June ended, and July took its place. Saturnine was relieved to see her brother’s health improve a little more each day. Severus was still tired and all but magically depleted. But he could finally move around on his own. And his appetite was back to what passed, for him, as normal levels.

Returning from a short trip to the shops to get them their weekly groceries rations one afternoon, she was surprised to find him seated on his bed with a quill in one hand and his wand in the other. She paused in the bedroom doorway to watch, leaning herself against the doorjamb and crossing her arms over her chest.

Severus placed the quill on the palm of his left hand before pointing at it with his wand. Then, with the concentration level of an eleven-year-old student casting his first spell, he muttered, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

When nothing happened, Saturnine felt her heart ache with sympathy. It had to be pure agony for her brother to not even be able to cast a simple Levitation Charm. She dimly remembered when he had first taught her the charm, some twenty-five years ago—it had come so easily to him, back then.

Severus had never been anything but stubbornly determined. And he tried again—the large frown creasing his brow deepening. He tried again and again, but the quill remained immobile in his hand. It got to the point where Saturnine felt it more likely the feather would spontaneously combust under his blazing gaze than magically lift off.

Deciding that enough was enough, she walked into the room and pretended not to notice when he stiffened at her approach, crushing the quill in his hand. She moved to his side, knelt on the bed, and padded around until she was directly behind him. The dark-haired wizard gave her a puzzled look that she also decided to ignore.

Placing both of her hands on her brother’s broad shoulders, she wasn’t surprised to find him stiff-as-a-board underneath. Heaving in a deep breath, she relaxed her own shoulders and got to work. She started at the base of his neck, digging both thumbs in and slowly circling them to work out the knots. Then, pressing down with the heel of both hands, she stretched the high-strung band of muscles of his shoulders. She was by no means a professional, but she had learned a trick or two during her travels to the Far East.

It took Severus over a minute to realise that he hadn’t been introduced to a new form of torture. It was another five until he started to relax—a fraction. All in all, it took Saturnine an entire half an hour of kneading and rubbing his taut back for him to start to let go. By then, her brother’s wand and quill lay forgotten on the bedside table, and his obsidian eyes had fluttered closed.

Using a wandless, nonverbal spell, she retrieved both items and, slowly reaching around, placed them back in his hands.

“Try again,” she said softly to avoid startling him. She didn’t want to break the relaxed haze he’d fallen into. It was a long shot, but magic was instinctual—not something that should be wrought out with forceps. She kept massaging his shoulders, no longer kneading the deeper tissues but simply brushing over the surface to let him know that she was there and—quite literally—had his back.

Quill in one hand, wand in the other, Severus repeated the spell. Peering over his shoulder, Saturnine saw the little black quill shake and then lift off his palm. It hovered an inch or two above his hand with quivering, jerking motions.

Stilling her hands, Saturnine leaned forward to get a better look. Resting her chin atop her brother’s shoulder, she got an eyeful of the boyish grin that stretched across his face. It made him look ten years younger.

***

Entering the living room after a lengthy, warm shower, Draco found Harry seated on the sofa with books and parchment all over his lap. Whatever he was working on, he must have been at it for a few hours now if the ink stains on his fingers were any indication.

Draco stopped by the armchair and leaned against its back. “So—what are we working on today?”

“The Defence Against the Dark Arts essay,” Harry said. “It’s all I’ve got left. That—and Potions.”

Draco audibly groaned at that last word. He, too, was keeping the famed Parchment from Hell for last.

“I have to get those two right,” Harry continued with a sideways glance towards the corridor and the closed bedroom that lay ahead. “I really don’t want to disappoint either of them.”

“You’ll only be disappointing one Snape, though,” Draco corrected. “I doubt Saturnine will return next term.”

Harry looked up with a puzzled look. “Why wouldn’t she be back?”

“Well, the curse,” Draco answered as if it were obvious. “You have heard of it, right? No one can teach Defence for two years in a row?”

Harry shrugged. “She’ll figure something out.”

“Just like that?”

Harry nodded as if it were no bigger a deal than reciting the alphabet backwards.

“You really do think the world of her,” Draco mused. It reminded him of their kidnapping and the time he and Harry had spent locked up in that damp cellar. The whole time, the Gryffindor had been dead certain that Saturnine was coming for him. And he’d been right. “That’s cute, Potter,” he said with a smirk, and really, it was.

“Don’t!” his answer was a warning growl.

“Sorry, Harry,” he hastened to say, raising a palm in a placating gesture. “I was only kidding. Relax.”

