My contribution to the fest

Title: Honour
Author: Josan (jmann @ pobox.mondenet.com)
Type: Fiction
Category: Gen
Length: 10,065 words, which makes it a short story that may be
longish.
Main Characters: Severus and Minerva
Warnings: Hmmm, maybe keep a kleenex close by: I have been told
by one reader that it might prove necessary.
Series: NO!
Rating: PG-13, or may be higher due to some of the imagery.
Summary: kaiz! I hate doing summaries. Ah, well.
Here goes: this is about the relationship that develops between
Severus and Minerva.
Notes: Beta'ed by kaiz. Read and not beta'ed by a real
life friend who is just learning about fanfic; so I started her off on a
gen, but I have hopes that eventually I shall be able to
corrupt convert her.



(:):):)


"Is there anything I can do to help, Poppy?"

Poppy Pomfrey looked up from the student she was tucking into the
infirmary cot. It was 3 a.m. and she looked harried. The influenza that had
been sweeping through Hogwarts like wildfire for the past two days had
caught them all unaware.

"Not really, Minerva, I think it is winding down. This is the only new case in
the last two hours." Poppy straightened, her hands going to her back as she
leaned a little backwards to ease the strain.

"Then why don't you get some rest. I'm quite able to keep an eye on the
students while you catch up on your sleep."

Poppy closed her eyes as she thought. "Actually," she said, "there is
something you can do. One of the Slytherins waited far too long to admit he
was ill and I've had to isolate him. He needs to have some potions
administered every two hours and..."

"Not a problem, my dear. Where are the potions and when are they to be
administered?"

She recognised him immediately. Severus Snape. That nose was the give-
away.

Minerva pulled up a chair by the bed and used her wand to call up a light
that was faint enough not to bother the boy, but focused enough so that she
could read. A life-long habit that, of having at least one book in a pocket, no
matter what the outfit was.

She kept an eye on the boy as she read, growing a little more worried each
time she glanced at him. Eventually, she slipped her book back into her
pocket and looked at him. The influenza that had gripped the school was
unpleasant, but the Snape boy seemed to be reacting particularly severely to
his bout. Though naturally pale, he was now ashen, the only colour in his
face two spots of fever-induced red on those high cheekbones. Poppy had
indicated that his fever was high, but she also expected the potions with
which she was dosing him would eventually break it.

With care, Minerva eased the boy up so that she could get those potions
down his throat. Most managed to go where they were supposed to, but
some coloured both her dressing gown and his nightshirt when he gagged
and coughed out the final mouthful. With a rueful sigh, she cleaned them
up, but it bothered her that the boy seemed to be unaware of what was
happening.

She placed her hand on his forehead, amazed at the level of dry heat she
felt against her palm. Maybe Poppy needed to see him.

From the doorway, Minerva could see Poppy sleeping in her chair and
thought the situation over. After all, children were notorious for getting high
fevers. And this one, though in Second Year, was a year younger than most
of students admitted to Hogwarts. She sighed and decided to wait a little
longer before awakening Poppy from much needed rest.

She made herself comfortable by the boy's bed and kept watch. The fever
didn't seem to rise any higher, but then it wasn't diminishing as it should if
the potions were working.

Why was she not surprised? When did this boy ever do anything as
expected?

He was brilliant. He'd arrived at Hogwarts with far too much knowledge;
some of which he should not have had. Not until he was far older. And he
was too quick tempered, almost wild. Slytherin was welcome to him.

She snorted softly.

Not that Joachim Lane-Poole cared. How on earth did Slytherin manage with
that idiot as Head of House? The man was barely sober at the best of times.
Albus's headache left to him by the previous Headmaster. Who had shared
many a bottle with Lane-Poole. Had the man been any kind of Head,
he would have been the one sitting by the boy's bedside.

She sighed as she reached over and touched the boy's forehead again. Poor
little lad. So ugly and so unappealing. Did he have any friends among the
Slytherins? That tongue of his was sharper than that blade of a nose.
Slytherins admired wit, but his was far too sharp. Too biting. Far too old
and, yes, confident for his age.

Still, he worried her as his head began to rock side to side on the pillow, as
though searching for coolness. She rose to go fetch Poppy only to discover
that the medi-witch was dealing with a crisis of her own. With brisk
efficiency, Minerva filled a pan with cool water and grabbed a cloth. It
wouldn't be the first time she had dealt with such a situation.

The boy was worse when she got back to him. He was muttering to himself,
his hands weakly pulling at his overlong hair. Lane-Poole should have made
the boy cut it so that he would blend in a little better with his peers. But, if
she remembered well, the boy was attending on a Governors' scholarship,
which meant he had no influential relatives, and, therefore, would be of no
interest to Lane-Poole.

She wrung out the cloth and used it to wipe the heat off the boy's face and
then, opening his nightshirt, his chest.

His eyes sprang open at that and he stared at her. For a moment she
thought he was actually seeing her but then he murmured "Mama," and she
knew he was in some other world.

Not a happy one from the tone of his wordless mutterings. As she continued
to wipe him down in hopes that the coolness would help the potions break
his fever, she began noticing the words were beginning to make a kind of
sense.

"Mama...hide...he...angry again. Mama...in the dark. We...hide...dark.
Mama...where are you? Must hide. I must hide you. He's... Mama?
Mama! Oh, mama. I should have been there. He was angry. I should
have...hide you! I have to hide you, mama! Mama! Oh, mama, forgive me.
Please, forgive me. I was at school. I didn't want...to go...school. You told
me you'd hide. You promised me you'd hide. In the dark. Like I showed
you. My fault. Oh, mama, I... Oh, why didn't you hide? He killed you
‘cause I couldn't hide you!"

Oh, dear Merlin! She'd heard that the boy's mother had recently died. She
hadn't paid much attention to the matter; after all, he wasn't one of hers.
She did remember that Lane-Poole had been rather irritated that Albus had
expected him to break the news to the boy. She doubted that he had done
so with any delicacy.

