to be that happy and carefree. “Most people do, Coz. In real life they‘re forced to suddenly realise I’m just a kid, not a hero.”

Severus’ hands stopped. “Anton - Harry. You are not ‘just’ anything. But you are not some ridiculous hero either.”

“I like you too, Coz, but if you don’t add those stings immediately you’re going to ruin your potion.”

Minerva almost laughed at the look on Severus’ face. Harry had no compunction. “Yes, all right, Anton,” Severus said testily, dropping the stings in with especial care. “I can take it from here.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asked with overacted concern. “I’d hate for you to--”

“Anton,” he growled dangerously, and Harry dodged a cuff and half-danced over to Minerva while Severus turned his attention to the potion.

“He likes me really,” he confided in a stage whisper. Severus’ fingers went to the bridge of his nose for a moment, but otherwise he ignored him. “Even if I am a brat.” He sat beside her, a tired look flashing briefly over his face as he leant gingerly against the wall. “Oh, and Professor?” He waited for her to look at him. “We’re not Death Eaters.” Severus cleared his throat pointedly. Harry rolled his eyes. “That does not count, Coz. Stop confusing the issue. I suddenly thought you must be suspicious, Professor. I really am Harry Potter.”

“Can you prove it?”

“Easy. Hermione did too many classes in third year by use of a... restricted device. You told me I had to take a partner to the Yule Ball in fourth year and I was not happy about it and you got annoyed with me for it which I thought was unfair because I didn’t even want to be a champion in the first place. You told Umbridge you’d personally make sure I was okay to be an auror - I really admired you for that.” She blushed. “Want me to tell you about the Chamber of Secrets? Or Hermione’s last report to the Order about the cup, or--”

“Yes, all right, Mr Potter, I believe you.” No Death Eater could know those things.

“Oh, good. I didn’t want you to worry about that too. You might have tried something, and you really need to stay put.”

“What could I try in a sealed room?” she asked.

“And he’s definitely him,” Harry added, taking her question for the rhetoric it was. “No one else would call me Anton.”

“Yes, why does he call you Anton? And I’m quite sure he’s not your cousin.”

“And we hate each other, right? I’m guessing you got a letter from Professor Dumbledore, since you’re not threatening to kill Coz.” She nodded. “We got some too. And we started writing to each other. I pretend I’m his cousin Anton, and Hedwig gives the letter to Pig, who takes it to Fawkes, who goes to Firenze, who opens it and reads his letter and hands Coz’s over to a nondescript school owl. No one’s followed it yet.”

“Anton!” Severus threw over a little pot, which Harry caught in a lazy hand.

“Excellent. Thanks, Coz.” Severus rolled his eyes. Harry unscrewed the cap and sniffed it warily. “Full or half dose?”

“Half should do.”

Harry took a spoon from his pocket and shook off the wrapper, taking a spoonful of the orange paste and holding the spoon out to her. “Here you go, fresh and just set.” It smelled like raspberries and she took it reluctantly.

“What is it?”

“It’ll help your insides heal.” She swallowed it and he smiled. “Anyway, me and Coz were writing - to share knowledge, you understand, not because we liked each other - no one asked how I suddenly knew all about Voldemort so I didn’t bother making up an explanation. Anyway, somehow we found that when we were at a distance we didn’t particularly hate each other. As far as I can tell, the Dark Mark and my scar react badly, so anyone with a Mark is going to hate me, even if Crouch was good at hiding it. Personally I think Dumbledore was playing some game too, but Coz doesn’t agree.”

“No, I do not,” Severus said tightly, pouring his potion into phials. “And you will speak of him with respect.”

“Hey, I respect him enormously, you know that. He just seems to have been playing a bit of a game with my life, that’s all. So,” he turned back to Minerva, “at a distance we became - friends. At least, he’s my friend, though I don’t know if he’d return it. He’s the first adult I can really talk to about anything. And we’ve met a couple of times under glamours, like mine earlier, and it’s okay now, the Dark Mark doesn't react any more. Probably that whole love thing. Did Professor Dumbledore tell you about that? Love is what can defeat Voldemort because he doesn’t understand it.” She nodded. “It seems to override my allergy to the Dark Mark.” He saw Minerva’s dubious expression and gave an amused shrug. “Well, I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong. I’ve only done sixth year, it’s not as if I’ve got a master’s grasp of magical theory.”

