A/N- Not my normal ship, but this is something that has been lurking in my head for the last year or so, and I finally got it all out on paper for the 2017 round of Snapecase over at LJ. As canon as I could make it. Beta'd by Lolly, complete in four chapters; comments welcome.

17 May 1987

"Well," Minerva McGonagall drawled, one fine black brow arching up in the mocking manner that Snape so utterly despised, "…this certainly changes things, doesn't it?"

From his hospital bed, Joseph Edwards groaned thickly, the staccato sound of his bones snapping back into place providing a gruesome counterpoint to the low keen. Madame Pomfrey paused her ministrations long enough to give them each a black glare before brandishing her wand over the boy once more.

"No," Severus disagreed, "…I don't believe it does."

Min snorted. "Your star Seeker is literally in bits, and I doubt he'll be mounting a broom by midsummer, never mind in time for the championship match next week."

He gave her a thin smile, mentally reviewing all the bone growing potions he could think of; there were several that would greatly speed healing, but the side effects were harsh, especially on a growing lad… Well, she's right about that. Edwards won't be playing anytime soon. Bloody fucking bollocks, there goes my extra summer funds!

"Unlike Gryffindor," he replied smoothly, "Slytherin has depth in our reserve squad. While Mr Edwards will undoubtedly be missed, I don't foresee a drop in our fortunes."

"Oh, aye, and I suppose you also think that Chudley Cannons have a shot this year? Do tell me another one, Severus…"

Aware that Edwards was listening and the conversation would make its way back to the Slytherin Common Room in due course, Severus allowed none of his dismay to show. "I still hold that Slytherin will win the final match by at least hundred points, just as we will be taking the House Cup for the third year in a row."

Minerva made another rude noise, hand going to her hip. "Such confidence in someone who's likely to lose quite the pile of Galleons. Why, if the Slytherin defeat is large enough, you'll not just be paying me, but Filius as well."

"I stand by my bets. Slytherin will no more lose to Gryffindor than it will to Ravenclaw."

"Are you willing to increase the wager?"

From Edwards bedside, Pomfrey gave an infuriated huff. "Take your tasteless and indecent penchant for making wagers out of my Ward this instant," she snapped, and Snape belatedly realised she had a point. They were being rather gauche; standing within earshot of the injured boy was clearly a mistake.

Indeed, it did not do to anger the Matron of Hogwarts, and so he and Min obeyed the order with alacrity, shuffling hastily to the wide double doors of the Hospital Ward. Just as Severus turned for the right-hand corridor that would take him to the main stairs, Minerva grabbed his arm.

"Are you willing to increase the wager?" she repeated, and he was startled to see that her emerald eyes gleamed with a cunning, predatory anticipation.

It gave him pause to see that particular confluence of sentiment swimming in the Head of Gryffindor's gaze. As a student, he had only known her as stern, no-nonsense witch, with only a few flickers of dry wit visible; as fellow staff member, he had seen first-hand just how little she cared for either convention or the status quo, and had been utterly gobsmacked upon hearing her positively blistering—if blotto—feminist denouncement of the current pureblood stranglehold on magical academia during his inaugural staff lock-in. Gone was the straight-laced scot, and instead stood a fire-breathing preacher of the highest order. It had been a revelation. She was passionate and driven woman that played the wider political game with verve and wit that Severus had to admire; Minerva McGonagall was brightly painted in Gryffindor scarlet, true, but one with the subtle stripes of Slytherin and Ravenclaw thrown in for good measure.

Once he'd found his footing as a member of staff, Severus had enjoyed poking at her, both academically and doctrinally; while it was more often a matter of playing the role of the Devil's Advocate rather than any true disagreement, he had spent many an entertaining hour making her bristle and hiss with indignation.

Her seemingly disparate traits had balanced each other out until the untimely death of her husband a year and a half before; since then she had veered between possessing a stiff upper lip made of iron and a barely controlled, feral grief. Having just barely stayed afloat himself following Lily's murder and the Dark Lord's supposed downfall, Severus understood the sentiment all too well.

Still, her recent spate of reckless behaviour deeply unsettled him. Minerva McGonagall wasn't merely a supervisor, or fellow Head of House. She was also Albus Dumbledore's second in command, not just of the school, but of the Order as well… and whilst the wizarding public thought they now lived in peaceful times, Severus Snape was not foolish enough to make that mistake. Trouble had been brewing both inside and outside of the Castle, and he meant to get to the bottom of it.

And so it was with a mingled compassion and suspicion that Severus eyed the Deputy Headmistress. What on earth did she want this badly to bargaining with the likes of him in such a fashion?