And now it seemed the boy thought that he bore the responsibility for her
death. She couldn't remember if Albus had ever mentioned how the child's
mother had died, but it would appear that there was a history of family
violence. It would bear checking into when she had time.

Right now, she had a child on her hands who was worrying himself to death
over something that appeared to have been completely out of his control.
Maybe she could do something about that.

She leaned over and gently stroked the matted hair off his far-too-thin face
and murmured soothing words, those her mother had crooned to her when
she'd been ill as a child. She doubted that they were the words Severus's
mother might have used but the tone seemed to be getting to him, calming
him down.

It took some time but he finally lay still, his eyes partially open, dull with the
fever that wasn't letting go.

"Mama?"

He sounded so much younger than he was. So much in need of
reassurance.

Minerva leaned so that her cheek was against his, her face away from him,
as she murmured, "Yes, Severus, it is Mama."

"Mama, I'm so sorry." On a choked-back sob.

Minerva's heart ached for the child. She turned so that she could pass her
lips lightly against the dry, hot skin of his cheek. "You have done nothing to
be sorry for, Severus. Nothing, my son."

"I should have been there for you."

His anguish made Minerva gently scoop the boy against her, tucking his head
under her chin. "Oh, Severus, you have always been there for me. You will
always be there for me, if not in person, then in my heart. There is nothing
to forgive, my dear. Nothing, you understand. I love you, my Severus. I
will always love you."

She felt thin arms wrap around her and pulled him closer to her. When the
small body began shaking, it worried her so that she pulled back – he held
on even more tightly – enough to understand that he was crying. Silently.

She moved onto the bed and manoeuvred them both so that he was on her
lap, still in the safety of her arms, and she could pull the covers up so that
he wouldn't take cold.

Dear Merlin, when had the child learnt to weep so silently? Why had...

"There, there, Severus. My sweet child. Let the hurt out. Mama's here for
you."

She was still holding him when Poppy peeked in around dawn.

"He's sleeping soundly," Poppy sighed.

Minerva carefully slipped out from the bed and tucked the now cooled boy
under the covers. "The fever broke about an hour ago."

Poppy made no comment on the fact that Minerva could have left then. Nor
about the last, gentle touch of Minerva's hand, smoothing the hair off the
boy's face as he sighed and snuggled into the warmth her body had left
behind.

++++++++++++++++++++

"Oh, dear."

Minerva looked up from her marking to see what had caused the note of
concern in Albus's voice. It would seem that the letter the owl had delivered
to the staff room that warm spring day bore bad news.

"What is it?" she asked, keeping her finger on the line she had been reading.

Albus sighed and shook his head sadly. "It would seem that Severus Snape
is now an orphan. This letter brings the sad news that his father has died."

Minerva caught her scoff at the ‘sadness' such news would bring to Severus
Snape. But she was curious. "How did the man die?"

Albus didn't answer immediately as he was still perusing the letter, a long
one for such news. He looked up finally, his eyes twinkle-less for once.
"How? Oh, some hex. The letter is from the Auror in charge of that region.
He is investigating, of course, but he doesn't think he'll be able to determine
just who is responsible. Seems Mister Snape had a great many enemies.
Gives him quite a list to work from, without any help."

"Does it mention the kind of hex?" Minerva placed her quill on the table and
carefully folded her hands on her lap.

Albus seemed to be thinking of other matters but he did glance at the letter
and found the correct passage.

"The hex," he read, "has been identified as a form of Lentamors, actually
some early version that requires a fair amount of complexity to produce.
This makes the search for the killer more difficult as it is the kind of hex that
only a powerful wizard could use, and Mister Snape has, as I have
mentioned, offended many wizards and witches. If he did so to one with this
level of specialised ability, it is doubtful that he or she would be stupid
enough to leave any trace behind. Etcetera, etcetera."

And, suddenly, Minerva knew. She didn't have to think about it; she just
knew.

When Severus Snape had returned to begin his Third and Fourth Years with
a ‘battered' look, she had pointed it out to Lane-Poole, and to Albus when all
Lane-Poole had done was shrug. The second time, Albus had merely glanced
at her over his glasses and pointed out that Severus Snape had a mouth and
an attitude that would try a saint.

"Who is going to tell Master Snape that his father is dead?" She kept her
voice merely curious. After all, it was only a feeling. She had no proof.

Albus tossed the letter aside and reached for his cup of tea. He sighed and
shook his head slightly. "I suppose I shall have to. Joachim..."

He didn't have to say more. Joachim Lane-Poole was still Head of Slytherin
by dint of the support of his cronies among the Board of Governors.
Thankfully, he was nearing pensionable years of experience and so Albus
would be able to get rid of him without all that much trouble. Eventually.

"Did the boy go home for Solstice holidays?" Minerva asked, knowing full
well he hadn't. She'd had to break up a duel between the Slytherin and a
Ravenclaw foolish enough to take him on. It wouldn't have done for Albus to
catch them at it. He would have come down hard on both boys, even if it
had been hols.

Which made it all that stranger when Albus wouldn't back her when she dealt
with the bullying the other Houses endured from a special group from her
House. What in Merlin's name was so special about Masters Black and Potter
that they were allowed to get away with what they did? When she handed
out detention to them, Albus always stepped in and mitigated their
punishment. They were growing out of control. Especially where Severus
Snape was involved.

That was the trouble with Governors' Scholars: the threat of immediate
suspension, or even expulsion, was held over their heads should they cause
too much trouble. So long as Snape kept his retaliations to his wit, Albus
ignored him. The one time he'd countered with a string of hexes...

No, she mustn't go there. Albus must not be reminded of that event in
Second Year, when Severus had thrown a hex far beyond his years at the
boys – her Gryffindors! – who were taunting him about his thread-bare and
far-too-short robes.

"No. Why?"

Now that she had Albus's attention, she shrugged it off. "Just wondering if
he might have been hit by it as well."

