The Great Hall was sullen and silent over dinner, as it had been for months. Snape looked out over the sea of downturned faces at the Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw tables. Slytherin house, alone of all of them, seemed to be flourishing under the new conditions. From the headmaster's chair, Snape noted, again, the handful of upper-year students who had gathered a following. They sat, self-satisfied, at the centre of attention in small groups up and down the table. Their particular aptitudes for torture had made them popular with the Carrows; Slytherins knew it paid to be friends with the Carrows' favourites.

A handful of Slytherins no longer sat at the Slytherin table. A few, refusing to play along, had joined the Hufflepuff table at the beginning of term; the Gryffindors and Ravenclaws had refused them, but several upper-year Hufflepuffs had taken the Slytherin defectors, (as they were quietly known among the other houses) under their wing. Snape let his gaze drift across the tables, noting the eddies in the room, the points of power. Longbottom sat, upright and defiant, in a cluster of his friends. Dumbledore's Army was being driven underground, slowly but surely, but Longbottom would probably be the last to go. Snape felt a grudging respect for the boy's courage.

Amycus belched, and tapped his shoulder. Stifling his disgust, Snape turned to face his ruddy-faced interlocutor.

"Headmaster," the Death Eater slurred, half-drunk on wine, grinning like a fool, "I think it's time we finally taught the Slytherin Traitors a bit of a lesson. Blood traitors, the lot, you know. Give the troops some practice with the Cruciatus." Alecto, at her brother's side, giggled and nodded.

Snape carefully set his silverware down. He could feel McGonagall's eyes boring into the back of his head. He chose his words with care.

"The Dark Lord could care less if a handful of children would prefer to hide behind the skirts of Hufflepuff." He met Amycus's beady eyes squarely. "Let them be. Their treachery binds the rest of the House together."

The Carrows grunted, annoyed. "It'd be fun though," Alecto whined. "You're not protecting them, are you Severus?"

Snape allowed a flash of his own irritation to show through. Though they tried to hide it, the siblings flinched. "Enough." His nostrils flared. "You're both drunk, and making fools of yourselves. Get out of here before you embarrass yourselves, and the Dark Lord, any further."

Amycus looked stung, but Alecto's eyes narrowed. "Whatever you say, headmaster." She took her brother by the arm. "Come on, you."

Snape watched them leave, as did every other eye in the room. He ruled at Hogwarts, perhaps, but the Carrows inspired the fear he used to maintain order. When the door shut behind them, the room noticeably relaxed. Snape turned back towards the hall, and forced himself to eat another bite of food. He glanced around and met McGonagall's guardedly approving look. He looked away.

The Headmaster's quarters were cold and dark, but they were dry and clean, and the only place Snape was afforded the slightest solitude in the castle. Tonight, as he shut the door behind him, he felt, as every night, the sudden crush of stress and emotion. He glanced at the portraits dozing on the wall. Albus looked down at him, expressionless. Grimacing, Snape cast a silencing charm.

"So."

Albus peered at him over his half-moon spectacles. "Another day, Severus."

Snape collapsed into a chair. "I…" he hesitated. "I can't continue like this, Albus. It's destroying me."

The old wizard smiled, sadly. "I understand." He steepled his fingers, and leaned forward in his chair, looking down at Snape from on high. "You are doing a great thing by this, Severus. You are holding the fracturing pieces of this castle together as no one else could."

Snape pressed his face into his hands. "And for what, Albus? No news of Potter in weeks, the Dark Lord growing stronger with each passing day, the school tearing itself apart. I can't keep holding those rabid animals back, Albus, the Carrows will have their way in the end." He glanced up to find, to his surprise, Albus's face creased in a smile. Snape sneered. "What?"

Albus sighed. "You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, Severus. But you're right; you have been too long alone in this fight. It's time, perhaps, to let another help you."

Snape frowned. "What are you talking about."

Albus raised an eyebrow. "You and Minerva used to be so close, Severus."

Snape looked away, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest. "That ended the night you died," he said bitterly.

Albus finally had the grace to look a little less happy. "I know. And I am so sorry for what that did to you, Severus."

Snape shrugged. "I have managed."

Albus nodded. "But you need not manage any longer."

Snape frowned. "I don't understand."

Albus smiled again. "I think you need an ally, Severus, and Minerva is as powerful and loyal an ally as you could wish for."

Snape curled his lip. "She hates me now, Albus."

"I can help you there, Severus. Bring her here, let me speak to her."

Snape blinked. "Why would you do that now? Why after all this time?"

Albus's smile was tinged with regret. "I was afraid to risk her wrath, Severus. Afraid to face the consequences of my choices." The old wizard's smile wavered. A solitary tear ran down his cheek. "I put all that on you, my friend. I let you bear more burdens than I ever should have, and I see now how much a toll they have taken on you."

Snape stared blankly back at the old man.

Albus continued. "Severus, there is still more I need of you. We are nearing the end of this, but not yet."

Snape ground his teeth. "Can you not tell me?"