Harry rubbed at his neck nervously before sighing. “Sorry,” he said. “Sensitive subject.”

Draco could understand that. “You two are pretty close, aren’t you?” he asked, knowing the answer already. Although they’d put up quite the performance during the school year, one would have to be blind not to see the closeness between the two. Now that the time for deception was over.

“Yes,” Harry admitted, and it felt almost like a reluctant admission. “She cares about me. She genuinely does. And that means a lot to me.”

“No kidding,” Draco said with a soft, sorrowful sigh. He could understand the appeal of having someone as warm and decent as Severus’ sister worrying about his wellbeing.

“Draco, I’m—”

“Don’t!” he cut in, desperately not wanting the other one to launch himself into another volley of awkward condolences laced with cheesy pep talk. He’d had enough of those to last him a lifetime. “Please don’t.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped in defeat, and his attention returned to the book and spare sheets of parchment in his lap. The quiet barely lasted two minutes before he softly asked, “Are you okay, though?”

Draco was tempted to pretend he hadn’t heard. He wasn’t sure what to reply. Two weeks had passed since his mother’s funeral, and he was feeling a little better. The pain wasn’t as sharp, but he was still a long way from okay. It wasn’t so much the disappearance of his mother that had him feeling low. Sure, it hurt, but the two had never been that close. No—what kept him awake at night was the uncertainty of his situation. His life had all but spiralled down the drain. And he didn’t know what to make of it anymore. It felt like he’d lost his place in the world, like he was a useless part left by the wayside. He had no idea how to put that into words, though.

“Draco?” Harry prompted, and he realised that he’d remained silent too long.

There was something in the way the other boy looked up at him that felt both understanding and encouraging, and Draco decided to try and voice some of his murky thoughts.

“I don’t really know,” he said, leaning a bit more on the armchair’s back, and it was as truthful as it got. “I wish I knew where this was going. I mean, we’re in the middle of a war, and I’m doing some bloody homework.”

“What else should we be doing?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know; that’s the thing,” he said a little more harshly than he’d intended. “I don’t know. I just—I—I feel bloody useless, is all.” The admission had cost him. And he felt like slapping himself for this unusual display of honesty; it was very unbecoming of him. Readying himself for whatever joke Harry would make at his expense, he was taken aback when a look of understanding crossed the Gryffindor’s face.

His surprise must have shown, for Harry hastily explained, “I’m supposed to stop You-Know-Who, and I’m here doing my homework, too.” He raised the wad of parchment in his hand for emphasis before letting it drop back to his lap. “And also, that thing’s bloody complicated. Looks like assigning excruciating summer essays is also something that runs in the family.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile at the petulant tone that last comment had been delivered in. “All right, Boy Wonder,” he said, moving around the chair. “Let’s see what’s giving you so much grief.”

And he plopped himself down next to Harry and grabbed the parchments from the Gryffindor’s hand before the other could reply.

***

Severus was busy practising his newfound magic. Sitting on his bed, shoulders hunched forward, face hidden under a curtain of black hair, he was working on what looked like the beginning of a small figurine. Wand in hand, he was shelling away curl after curl from a piece of driftwood he’d found nearby. His fingers were shaking under the strain, and his lips were pinched to a tight line. But he didn’t seem to be ready to give up yet.

Stubbornness, thy name is Snape, Saturnine thought fondly, knowing that if she were in her brother’s shoes, she would also be pushing herself just as hard.

“Do you have a moment?” she asked, sitting cross-legged on her own bed. She had a few ideas percolating in her head that she wanted his input on.

Severus looked up at that, and he raised what she knew to be an amused eyebrow. “Why don’t you let me have a look at my busy schedule.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Professor,” she said with equal mirth. “Should I have called ahead to make an appointment?”

It surprised her to hear him chuckle in response. The return of his magic had improved Severus’ mood, and she was sorry to have to bring it back down. But some difficult subjects had to be discussed.

“Dumbledore,” she continued, growing serious again. “How long do you think he’s got?”

That sobered him up effectively. Resting both wand and figurine atop the blanket, Severus slowly rose to his feet as he crossed his arms over his black long-sleeved jumper. “I’m surprised he’s lasted this long. I did everything I could, but that curse keeps eating its way through his system. I would say he’s got weeks left.”

“What’ll happen, then?” she asked. “How do we move past losing Albus Dumbledore?”