Albus scoffed. "If he had, we would now be spared his presence."

At her gasp of shock, Albus had the sense to look sheepish. "Well, you have
to admit some classes would be better off without his constant challenges
and sarcasm. I can't remember our having another student who is so
belligerent."

Minerva had to sigh. Severus was a difficult student. Teaching him
required being on one's toes. Minerva could have done without the attitude,
but she did enjoy the fact that, of all her students, he was always ready for
whatever lesson she was teaching.

He lived in the library, and, probably to get him off his back, Lane-Poole had
provided the boy with a pass to all sections of the stacks, including the
Restricted Section. Irma Pince had not been happy about that, but for once
Albus had sided with Lane-Poole. "If he's in the library, he's not getting into
fights over non-existent slights."

"If I may offer, Albus..."

"Yes, my dear?"

"Maybe I should call him to my office and be the one to tell him?"

Albus frowned a moment then smiled. "Ah, yes, a woman's touch. Yes,
what a good idea, Minerva, my dear. Thank you so much for being willing to
take this on."

Minerva stood and held her hand out for the letter. "I shall need to know all
the details so that I may discuss them with the boy. You know he'll have
questions."

Albus blinked and then handed it to her.

But as she had expected, Severus showed no emotion on being told that his
father had died. He didn't even ask how the man had met his death. He
only listened to her as she read him the letter, nodded and turned to leave.
At the door, he did stop. Over his shoulder, he asked, "What will happen to
me over the summer?"

Minerva thought. The Apothecary in Hogsmeade had been complaining just
the other day about the need for help. Or, as he had put it, good
help. Someone who knew what he was doing. Did she know of anyone?

"Your marks in Potions are very good, aren't they?"

He turned and leaned a shoulder against the door. He was still thin, but he'd
had a growth spurt over the year and was now almost as tall as she was.
Someone should really find him a robe and trousers that didn't end at the
top of his worn boots.

Now an eyebrow rose in a manner so disdainful that she decided it was
natural; no one could train himself to do so, so effectively, at will. Not that
she blamed him: his marks in Potions were the very best the school had
seen in the last...well, probably ever.

She made her voice brusque. "I shall speak to Benedik Frondelli about you."

That surprised him. The eyebrow descended and he looked almost stunned
at her offer. Then he nodded. Not that she had expected to receive any
thanks. Still, as he went to open the door, she couldn't resist adding –
rather foolhardily, she later chastised herself – "After all, potions are far
more interesting than hexes."

Before he could respond, she excused him. "Good day, Master Snape. And
again, you have my sincere condolences on your loss."

++++++++++++++++++++

Minerva closed the door to the Headmaster's office behind her. There, in
front of the fire, sat the huddled mass that had made Albus so deliriously
happy.

"An in, Minerva, my dear. We finally have an in. A chance
to put an end to this affair," he'd said to her, his glee barely controlled by his
whisper. He'd called her up to his office in the middle of the night and had
met her at the door. "I have to absent myself for about an hour, to make
arrangements. Please, stay with him. Make certain he doesn't leave before
I get back."

And with that, he'd taken off, without really explaining who exactly this ‘in'
was, though she did assume that it had something to do with Tom Riddle.

Minerva said nothing, merely sat on a corner of the couch that faced the
fireplace. The man hadn't so much as twitched at her presence. She leaned
back, using her foot to pull over the small ottoman then propping up her feet
on it, removing them from the cool stone floor that never seemed to get
warm, no matter the season. Which fact might explain why the man was so
close to the fire that she feared for his robe.

She folded her hands on her lap and took the time to examine this ‘in' of
Albus's. His face was tucked into his knees, which were clasped to his chest
by arms wrapped tightly around his legs. She couldn't even see if he were
breathing, he was so very still. She did wonder who he might be, but all she
could see was the hair, long and lying matted and tangled down to the
middle of his back.

Well, they couldn't stay like this for much longer. For one thing, the heat
was going to make her nod off soon if she didn't do something.

"Binny, tea, please. For two."

Albus's personal house elf was never far away and Minerva was certain
never slept unless Albus himself was sound asleep. Sure enough, the house
elf suddenly appeared, a tray in his hands. Within moments, Minerva was
pouring out a strong cup of fortifying tea for herself. "How do you take it?"
she asked the man she was supervising.

He moved then. Slowly as though doing so took a great deal of energy and
thought. He raised his head, a swatch of hair falling, hiding all but a bit of
his profile. Her heart stopped when she recognised the nose.

"I can't remember," she found herself saying. "Is it two sugars and only a
drop of milk, or one sugar and two drops?"

The boy... Dear Merlin, the man! Severus Snape had never been a boy. The
man had spent some time with her in his last year, working on a project for
his Transfiguration N.E.W.T. It had taken weeks before he had consented to
take a cup of tea with her.

He turned his head and she nearly gasped at the emptiness in those obsidian
eyes. She had always felt that his eyes were his best feature. Black and
brilliant with intellect. Brilliant also with anger, mockery or disdain; but
always, with intelligence. Now there was nothing in them.

He didn't bother to answer her question. He rested the side of his head on
his knees and watched her through that curtain of hair. She longed to reach
over and brush it back. Instead, she prepared a cup of tea with two sugars
and the barest hint of milk. As if she could have forgotten!

He didn't take it when she handed it to him, but Binny suddenly was there to
place it next to his feet, by the fire, to keep it warm. His eyes never left her
as she sat back and sipped at her cup.

The silence forced her to say, "You went over to Riddle."

A hand finally moved, to do as she longed to do, and she finally saw the
whole face. He'd been sixteen at Leaving. Not yet a legal wizard, and so
had spent the time until his majority with Apothecary Frondelli, only to
disappear on the date of his birth without a word to anyone.

"I don't blame him," the Apothecary had confessed to her later that summer.
"There is no future for him here. My son will inherit when I die and he has
no mentor who will pay for his registration with the Potion Brewers Guild. If
I could spare the money, I would have. But still my son will inherit."

