Chapter 2

Her coffee forgotten, Miss Morris was staring at Ivo in fascination. "And they didn't try to conceal their identities at all? But they must have known that the entire wizarding world was looking for them."

"The British wizarding world, perhaps. But to most people at Vanda, they were just another couple...strangers, wanderers, like all of us. They may have used glamours occasionally; I can't say, since I didn't often see them in public. They kept to themselves a great deal."

"But surely someone would have recognised them at some point. In fact, now that I think about it, I know I've seen at least one other report of Snape being spotted at a refugee camp. But I don't remember the details; I didn't read it carefully, since it didn't seem very likely. I mean, over the years, people have reported seeing Snape or McGonagall in practically every country on the planet."

"There have been many rumours," Ivo agreed.

"Oh, hundreds, probably thousands." Miss Morris was animated; clearly, here was a subject she enjoyed. "If you want to know my own theory, I've always believed that Harry Potter knows more about what happened to his professors than he's ever said. He may have been the one who finally killed Voldemort, but he must have had a great deal of help over the years. I've always wondered if he wasn't in touch with McGonagall somehow, and some of the others who went missing. And now that I know she was with Snape, too..."

She broke off and looked at Ivo with something like suspicion, as if she could tell he was feeling amused at the idea that someone of her age had "always" thought anything about the Dark Wars. Or perhaps she realised that she had been talking to Ivo almost as a colleague rather than an interview subject.

In any case, she retreated to her professional demeanour and said rather sternly, "You do know that we will check out your story very carefully."

Ivo was not surprised. "Please, check anything you like; it will not change what I saw. You can talk with Blake Walford, if you can find him. He saw them, too."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The professors had been at the camp nearly a week, and Ivo was heading to the shower rooms after his breakfast shift in the mess hall, when he saw Blake Walford hurrying towards him.

Walford laughed. "'The' bed, singular? What's happened to your English? You're making it sound like the two of them have just one bed."

Walford's face was a study. "So are you saying...? Oh, god, you are. You are. You're saying that Snape and McGonagall are, like, together? You know, like...lovers and shit? That's what you mean, isn't it? God. That is just massively disgusting."

"So," he said, flopping down outside his family's tent and making room for Ivo to sit next to him. "Snape and McGonagall are lovers, huh? Have you ever seen them fuck?"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ivo did not tell this last part to Miss Morris, but nevertheless, her mind appeared to be running along the same lines.

"This is amazing, Mr Dobrev," she said. "I think Minerva is one of the last people anyone would have guessed as a romantic partner for Severus. Their long-standing rivalry, their ages... All those stories about how hostile they were during that last Hogwarts year..."

She shook her head. "And now you're telling me that they actually shared the same bed? When there was no need? No over-crowding, or anything like that?"

"No. It was their choice solely. In fact, in all their stay at Vanda, I never saw them spend a night apart."

"Did you ever witness them, you know, uh...be intimate with each other?"

Be intimate. Well, that was one way of putting it, Ivo thought. But on the whole, he preferred Walford's way.

"No!" he wanted to say to Miss Morris. "Not 'intimate.' Say 'fuck.'"

Because that's what people did in a refugee camp. They fucked. They weren't "intimate," except in the sense that the whole damned camp was "intimate," everyone living cheek by jowl, no solitude, precious little dignity.

Life there was too elemental for euphemisms. You took your food and your sleep and your shits and your pleasures when and where you could, often in full view of anyone not too dazed or depressed to watch. Privacy wasn't a luxury...most of the time, it wasn't even a possibility.

Of course people fucked. It was their solace and their Obliviator and their desperation and their time-filler and sometimes their only buffer against annihilation. Snape and McGonagall were no exception.

Miss Morris was looking at him expectantly, and Ivo knew he was going to have to tell her something, even if he didn't think she was being very professional in asking.

To Walford, he'd simply lied and said, "No." But what should he say to this naïve, clueless woman? ...this girl, sitting there so confident that she could touch "history," that she could make sense of the refugee camps, of the war, of anything from that dark time...when the very comfort and safety in which she dwelt meant that she'd never understand the slightest thing about them.

Then again, what did it matter? Ivo had come to bear witness, and bear witness he would. He would tell Miss Morris what he knew, and after that, well, the world could do as it pleased. The way it always did.

So he began.

"When people first got to the camp," he said, "they were so relieved just to feel safe again. Yes, it was crowded, and there was so little magic, but most people didn't care at first. You see, they never thought they were going to stay. A week or two, to catch their breath and get back on their feet, and then they were going to relocate, they were going to go to some stable wizarding place where no one had never heard of Death Eaters...Australia or India or Argentina... And then a week turned into a month, and then two, and then six, and there you still were, cooped up, going nowhere."