With an undecipherable face, Severus recovered several sheets of parchment from the drawer of his bedside table before moving closer to his sister and handing them to her to peruse. All were covered in line after line of his spidery handwriting with the occasional diagram. It was Potions research, she realised: a complete analysis of intent and effect with full consideration of the capacities of the ingredients.

It led to the recipe of a Stasis Potion unlike any she had ever seen, one so complex and multifaceted she had a hard time following it. It looked difficult to brew as well, needing to go through all the possible phases of matter known to mankind. Not to mention the outlandish list of ingredients, many of which even a Potions Master of Severus’ calibre would have a hard time getting his hands on. That said, if it worked as her brother intended it to—it opened a world of possibilities for the Order of the Phoenix.

“Sounds risky and wrong on many levels,” she continued, handing him the sheets of parchment back. “How certain are you that it’ll work?”

“Quite,” he replied in a tone that let her know she’d struck a nerve. Her brother might be a little battle-wary. But he was still the best damn potioneer she’d ever known—and Severus knew it. If he thought it would work, then it would.

“I’m guessing the stasis will stop the curse from progressing?” she asked, and her brother nodded. “How long can we keep Dumbledore under?”

A minute lift of his shoulders. “I need to run more calculations to narrow it down, but—months, easily.”

Saturnine nodded, considering the idea. The beginning of a plan wove itself inside her head. “Have you told Dumbledore about this?”

Severus shook his head. “I’ve only just finished. You’re the first one I told.”

“Good,” she said. “Keep it that way. If we end up doing this, no one can know about it. Best they all think he’s dead.”

“You want us to pretend like Dumbledore is truly dead? Not to tell anyone?” he asked with a frown. “Do you have any idea the kind of uproar it will cause when the Ministry finds out?”

She was well aware of that, but it was time they stopped playing nice. “If we want to win this war, we have to stop blindly following the rules. The other side doesn’t.”

Severus still had the parchment sheets in one hand. But that didn’t stop him from crossing his arms over his chest again. “Saturnine, that’s—”

“We can apologise for it later,” she cut in. “If there’s a later.”

“Have you got any more bright ideas you want to share?” he asked snarkily.

“What do you think Voldemort’s reaction will be? To the news of Dumbledore’s death, I mean,” she asked.

Her brother huffed. “A victory dance?”

“And?” she prompted him to continue.

Severus frowned at her. Then his eyes got that faraway expression that told her he was thinking it through. She waited for him to come to the correct conclusion; it didn’t take long. “He wants Hogwarts,” he said. “He’s always coveted it. With Dumbledore gone, he’ll be coming for it faster than you can say Quidditch.”

Saturnine nodded her agreement. “What will be his move then? And how do we counter it?”

Severus reflected further before continuing. “The Dark Lord more or less controls the Hogwarts Board of Governors. He’ll be able to appoint whomever he wants to replace Albus. He could even take the position himself—Merlin, help us. With the Ministry in shambles, we will have little recourse to stop him.”

Saturnine nodded. She’d come to the same conclusion. “Unless we make our own arrangements beforehand to ensure the board doesn’t have a say in what happens.”

Severus’ gaze narrowed on her. “How?”

“I don’t know yet.” She sighed. She knew what needed to happen. Only, she hadn’t figured out the ‘how’ just yet. “Hogwarts can’t fall, Severus. It’s all we’ve got left—without it, we lose the war.”

“Who would you see as headmaster, then?” he asked, coming to sit next to her, Potions research forgotten in his hand.

Her mind was moving chess pieces about and trying out various combinations without landing on one she felt was satisfactory. “No one.”

“I would have thought Minerva—”

“No,” she cut him, eyes still lost on the vague as she switched more pieces about. “We need her as Head of Gryffindor and as Transfiguration teacher.”

Severus scoffed. “Surely we need a headmaster more?”

“Do we?” Saturnine asked, turning to face him. “Short term, we can delegate the headmaster’s tasks to the current staff members. However, we cannot do the same with anyone’s classes. Besides, new professorial appointments must be approved by the board. And I’d rather not have to break bread with a Death Eater in disguise.”

She saw her brother go stiff by her side as if his thinking had come to a screeching halt at her words. “We’ve had this discussion already, Saturnine,” he said urgently. “You’re not going back.”

It was her turn to scoff. “Leen Nine can’t go back, but I can.”

Severus was not to be deterred—not that she had thought he would. His tone darkened, and he pinned her with a dark stare. “I doubt the Dark Lord’s curse will make the distinction between the two.”