At sixteen, he had been tall, skinny; the face, harsh in its sharpness. He
was what now, twenty-one? Still tall, more slender now than skinny, but the
face had changed only in that it was older. And wiser?

"I am a Death Eater."

The voice had roughened. And he spoke as though he expected her to pull
out her wand and hex him to kingdom come.

She took a sip before saying, as calmly as she could, "Really?"

As though former students were forever confessing such abominations.

He smiled at that. A short, bittersweet movement of thin lips.

He unwound himself slowly, like a snake done with basking in the sun,
before reaching for the cup of tea. It wobbled and the cup tinkled against
the saucer; before she had time to move, he steadied his hand and brought
its contents surely to his knees.

Such control. Far too much control. She sensed that any false move on her
part and he would shatter. So she continued sipping at her tea which no
longer warmed her. Not that he drank his. He merely looked at it as though
he had never seen such an item up close.

"I came to give myself up."

She paused her cup mid-way to her lips. "Did you now?"

Balancing the cup on his knees, Severus dipped a finger into the brew and
slowly wet the rim with the tip of a long, potion-stained finger.

"Dumbledore convinced me that I owe more than time in Azkaban."

Minerva wanted to close her eyes against the lack of life in those eyes that
now shifted to her face. The finger, she noticed, continued its path around
the cup, as though independent of the man.

"He hasn't said as much, but he wants me to save his golden
Gryffindor."

Minerva placed her cup and saucer down next to her on the couch.

"He wants me to report back, whenever I can, all that Riddle... Excuse me,
Lorrrd Vol...de...mort, as he now wants to be called."

The sneer had changed. It was more refined than the last time she'd heard
it.

"Dumbledore wants to know all that Lord Voldemort is planning, especially
against certain witches and wizards. He thinks by slipping Potter's name in
amongst the others, I won't notice."

Potter and Snape. How could two men, who hated each other with such a
passion, be so linked?

He was waiting for her reaction. She managed to keep her classroom voice.
"Then why are you doing this? Because, I'm assuming that, since you are
still here, you are doing this."

He cocked his head to a side as he watched her. "I've killed people.
Through my potions. And personally. I thought they didn't matter."

"Didn't matter?" Dear Merlin, was she responsible for this? By not telling
Albus of her suspicions as to the person behind the death of Severus's
father?

He explained, non-chalant, as though it didn't really matter. "They were
Muggles. And I believed, as I thought Riddle did, that we had to defend
ourselves from them. That our blood had to be kept pure so that our Magic
would not be diluted until we were no different from them."

An old song, but one that seemed to be growing in popularity, especially
since Albus had begun actively seeking out Muggle-borns. "Does Riddle no
longer think that?"

Severus suddenly seemed to notice the cup on his knees. With a smooth
gesture of his hand, he waved the cup and saucer off his knees and over,
onto the tray that sat on the stand by Minerva.

Wandless Magic. A skill not unheard of among wizards and witches, but
usually mastered after long and lengthy study. Albus could do it, but did he
know that Severus could as well?

"Lord Voldemort thinks that anyone who opposes his plans for the
future is an enemy."

From the scorn Severus continued to place on Riddle's self-appointed title,
Minerva knew that had had something to do with Severus's decision to leave.

"And what are his plans?"

The small laugh was chilling. "What day is it?"

Minerva thought a moment. "So, he's inconsistent, is he, Tom Riddle?" She
allowed herself a small scoff. "I'm not surprised. He always could change
opinion in the blink of an eye, depending on which way the breeze was
blowing."

That surprised him. She allowed herself a little smirk of one-up-man-ship.
"I was a student here when Riddle attended. He was a year behind me."
And with such potential power that the Board of Governors hadn't been able
to ignore him. He'd been one of the rare half-bloods to be permitted to
attend Hogwarts, an even rarer sort into Slytherin. The Sorting Hat had
known what it was doing that day.

"Depending on whose favour he was soliciting at the time," she added.

"That hasn't changed," said Severus.

"But you have," she quietly challenged him.

He was silent for several moments so she thought she'd pushed too hard.
Then, "I don't mind killing." He tilted his head, tossing his hair onto his back
in a smooth gesture that once more seemed unrehearsed. "You, of all
people, know that about me. But I need a reason to kill. And a sheer
enjoyment of killing is not enough for me. Certainly not sufficient cause to
kill children, whether Wizard or Muggle."

He shrugged elegantly.

When had he grown into that body of his?

"Not when it has become obvious that the righteous goals one thought set
are only window-dressing."

"And you decided that the window-dressing was not enough for you."

He dropped his chin on his knees but kept his eyes on her. She braced
herself.

"I was part of the group who killed Martyn Brady's family."

Minerva held herself very stiff, willing herself not to react.

"His wife, his three daughters, his two sons and even the family crup. We
passed his daughters amongst us while we made him and his wife watch.
Then we took turns with his sons. The ones who hadn't died by then, Lord
Voldemort killed with Cruciatus. His wife actually managed to get loose and
our dear Lord used his powers to slam her repeatedly against a tree until her
brains were decorating its branches. Then he told Brady the real reason we
had done all that."

Minerva swallowed hard. She wanted to close her eyes against the images
Severus was describing but knew they were now ingrained in her mind.

Severus moved then, on his hands and knees, to come crouch before her.
"Tell me, Professor McGonagall, why would Tom Riddle want to kill
everything Martyn Brady held dear to him?"

"Oh dear Merlin!" She wanted to vomit.

"You know, don't you? You can guess, at the very least. You said you went
to school with Riddle, then you went to school with Brady as well. Tell me,
Professor McGonagall. Tell me about how Gryffindors treat Governors'
Scholars who find themselves in Slytherin. Tell me about how well, even
then, Joachim Lane-Poole defended the members of his House. Explain to
me why Headmasters turn a blind eye to the way others treat Slytherin. "

He sat back on his heels as she succumbed and covered her face with her
hands. She was startled when his hands clasped hers ever so gently and
pulled them away from her face.