"That depends," he answered slowly, not above dragging it out a bit. "What are you offering?"

Her mouth quirked. "I'm not interested in adding more galleons to the pile. Knowledge is what I offer. You checked out all the Mastery-level books on Animagi last summer, but unless I am very much wrong, you had no success in transforming yourself. Should I lose the bet, I will teach you how to become an Animagus."

"And what skill am I to offer in exchange?"

She stepped forward, gazing up at him with a keen leonine regard. "You will teach me to drive."

"Drive?"

"Yes, to drive an automobile, Severus. Don't go playing daft at this last date."

That's it? Of all the things to ask for, she wants to drive? He raised a brow, the perfect mockery of her earlier expression. "That presumes much about my personal talents, madam."

"You know perfectly well how to drive."

"Do I?" he asked, stroking his bottom lip as if trying to remember that particular skill among many.

"In 1975, I received the most curious call from an old colleague in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He was investigating what a first appeared to be an infestation of gremlins in a Lancastrian mill town; cars were mysteriously starting themselves and driving away, only to found in various fields hours later."

Outwardly, Severus remained calm, but inwardly, he was utterly astounded that Minerva had known all this time about one of his more pleasurable juvenile follies. Ruthlessly, he shut down the spurt of pain that always flared up when certain aspects of his childhood were recalled, and focused on the woman in front of him.

She continued smugly, sure of her solid ground. "Imagine his astonishment when he discovered that two underage Hogwarts students had somehow bound a gremlin to their will, and were using to it filch cars all over the estate for short joyrides. I convinced him to ignore it on the basis that the troubles would end on 1 September, and lo and behold, they did. As there were no further issues the following summer, I chose not to confront either you or Miss Evans about the incidents."

He could deny the allegations; it wasn't as if Minerva or the Ministry could do concerning their behaviour, especially as Lily was dead. But really, there was no point in demurring—Min knew too many of the details—and Severus was more curious why the Deputy Headmistress was so desirous of learning to drive.

"Playing the long game, are you?" Snape asked finally.

"Clever women always do."

After a pause to digest that challenge, he decided on a different tact. "We didn't bind the gremlin, so much as promise it a more fruitful abode if it would spark the ignition of the automobiles that we wanted to borrow. As my da was mechanic, I offered to re-home the creature within a protected area in the junkyard where he worked. Thus Lily and I learned to how to drive, the gremlin caused an admirable amount of mischief, and my dad had plenty of work for once. It was a neat solution for all involved."

"A neat solution indeed, given that it didn't activate the prohibition against underage magic."

"A close examination of the rules often leads to opportunities otherwise missed."

She laughed at that sally. "Ah, but you weren't so keen on that notion when Mr Bones tried it on for size last week."

"Of course I didn't. He was imprudent enough to get caught."

"Which leads us back to the main point… you know how to drive, Severus, and that is exactly what I want you to teach me following Slytherin's loss next week."

"You are so very confident of said victory."

"Yes, I am." She leaned against the wall, watching him. In the stark contrasts of moonlight, Minerva McGonagall reminded him nothing so much as a spider inviting him over for a spot of tea.

There were any number of reasons that he should have declined—he was not nearly as confident about Slytherin's chances as he had let on, for one thing—but there were equally compelling reasons to agree. Albus had been plotting over something important lately, and it behoved him to find out what; spending time alone with Minerva might also provide him with a better insight into her altered character… and Severus really did want to join the ranks of the Animagi.

If I lost, the cost of teaching her to drive would be negligible—certainly more so than forfeiting the current pile of galleons—and I am so bloody bored...

It was the last that decided it; it had been a long, monotonous school year, and he'd been chaffing at parameters of his public role for ages. "Fine. If you want to wager a skill for a skill, then so be it."

Minerva nearly cackled. "Then we are in agreement? If Slytherin wins the Quidditch Cup, as well as the last match by one-hundred points, I will teach you to be an Animagus; if they lose, you teach me to drive."

"And this bet supersedes our previous wager."

"Of course."

Severus smiled. There were enough holes in that deal to drive his father's battered Morris Minor through; it would be simple enough to get what he wanted regardless of winning or losing. He extended his hand. "Then I agree."

She shook his hand, fingers cool and light. "Excellent." With a light swish of tartan robes, she turned and started to walk away.

"Minerva," he called, and she paused, glancing over her shoulder. "Why do you want to learn how to drive?"

He didn't have to be a master spy or head of house to recognise the flat anger that filled her eyes.

"Because I'm tired of being told no."