“Given your tendency to refuse to conform to theories,” Severus interjected snidely, “I doubt it would help.”

“True enough,” Harry agreed amiably. He looked at her thoughtfully. “I think that helped, you’ve got a bit more colour now. But you’re still not allowed to move,” he said sternly. “Magic back yet, Coz?”

Severus shook his head, carefully pouring out the last of the potion.

“I was afraid of that.” Harry stood, wincing the tiniest little bit as he straightened up.

“Are you all right, Mr Potter?”

“Hmm? Oh, sure. Can’t fall through the ceiling without a few bruises.”

She watched him go to the pile of debris and start shifting some more. Severus was doing something with his collection of potions, and other than the clunk and slide of Harry’s efforts it was quiet. Minerva took the moment to take stock of her situation.

It had been a long time since she’d seen Harry so blithe and cheerful. The last time she’d seen him he had been solemn and grim, having just lost his mentor and taken up the mantle of protector. Hermione had been the Trio’s representative at Order meetings, and Minerva hadn’t seen Harry since the end of the last school year. She’d watched him leave, praying that he would be able to bear the burdens thrown on him, hoping that the next time she saw him he wouldn’t be so tired and old and weary.

And here he was, young and cheerful, unbowed, unbroken. Minerva could hardly remember a time she’d been more relieved.

Severus finished his organising and limped over to join Harry. They spoke too quietly for her to hear, but she could see that their interaction was free and easy. She was glad for Severus, for he had always been a loner and it had worried her. But four months ago they had hated each other! Even with the influence of the Dark Mark taken away, they had surely hated each other too long to suddenly just forget it all?

But Harry smiled up at Severus, blindingly bright, and Severus - Severus smiled back.

Minerva wished Albus was with her. He would have been so proud to see this.

Severus limped back to the lab bench to peer at his potions and select one, touching the back of his fingers to the glass as if testing the temperature, then limped over to her. “Drink this.”

“More potions?”

He wasn’t amused. “Minerva, you were under quite a bit of rubble. Without magic we couldn’t do a very accurate diagnosis, but I am worried. You have a cracked rib at the very least, and I suspect there is soft tissue damage around your abdomen, as well as the blow to your head.”

“Oh,” she said softly. “I don’t feel damaged.”

“The first potions Anton gave you were potent painkillers.”

“Why do you call him Anton even now?”

“That Dark Mark is not the only reason I hated him,” Severus said simply.

“Ah.” She closed her eyes against a wave of guilt, knowing she had failed him when he was her student.

“When he is Anton, even without the glamour, he is not Potter. When I think of him as Anton, there is no need to hate him.” He looked at the boy carrying debris out of the way. “I don’t want to hate him, Minerva. He doesn’t deserve it.”

“Don’t forget your leg, Coz!” the boy in question called, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. Severus waved him off. “Don’t make me come over there!”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Brat,” he grumbled, but his eyes were soft and Minerva wanted to clap with delight.

Pulling a pottle out of his pocket he sat down beside her and pulled up his robe, which Minerva realised was torn, to display a bandage around his calf. He unwrapped it to reveal a ragged gash.

“I suppose that explains why you’re limping,” she said wryly, as he began to apply a white paste to it, wincing when he hit too hard.

“It does seem likely,” he said acerbically. Before he could put the bandages back on, Harry was there, binding his leg carefully. “Thank you,” Severus allowed.

“It’s nearly six. Ron and Hermione’ll be looking for my return soon, and start to worry. They’ll be here before morning. Hopefully the magic’ll be back by then and your glamour will work again, Coz.”

“They don’t know?” Minerva asked in surprise.

“It’s bad enough I know,” Harry said. “I trust them, of course I trust them. But what they don’t know they can’t be tortured or Veritaserumed into telling. We had to tell you because the glamours went down. On the other hand, you’re not as likely to get captured as Ron and Hermione.”

“Should I be flattered or insulted?”

Harry shrugged. “It’s just a fact.” He went back to shifting debris. Severus frowned at his little collection of potions and started making a new one. Minerva closed her eyes and tried not to fall asleep.

“No dragon liver?” Severus derided suddenly, jolting her back to wakefulness. “How can you not stock dragon liver?”

“Hello-o,” Harry shot back, “Kreacher was in charge of keeping everything running and he was hopeless.”