"I could see myself doing what he did. See myself destroying Potter and
Black and the others. I would have revelled in doing so. But then I
remembered how you tried to stop them. How you did your best to keep
them out of my way whenever you could. How you set up my
apprenticeship with Apothecary Frondelli. And I decided that I was willing to
accept whatever punishment would be meted out if only not to turn into a
Lord Voldemort."

He brought her hands to her lap and stared at them. "Except that it seems
my punishment will be more of the same. To keep from destroying Potter, I
shall have to save him." He looked up at her and she winced at the hatred
and anger in his eyes. "As he so bravely ‘saved' me from the werewolf Black
set in my path."

He released her and crawled back to his place by the fire. "Dumbledore has
promised me that my work for the Light would not go unrewarded. He's
promised to speak for me should this deception miraculously end up with me
alive and facing Azkaban."

His mocking tone told her how much he valued those promises.

"And if I promise you that I shall see to it that he keeps his promises?"

That eyebrow had not lost any of its disdain. "You needn't worry. I shall do
my best to keep Saint Potter alive. According to the Headmaster, he is an
important cog in the wheel of the Light's success."

She moved off the couch then and hunkered down by him. Meeting his
eyes, she placed her hand over her heart. "I give you my word, Severus
Snape. I have no real power but Albus has. And I shall remind him of his
promises to you until he tires of hearing me. My word as a Gryffindor,
Severus."

He stared into her eyes as though seeking the truth of her words. Only
later, thinking on it, she realised that he had the ability as well of looking
into people's minds.

But then, all he did was nod and return to the huddle he had been when
she'd walked in. In time for the door to open and Albus to enter,
breathlessly thank her, and send her off to bed.

++++++++++++++++++++

Over the years, they had become colleagues who tolerated each other. As
Heads of the two most confrontational Houses, they often had to meet to
discuss ways of dealing with and lessening that hostility. Usually in the staff
room, but if the matter was delicate enough, in Minerva's quarters.

In fact, in the nearly nine years that Severus Snape had been removed from
Azkaban and spoken for by the newly elected Chief Warlock of the
Wizengamot – who had subsequently set him up in Hogwarts as Professor of
Potions and, even more surprisingly, made him Head of Slytherin – Minerva
McGonagall could not remember a time that she'd received an invitation to
Severus's private rooms.

So when one arrived, delivered by a trembling house elf, it did not bode well.

As she made her way down to the dungeons, Minerva went through all the
events of the past weeks in her mind, looking for the cause of this invitation.
There were a possible few, but she thought they had been resolved, if not to
everyone's satisfaction, at least enough to move onto the next squabble.

When she knocked on the door, it opened, silently inviting her in.

It wasn't her first time in these rooms. She'd seen them the day Severus
had moved in, not yet fully recovered from his time in Azkaban. Hogwarts
provided the space, but each individual instructor was responsible for
furnishing his or her quarters. The rooms had been rather bare then. The
shelves that bracketed the fireplace in the sitting room had been empty; the
furniture, whatever the house elves had been able to assemble from
wherever it was they kept pieces left behind by previous instructors. His
bedroom had held a four-poster any student would have recognised. She
had wondered if it had been his from his student days.

Personally, she had found the rooms depressing, but Severus had actually
relaxed a bit in them. All things considered, it was not surprising that he
might be drawn to dark and secret spaces. The only fine points of the
rooms, in her opinion, were the fact that, due to their location, they were
larger than most of those provided for instructors, and that they backed onto
the Slytherin Common Room, allowing Severus easy access to his House.
Lane-Poole had had his quarters in the tower furthest away.

"Minerva. Thank you for coming."

Since then, the rooms had changed. The walls were covered by over-flowing
bookshelves. Though she didn't doubt that there would be some kind of
order to them. The furniture was different. A large desk and a good quality
leather couch stood to one side; two wing-back armchairs faced the
fireplace. She noted the large ottoman in front of the chair that was
obviously the favourite. Between the chairs, there was a low table that held
journals and a tray with a tea setting and china so thin that she could see
the fire through it. The plate of biscuits was filled with her favourites.

And Severus had also changed. Though plain, his robes were of the finest
material, their unadorned black suiting his personality. And when he strode
through the hallways, he used them to fill the way, forcing students to push
themselves into the nooks and crannies of the stone walls in order to avoid
being mowed down. He was no longer spectrally thin, merely slender, and
his face had filled out a little, making those cheekbones less sharp. His eyes
were still his best feature but tonight, they held a look that caused the hair
on the nape of her neck to rise.

He was courteous. "Please, sit down." He gestured to the guest chair and
waited for her to settle comfortably before he took his own chair. She waited
patiently while he poured tea and fixed hers as she liked it. She accepted a
chocolate oatie and placed it on the thin, fragile plate which made her
nervous; she didn't want to be the cause of its breakage.

Merlin, she had never used china like this when he came to her rooms.

"I'm not doing it to make you nervous," he said, a little hesitantly. "I only
own a few pieces and..."

She smiled at him. "It's a beautiful pattern," she said, to put him at ease.
And it was; small violets on vines. Delicate. Feminine. Not something she
thought Severus would appreciate.

"My...my mother had one piece that she cherished."

Oh.

"I wanted to speak to you in private. I hope you don't mind."

Minerva had learnt in her dealings with her fellow Head of House that a sip of
tea allowed her the time and space to examine a situation for potential
pitfalls. "Not at all. But we would have been private in my rooms, Severus."

He smiled then, almost pityingly. "There are no portraits or paintings on my
walls, Minerva."

He shook his head when she didn't immediately make the connection.
"Albus's secret forces. The portraits. They report everything they hear or
see back to him."

Yes, of course, she knew that. But she had taken precautions. "I
only have family on my walls."