Unfortunately for him, Saturnine had become immune to that stare sometime in her teens. “We’ll have to chance it. You’re going to need me there,” she said, not faltering. “Besides, if you think I’m going to let the boys out of my sight—or you, for that matter—you’re dead wrong.”

Something flickered in Severus’ obsidian eyes for an instant before he said, “Switch with me, then.”

“What?”

He gave her a momentarily contemptuous sneer as if his words were eloquent enough that he shouldn’t have to explain further. “You take Potions, and I’ll handle Defence.”

He’d made it sound like it was the greatest of personal sacrifice, and she gave him a contemptuous smile of her own as she pointed out, “You do know that everybody thinks you secretly covet the Defence Against the Dark Arts job, right?”

“I—don’t,” he drawled, and it almost sounded like two separate sentences.

She matched his tone to the last disdainful inflexion. “I—know.”

They stared at each other a moment longer before Severus looked away, the corners of his lips fighting hard not to curl upwards. “I’ve seen enough Dark Arts from up close to last me a lifetime, and…”

Saturnine was a bit more liberal with her smile as she finished his sentence. “…and you love Potions.”

He said it anyway. “I love Potions.”

“You’d trade with me, though?” she asked.

“If it can save your life, yes,” he replied, deliberately not meeting her gaze now. “Without hesitation.”

“And it’s not even Christmas yet,” she mused, feeling that a bit of levity was needed to their roller-coaster of a discussion.

Severus flickered his eyes her way at that, levelling her with a cold, piercing stare. Saturnine easily held his gaze, glad to see she hadn’t lost her touch in the years they’d been apart. The day she’d understood the finer points of sarcasm, attempting to rile the other up quickly became one of the siblings’ favourite pastimes, and they reached Grand-Master level long before either of them reached puberty. While the mental verbose gymnastic of their amicable jousting was always fun, tears and rancour weren’t. And they’d both learned quickly how far they could push each other—and when to quit.

“What if we go halfsies?” Saturnine offered more seriously.

“What?”

“If we simply switch classes, we’ll be back to square one in twelve months,” she explained further. “Do you know the exact nature of the curse? How it was worded?”

Severus shook his head. “‘No one will be allowed to return for a second year’—or something along those lines.”

“Well—we won’t be a one—we’ll be a two. If we split the workload fifty-fifty, that bloody curse won’t be able to make heads or tails out of us.”

Severus considered her words for a long moment before saying, “That’s risky. We could both be targeted instead.”

“Or not...”

“A fifty-fifty chance, I would wager.” He sighed. “I’ve worked with worse odds.”

“Good—now that that is settled, can we get back to the topic at hand? Namely stymieing the Dark Lord and protecting Hogwarts?”

She wiggled her eyebrows at him, and Severus shook his head.

“You’re annoying,” he said, trying hard to hide his amusement.

Sweet Circe, did the banter feel good. It was almost like the last fifteen years had been magically erased, and she’d gotten her big brother back. It gave her hope that somehow, they would find a way to put the past behind them and learn to be friends again. If by some cosmic fluke, they both managed to survive the war, that was.

“Learned it from the best,” she replied. Then feeling bold, she inched forward to peck him on the cheek. As she moved back, Severus brought a hand up to brush the tip of his fingers over his cheek. Or perhaps he was trying to hide the pinpricks of red that had appeared on his skin.

Heaving in a breath, Saturnine returned to more serious matters. “We’re playing for time, and our best bet is to maintain the status quo at Hogwarts. That means no change of staff and finding a loophole to avoid replacing Dumbledore for the time being.”

“Until we can find the Horcruxes,” Severus interjected.

She nodded. “That remains our top priority. We can’t attack Voldemort directly while those backup versions of himself are out there.”

“He can’t be allowed to figure out what we’re doing,” Severus warned. “If he so much as suspects that we’ve understood that these artefacts exist, they’ll be taken out of our reach for good.”

“I know, Sev. That’s why we’re the only ones working on this—containment.”

“I fear that it won’t be enough”.

She hummed in agreement. “That’s why we need to keep him busy with something else,” she offered. “A distraction.”

Severus considered her idea an instant. “We know the Dark Lord wants the Elder Wand.”

“And we both know where it is,” she mused. And then suddenly an idea hit her, just like magic—Muggle magic.

She turned to her brother with a beaming smile and reached for his forearm on impulse. “Brother-mine, I think I’ve just had what may be my craziest idea yet—and that’s saying something.”