Albus was crying properly now. "Not yet." He dabbed at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. "Please, trust me. But I can rectify at least one mistake. I can face an old friend, and tell her how I let her down." He sniffed, and directed a watery smile to Snape. "Let you both down."

McGonagall's icy glare when she answered the door to her rooms nearly made him change his mind. "What on earth can you have to say to me at this hour, Severus?" Snape took a half step back, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. McGonagall lips pressed together. "Has another of my students been mauled by your dogs?"

Snape mutely shook his head. "Albus wants to talk to you," he managed.

Her face changed immediately. She hadn't been in the headmaster's office since Snape replaced her; he knew she had missed the old wizard more than she would ever let show. "Why?"

Snape shook his head. "Please, Minerva. Let him tell you."

McGonagall looked suspicious, but he could see the desire to speak to Albus warring with her concerns, and win. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders, twirled her wand conspicuously in her hand, and nodded sharply. "Fine."

They were silent as they walked to the office. At the door, Snape hesitated, then stepped back to let her enter alone. He caught the first syllable of a silencing charm, as the door closed behind him, then nothing.

He sat on a stone bench, head in hands, and waited. After what felt to be an hour, the door slowly swung open. He waited, but she didn't emerge. After a moment, he hesitantly went inside.

McGonagall's eyes were red, but her face was set. Albus was still crying quietly into his robes. Snape stood, wordlessly, staring at her. The door shut; the quiet sounds of the castle cut off as the charm took effect.

"Lily Potter?" McGonagall's words were short, sharp, and cut like a knife. Snape staggered, despite himself. He opened his mouth, but couldn't bring himself to respond.

McGonagall bit her lip, and, to his surprise, looked away. "I'm sorry, Severus. That's not fair." She glanced at him, again. "Too much has happened. Too many things we've said to each other. I never imagined what we had to be more than it was."

Snape felt his eyes burn as he met her gaze, and, swallowed down his grief. "It's not how it sounds, Minerva."

McGonagall smiled, with only a trace of bitterness. "Give me some credit, Severus, I think I understand."

Albus's gentle sobbing was the only sound in the room for a long moment. Then, McGonagall spoke again.

"I'm sorry."

Snape blinked. "For what?"

"For everything I said to you when Albus died. For everything I've done to you since. For not…" She broke off, her eyes bright. She swallowed, and continued. "For not trusting you like he did. For not trusting you like you deserved."

Snape nodded slowly. "I never deserved your trust," he said quietly.

She shook her head. "No, Severus. You did. You do. You have done a truly heroic thing." She raised a trembling hand, and held it out to him. "Albus explained everything. I cannot imagine how hard that must have been."

For a moment, Snape stood still, a flood of viciously repressed emotion rising up in him, inexorably. For months, the last thing he saw when he closed his eyes before sleep had been the flash of green, and the broken body of his friend, his mentor, the one man who had trusted him when not another soul in the world had. For months, there had been no one to speak to, no one to cry with.

He had missed the old wizard's funeral; when he finally returned, it was as an enemy, as hated as any, if not more so. His friends and colleagues of the last two decades, turning away from him, hating him for the same reasons he hated himself. But he could say nothing in his defense, nothing to make them understand. Instead, he had suffered their scorn and hate in silence, and crawled away to his rooms at night to suffer his own hate and scorn, alone, unloved, unwanted by anyone.

Minerva's cold eyes had been the most painful. He knew what Albus had meant to her; the betrayal for her could not have been more horrible. To have something so precious torn away, by the one man she had allowed near to her, after the death of her husband.

Now, as she held out a hand, he finally allowed himself to reach for her, and as they touched, the pain and horror of the last months erupted out of him. He collapsed into her arms.

Snape must have fallen asleep. When he woke up, it was still dark outside the castle; the clock on the wall told him it was two in the morning. He sat up; he was in the headmaster's bed, Minerva curled at the foot of the mattress as a cat. Memory flooded back to him.

They had cried, and talked, and laughed through their tears, and although it had been as painful as anything Snape had ever suffered, he felt, miraculously, much better. He sat, still and silent, scarcely believing it possible; after all these months of constant misery, he felt almost, tentatively, happy. He closed his eyes, and breathed a silent thanks to Albus.

Then he reached out and collected Minerva into his arms.

She stretched in his hands, staring up at him out of her cat eyes, and he smiled at her, cautiously. She blinked at him. He put out a hand to pat her head, and she batted him. He recoiled, then realized she was laughing. Her nose wrinkled and her tail curled contentedly around her body.

He grinned again, more confidently, and shook his head. "Evil little kitten," he growled. She rolled her eyes, and transformed. He bent to kiss her, as she ran a hand through his hair.

When he pulled away, she raised an eyebrow. "Kitten?"

He shrugged. "Would you prefer cat?"

Minerva smiled against his lips. "Not enough syllables, I suppose."

He chuckled, and kissed her again. She wrapped an arm around his neck, drawing him in closer. He let her pull his robes off him, losing himself in her smell and touch, feeling a glimmer of hope and happiness for the first time in a long, long time.