Severus shrugged, as if that were of no importance. "I didn't feel I could
take any chances with tonight's topic."

"What about the house elf you sent to me?"

"All he knows is that I sent a message to you. The seal was set for only you
to break and open."

Minerva found herself irritated by his behaviour. "So what is so important
that we need all this secrecy? Has one of my Gryffindors behaved
inappropriately with one of your Slytherins? Or is it the other way around?"

Severus put down his cup and saucer on the table and spent several
moments staring into the fire. Minerva grew more uneasy. If one of his
students had done something that required this kind of response from the
irascible Head of Slytherin...

"He's not dead."

Minerva blinked, not certain what Severus was talking about.

He looked up and she suddenly felt her blood run cold.

"Oh, dear Merlin!" She went to place her cup on the saucer but knocked
both over in her fear.

Severus was quick with his wand and disaster was avoided. He carefully set
his precious mementos of his mother onto the tray while Minerva got herself
in hand. Now was not the time to panic. Maybe he wrong.

"How can you be certain?"

He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and, for the first time in her life,
Minerva saw an honest-to-goodness Dark Mark.

The first thing that popped into her head was, "It's ugly."

"Yes, it is."

She hadn't been aware that she'd spoken aloud until his response made its
way past her astonishment.

"It's how I know that he's still alive. And close. It's been dormant since the
night of the attack on the Potter household. It could barely be seen. Now,
not only is it visible, I can feel it. As I did whenever he was near."

Minerva swallowed hard. Over the years she had almost forgotten that
Severus had been a Death Eater. "Why now?"

He sat back in his chair, rolling the sleeve down, covering up the mark. "I
would think it may have something to do with Potter fils. Isn't the boy of
age to begin here in September?"

Minerva sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She allowed herself a
momentary lapse in facing reality before taking a deep breath and forcing
some of that famous McGonagall steel up her spine.

"What does Albus say?"

"Nothing. I haven't told him."

She opened her eyes to find him staring into the fire, rubbing his arm where
the mark sat.

"Why not?"

He turned to face her. "Because we both know what will happen when I do.
And before the Headmaster takes control of my life yet again, I need to ask
you for a favour."

Minerva wanted to challenge his words about Albus, but she knew that would
be a waste of time. If Voldemort were truly still alive, Albus would not
hesitate to do what was necessary to destroy him for good. Even if that
meant sacrificing his Head of Slytherin to the cause.

And since Severus was still here, talking to her, it meant that he had
accepted that possibility as well.

"If I can."

His smile was not attractive; it was too bitter for that. "It isn't anything that
will put you in opposition with the Headmaster. I would just like you to be
the executor of my will."

"Severus!"

He shook his head at her. "Come, Minerva, do you think that Voldemort
doesn't still have his supporters? That they haven't become well-placed over
the years of his absence? That they won't flock back to him the moment he
calls to them? Do you seriously think I am the only one to sense his
presence and to prepare for it?"

More of that infernal reality requiring facing.

"Last time, in spite of counsel against, he accepted my return and my
explanation of wanting to impress him by becoming a spy for him within the
Order of Phoenix. He gave me the benefit of the doubt, but with Albus
having spoken for me at the Wizengamot, others will try and convince him
that I am now less than trustworthy."

"Surely Albus will take that into consideration..."

"Yes, he may."

Though it was obvious from the tone of his voice that he didn't believe so.

"But I am still the only eyes he may have deep within Voldemort's circle and
he will expect me to do as he asks. As I will. I owe him. He did keep his
promises to me," he smiled at her, "even if you did have to remind him. And
I've been allowed a home here since then, with positions of respect and
authority." He actually grinned then, looking far younger than usual. "Not
bad for a Governors' Scholar with no connections."

He sat on the edge of his chair, clasped his hands together, and went back
to being the serious, analytical scholar that he was. "I don't plan to make it
easy for Voldemort or his favourites to eliminate me, Minerva. But in case
they do succeed, I need to know that something good will come out of my
death. And for that, I need you. Please."

He certainly had prepared. The scroll was composed of the kind of paper
lawyers used to impress with their importance, thick and expensive. She
said nothing about that, but slipped it into her pocket.

"I assume that you prefer that Albus not know about this."

He nodded, standing. "As I am assuming that you have a trusted family
member appointed as your executor. I would be at ease if you would add
some instruction to him or her as regards the disposition of my will, should it
come to that."

She rose. "Will it?"

He shrugged. "If he's managed to find a way of holding onto life after his
body was incinerated in that fire, he's not going to go away if we ask
politely."

"No, of course not. Gryffindor optimism," she gave him.

When she was at the door, he spoke again.

"I want to take this opportunity as well to thank you, Minerva. For all your
kindnesses. For the night I was ill after I learnt that my mother was dead."

She turned towards him. "You remembered? You were so very ill."

He smiled. "My mother always smelt of violets, her favourite flower. You
smell of heather." He hesitated then continued. "She was of a fairly wealthy
family. They sold her to my father to get her off their hands. My mother,
you see, was a Squibb. When my Magic made itself known, I used it to hide
her from his rages."

Explanations after all these years. He really didn't think he was going to
survive. "In the dark."

He nodded. "My...father was planning to rob someone and worked
on a spell that would blend him with the dark. I learnt it and used it to
protect her from him."

And the boy he had been as well.

"How old were you?"

He thought. "Maybe five."

That early? What could he have been with the proper connections?

"And when you were no longer there to hide her..."

"He killed her. He admitted it to me. Her family had decided not to pay any
more in response to his threats. He'd gone through all her dowry in just a
couple of years. They supplemented his ‘activities' for a few years, but her
father died and her brothers didn't think she was worth the expenditure."

"So you killed him."

"Yes. Thank you for not telling anyone about your suspicions of the one
responsible for my father's slow and very painful death."

"He beat you as well."