“Yes, but - dragon liver?”

“There’s tongue. If you’re making Bone-heal, then if you combine that with-”

“Yes, all right, Anton, I believe I am the Potion Master here.”

“Really? I thought you taught Sarcasm and Insults.”

“Impudent brat.”

“Yes. Hey, I think I see the door! Do you suppose the Death Eaters are still around?”

“That would depend on whether they were caught too, and whether they thought it worth waiting around.” She heard Severus’ limping step. It paused. “Do you want some more painkiller? You’re going pale.” Silence. “Anton?” A crash; debris scuttled downwards. “Anton!”

Minerva forced her eyes open to see Severus kneeling frantically at Harry’s side. The boy’s face was as white as Albus’ beard and he lay in an uncomfortable sprawl with bits of debris on top of him.

“Anton! Harry!” Severus hovered uncertainly, clearly not willing to risk touching him. When she moved though, he snapped, “Stay where you are, Minerva.”

Harry groaned and muttered something. Severus’ face paled.

“Idiot boy! Stupid, moronic, imbecilic--” He ranted on as he hurried to the lab bench at a limping run and snatched up several phials and a jar. He didn’t stop ranting as he dosed Harry with several potions and pulled open the boy’s robe with hasty fingers. Even from her seat Minerva could see that the boy’s thin chest was black with bruising. Severus rubbed a white cream over the damaged skin, his hands gentle even as he continued scolding. Harry went limp, but Severus kept talking, fear and anger in his voice. He limped over to one of the cupboards and pulled out a roll of gauze, then used it to carefully bind up Harry’s chest.

By the time he’d finished that, his ranting had wound down. With gentle hands he pulled the debris off the boy’s legs, then lightly tugged his robes back into place and redid the buttons. “He has a broken rib, Minerva,” he said, voice soft but carrying. “He knew and he didn’t tell me, he didn’t - Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She wasn’t sure if that last referred to him or Harry.

“Who’s stupid, Coz?” There was nothing in Harry’s voice to indicate that he was lying on the floor with a broken rib, and Minerva tried not to think how he might have learned such stoicism.

“You are, you little fool.”

“Oh. Okay. Can I get up? Stone floors aren’t very comfortable.”

Severus picked him up with unusual tenderness and carried him over to Minerva’s bench without a trace of limp, settling him gently down beside her and kneeling in front of him.

“You need to lose some weight, brat,” he said gruffly and without truth.

“I’ll just go back to the Dursleys then,” Harry offered.

“No! I mean - Anton, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Wasn’t important.” Severus glared at him. “Well, it’s not! What matters is getting you out of here before anyone gets suspicious and making sure the Professor’s safe. I don’t matter.”

“You do matter,” Severus said fiercely before she could protest herself. He gripped Harry’s hands desperately. “Anton - Harry - You’re my little brat of a cousin. Without you there’s not point in anything I’m doing.”

“But you’d do it, right?” Harry peered up at him worriedly. “Dumbledore - You’d do it, right?”

“Of course I would. But it would have no meaning. I need you, Anton. I don’t have anyone else. I need to know you’ll take care of yourself.”

“I will, I will, I promise I will. But you have to promise too.”

“I do.”

They both relaxed, then looked at her with embarrassment, hastily separating their hands. “Well, don’t look at me,” she said, “ I always take care of myself.”

Harry laughed.

There was a crash upstairs and dust fell from the ceiling while a few bits of debris skittered downslope.

“Definitely someone up there,” Harry stated the obvious. “Can you get your glamour up, Coz?”

It took two tries, but Severus managed to get up the most powerful glamour Minerva had ever seen. “The magic-suppression field is down. Anton, can you-?”

Harry managed his own glamour, covering his pale cheeks in a tan and becoming the nondescript young man who’d met Minerva earlier. The debris pile shifted and fell in on itself when someone opened the door behind it. A familiar pair of faces peered through the dust cloud.

“Hermione! Ron!” Minerva put her hand on Harry’s shoulder to stop him rising.

The cavalry had arrived and everything was all right (at least for the rest of the day; there were no guarantees for tomorrow). But even as her painkillers were wearing off and she was beginning to feel her injuries, and even with the prospect of Poppy’s exaggerated concern looming over her future, Minerva was glad to have had this afternoon with Severus and Harry. It had been... illuminating.