He leant forward a bit, trying, in spite of himself, to make her see. "But you still keep on living; what else can you do? So 'being intimate,' as you put it...yes, people needed that. Some were very open about it. They didn't care who heard or saw, because if you were going to wait until you were alone, you were going to wait forever. Other people...they tried to be as private as they could; they'd spend part of their magic allotment for silencing charms. Or the privacy wards."

He was silent himself, remembering, until Miss Morris cleared her throat.

"And Severus and Minerva?" she prompted.

Ivo rolled his eyes, but only in his mind. To him, they would never be "Severus" and "Minerva," no matter what he had seen them do. "Professors Snape and McGonagall," he said.

He would give them their proper respect. In his mind, they had earned it. Of course they had seemed an unlikely couple to him at first: McGonagall old enough to be Snape's mother, Snape himself a damaged, unpleasant man.

But Ivo had changed his mind over the two months he had watched them. He had seen how much they shared: their quick minds, their wit, their love of debate. He'd seen their moments of tenderness and how carefully they looked out for one another.

They'd survived the Battle, they'd lived and loved and yes...they had taken physical pleasure in each other, and there was no shame in it. Nothing to be hidden.

"They didn't have sex often," he said finally, refusing the silliness of Miss Morris's "intimate," yet not ready to share with her the power of "fuck." "And they were very discreet. They used what magic they could, and they kept their clothing on. But I knew."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Of course he knew. It was only inference at first...he'd seen them use their privacy wards once or twice, and sex was virtually the only reason anyone bothered with the foggy things. But like most people, Snape and McGonagall had abandoned the wards eventually, and then Ivo had been sure.

McGonagall in reply was equally low, equally scathing. "You are a fool, if you think you can succeed at this any better than you succeed at anything else that involves actually dealing with human beings. Do you honestly think a few pathetic insults will drive me away? If that tactic was going to work, it would have worked years ago. It's not exactly a new aspect of your personality, Severus. So go ahead, be as vicious as you will. I'm not leaving you."

"Have you not been paying attention? Haven't you seen the Daily Prophet? I'm a marked man."

"And you weren't a marked man before the Prophet said so? Don't be absurd. One way or another, metaphorically or literally, you've been marked since you were fifteen. That's not news to me. But it hasn't stopped you fighting the Dark Lord, and we will still do that, just in different ways."

"Of course I do! I've been in three wars, Severus. I understand the risks perfectly. And I know you for what you are, too...I see your darkness, I'm not deceived. I know it all, and it doesn't matter. I have darkness of my own."

Snape laughed, a harsh sound with no humour in it. "You want this," he sneered, gesturing towards himself. "And you don't think yourself an idiot?"

And had there been any gods to listen.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Slowly, Ivo brought himself back to the present, to the din of the café and to Miss Morris's ardent face. He told her of the professors' argument, but he said nothing about their passion. When he had come to the interview, he had been vague in his mind about exactly how much he would say, and now he knew that he would keep this memory to himself: it was not his to share.

He was relieved that Miss Morris didn't press further; instead, she asked, "But what finally happened to them? Do you know when they left the camp?"

"I know that compared to other people in Vanda, they were not there long at all...two months, perhaps a bit more. It was May or June, I think, when they arrived, and in August they were gone."

"Where did they go? Do you know?"

"No. We did not exchange confidences, of course. They never knew that I was aware of who they were. We would nod, say good evening, good morning, maybe 'pleasant weather, isn't it?' But that was all. We had to live so close, physically speaking. We needed to not be close in other ways, if that makes sense to you.

"So I know only that they were finally able to make arrangements to leave, and they did so. I wish there was more I could tell you, Miss Morris. But they were in and out of my life very quickly, and I had troubles of my own. "

Miss Morris nodded. "Yes, I'm sure you did, Mr Dobrev, and I'd like to meet again to discuss your camp experiences further. And of course anything more you remember about Severus and Minerva. Did you actually see them leave the camp?"

"Yes," Ivo nodded and felt a little dizzy; he'd drunk too much coffee. "In fact, I believe I was the only one who did so."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The sky burned white with heat and sun on the day the two Hogwarts professors left the Vanda refugee camp.

Snape and McGonagall simply stood quietly for a moment, unremarkable and unremarked. Then hand-in-hand they stepped forward, and through the gate took their solitary way.

~~fin

A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, your reviews and comments cheer me.