"He tried to. There were times I wasn't quick enough." He continued
quickly, as though he wanted to leave that subject behind. "I would also like
to thank you for staying with me that night in Albus's office. When he left, I
thought that my death would be a far more suitable punishment for what I
had done. You reminded me that there were people worthy of not becoming
Riddle's target for vengeance. It's what kept me going those times I was
certain I would not survive."

"Then let that keep you going this time."

He shook his head. "The game will be different this time. More violent.
More ferocious. I doubt that I shall be among the living if we lose or even if
we win."

Minerva approached him. "You know this and yet you're willing to do it?"

"I'm not a martyr, Minerva. But I do pay my debts."

She nodded. Then she did as she had that long-ago night in an infirmary
room, she brushed the hair off his face. She stroked the stilled face with her
hand and said, "Once this begins, should you need, after you report to Albus,
to talk to someone, or even to sit silently with someone near-by, know that
my door will be warded to let you in at any time."

Then she surprised him even more by coming closer and rising on her toes.
"A champion goes off to do battle with a lady's token." And she kissed him
on the cheek. The shy astonishment on his face eased some of the ache in
her heart. "Be very careful, my dear."

Once in her rooms, Minerva took the scroll with her into her private
bathroom, where there were no pictures of any kind, and read the last will of
one Severus Snape.

In the bath that lasted far longer than her usual efficient washes, she mused
on what she had read. All of his possessions were to be sold, including his
books – though he had given the library first refusal, at market prices! – and
that sum added to his vault in Gringotts, which organization would have the
right to invest 75 percent as they saw fit. The other 25 percent and all
interest would go to fund what he called the Slytherin Governors'
Scholars Fund. Each such student was to be bought two new robes
every year, underclothing, boots and school supplies as needed, with a
monthly allowance of one galleon.

Minerva slipped into the water to the point of her chin. When she thought
about it, she knew that there had to be at least two Slytherins who were at
present Governors' Scholars. But once they had been absorbed into that
House, there was no way that they could be distinguished from any other
student.

She herself provided robes for her Governors' Scholars. Usually robes that
had been left behind or that she requested from families who could afford to
gift outgrown robes. But new? And a regular allowance?

She slipped her head under the water and admitted that it took a Governors'
Scholar to understand. She would have to find a way of taking better care of
her own.

++++++++++++++++++++

She was surprised to find that his door opened even before she had the
chance to knock.

She entered cautiously. One didn't enter the lair of a wounded lion
otherwise. Not that Severus would appreciate the analogy to a lion, but in
this case, it was appropriate.

The room was dark, lit only by the fire that flickered lowly in the fireplace.

From what she could make out by the faint light, the room hadn't changed
that much since she'd last been here.

She looked around and found a denser darkness in a corner of the couch
that had been pulled away from the fire.

"Severus."

"Thank you for coming."

His voice was gravelly. She still wasn't used to the ruined voice.

"I know how scarce your time is these days, Headmistress."

Minerva made her way to the chair that stood in the faint light reflected from
the fire. "I always have time for you, Severus. How are you feeling, my
dear? I haven't seen you since the memorial services."

"I am as I am. I didn't ask you down here for idle chatter, Headmistress. I
just want to tell you that I shall be vacating these rooms as soon as I find
somewhere to move."

What! What was the man talking about? She tried to ignore the folder thick
with paper that made its way through the air to her chair, hovering in front
of her until she finally took it.

"You find all the receipts for everything I've ever bought for these rooms, for
my books and for the in... for the ingredients that you will find in my private
laboratory."

Minerva rubbed her eyes with her free hand. She was tired. The past weeks
had been hard. "Severus."

He ignored her. "I shall, of course, be selling those..."

Her patience was not what it had once been. "Severus!"

"The receipts should be sufficient to prove my ownership..."

"Severus! Dear Merlin, you have to be the most stubborn male in the
universe!" She acknowledged that she tended to yell more easily these
days.

Muttering an old Gaelic invective, Minerva tossed the file onto the table she
could barely see and pulled out her wand. With a few words, there was light
enough to see the man who had, in spite of all bets to the contrary, survived
Voldemort. But not without cost.

He still hadn't regained any of the weight he could barely afford to lose. His
face was etched with the pain that bothered him and, according to Poppy,
probably would to some degree until he did die. He blinked in the sudden
light, turning his head away. His hair, cut shorter than its usual length, was
streaked with white and grey, far too early for a man of his age.

And the black robes did their best to camouflage the empty sleeve where his
right arm ought to be.

Voldemort had never truly trusted Severus, but still his rage on discovering –
just before Harry Potter managed to destroy him, for good this time – that
Severus had been betraying him at the same time he had been playing
sycophant, had been ruthless. In his wrath, he had cursed Severus with an
old spell that had ripped the wizard's right arm off at the shoulder. Ron
Weasley, of all people, had managed to staunch the bleeding until the medi-
wizards from St Mungo's had gotten to Severus, and eventually saved his
life.

Minerva decided that it was time for her to take control. "Severus, I am
pleased that you called this meeting as we do need to talk."

Severus grimaced. "You don't need to worry, Minerva. I know that a
potions instructor is in need of two good hands. All I ask is that you allow
me the time to find another place to live."

It was time to challenge as well. "Severus. You've never run away from a
fight in your life: why are you starting now?"

"Run away?" His eyes were terrifyingly empty. "I would think that my
leaving would solve several problems for you."

"Actually, it doesn't. In fact, it makes matters worse."

"Worse?" Severus moved to his feet, taking a turn in front of the fire, that
empty sleeve flapping obscenely. "Look at me, Minerva. What could be
worse than a cripple of no use to anyone?"

She grabbed his left arm as he paced by her and literally dragged him to the
couch where she sat him next to her. She was tired and she really didn't
need this. "Now then, listen to me, Severus Snape. Yes, it is true that you
can't teach potions any more." He went to move away but she held firm.
"Yes, you do need two hands for that." She had to pull a little more firmly to
keep him next to her. "BUT you don't need two hands to teach Defense."

He actually shook his head as though to clear it. "Teach Defense?"

Finally, there was some emotion in those eyes. Just not the one she was
expecting.

"Are you out of your mind? Who the hell is going to allow a Death Eater to
teach Defense?"

She sat back and folded her hands on her lap. "Well, Severus, just who the
bloody hell is going to stop me?"

His mouth open at the profanity coming out of her own, she took the
occasion of his speechlessness to explain.

"Severus, the Board of Governors is in disarray. And, yes, Lucius Malfoy did
try his best to implicate you. After all, one can't blame him; he didn't want
to face the Dementor's kiss alone. But for once Albus was not the only one
who knew of your role in Voldemort's downfall. Alastor Moody..."

Severus scoffed. "He must have been so happy to provide that testimony."

She reached over and patted his knee. Merlin, but it was bony! The man
was so in need of feeding up. "Alastor was, Severus. As were Molly and
Arthur Weasley, Harry and Kingsley Shacklebolt. As was I. You were too ill
to know, but the part of Malfoy's trial that dealt with you was over in an
afternoon."

With everything she had to deal with, she had forgotten how recently he had
been released from St Mungo's. "You are a bloody hero,
Severus Snape. You're just going to have to get used to it."

The expression on his face was not reassuring. He would have to learn to
believe.

"As you will accept that Order of Merlin, First Class, not because, as you
seem to think, it's being given to you because Albus Dumbledore requested
it on his death bed. The Daily Prophet got that wrong, as usual. In
fact, Albus died without saying anything. You are being awarded the Order
because you merit it."

"Merit it?" he challenged, but with less anger than he'd displayed.

"Yes, merit it, you bloody idiot! And as for Defense, you are the best
person around to teach it. But we're not calling it that any more. We're re-
entitling it. Something along the lines of: Knowledge of the Dark Arts
and the Means to Defend Against Them."

She waved his grimace aside. "Or we'll...you'll find a catchier title.
But it's time the wizarding world understood that to ignore a problem does
not make it go away!"

"Minerva, I'm..."

She ignored him. "Besides, I will not allow you to abandon Slytherin House."

"Abandon? You're allowing me to keep Slytherin House?"

His astonishment pleased her. So much that she couldn't resist. "Dear
Merlin, was your head injured as well, Severus? Do I need to call Poppy
here to check you over?"

He winced. "No, please," he moaned. "She's here at least once a day to
check my temperature."

At last, a sense of the old Severus.

"Severus, my dear, do you not want to remain as Head of Slytherin?" In all
her preparations and plans, she hadn't thought of that.

He sat back. "I would have thought that my lack of success with Slytherins
would be reason enough to remove me."

"What lack of success?"

"They fought against us, if you care to remember."

"Some of them did. Those whose families were a greater influence on them
than you were."

"Than I was?" He scoffed, "And just what kind of influence do you think I
had on them?"

She caught herself from rolling her eyes. With anyone else, she would have
found this a ploy for compliments. With Severus, she knew the question was
genuine. "Well, my dear, not all of them fought against us."

He scowled. "Not many fought with us."

"True," she acknowledged, "but those who refused to take sides removed
themselves from the field and, though they didn't help us, neither did they
hinder us. That was the result of your influence on them, Severus. Of their
love for you."

He was stunned. Had the man never thought of the effect his care had on
his charges?

"Surely you don't think the younger Zabinis awoke up one morning to
discover how much they were needed back in the old family village? They
left, Severus, as did others, because of your influence. You made them
question their families' beliefs."

Poor man, had he never thought of that either? She continued gently, "And
now, those who have been left behind will be more in need of your love and
your care than ever."

"My love and my care?"

"Severus, don't try and tell me that you don't love those children as much as
I love any of my cubs. It won't wash. You love them and they know it.
They will need you more in the coming months that ever before. You can't
abandon them."

He passed his hand over his skull. "Minerva, all this sounds very fine, but
the truth is, I don't know if I can do any of that. I'm...I'm so tired."

That she understood. "As are we all, my dear. Which is why all you
have to do in the next few weeks is be there for your Slytherins. I have
made it known that anyone who wishes to seek sanctuary here is more than
welcomed. And Molly and some of the other women have offered to help
find homes for any orphan, and that includes your charges. You know them
better than anyone. She will need your input. And they will need your
support."

He looked tired now. She could deal with that, more easily than the
deadness of earlier. All it would take was a little briskness.

"Once we've settled into a routine, you will need to visit Ollivander and get
yourself a new wand. One that is suited to the instruction of the Dark Arts
and that is easier to use with your left hand."

Severus's bark of laughter was too raw, but that would change with time.
"You seem to have worked everything out. What is left for me to do?"

"Well, the entire syllabus will have to be redone. And not just the Dark Arts,
but other subjects as well. We must not let another dark Wizard take us by
surprise ever again."

Severus shook his head. "What does Poppy have to say about all this? She
keeps on telling me to rest."

"And you will. Filius has agreed to charm the top of the Astrology Tower so
that it is protected from the elements. We'll set out some lounge chairs and
people can work in the fresh air. Will do us all some good."

He was watching her with a glint of wariness. How could she disappoint
him?

"And there you and I can comfortably discuss the matters that we need to in
relation to your taking over the Deputy Headship."

"Minerva!" he sputtered. "There are limits to what I can do!"

She placed her hand over his and gave it a slight squeeze. "Severus. Once
you needed me, just to be there. To listen to you. To offer you brandy
when you needed it. To sit by your side in silence while you recovered from
what you had seen and, yes, done.

"All I am asking from you is that you be there for me."

He was so still, she thought he was shoring up his nerve to deny her. Then
his hand turned and lightly clasped hers. She was taken aback to see it
being brought up to his mouth where he placed a gentle kiss on the back of
her hand.

When he looked up, she saw something she had never expected to see in
the eyes of Severus Snape: peace.

He smiled.

"Then it shall be an honour."