Nothing is mine. Ta da.
7. Interval
Minerva rubbed her eyes and grimaced as she picked up Hermione Granger's latest Transfiguration paper – 22 inches longer than Minerva had asked, and written in neat, minuscule print.
For Merlin's sake, didn't the girl realise that page limits were imposed to prevent the professors from losing their heads from having to read so much?
Minerva sighed in resignation, and for a moment, she considered transforming into a cat for a bit. She hadn't been sleeping well, and as a cat, she found that her human memories and concerns affected her unconscious far less strongly; while as herself, she jerked awake every few minutes, haunted by some unwelcome dream or recollection, when in Animagus form, she could let her feline mind take control, sink into the comfort of basic instincts and desires...
But, no. Schoolwork first, rest second. That, at least, was clear to her, having been so unpleasantly reminded only recently that teaching (and not family) was the reason for her continued existence. Had it not been for this one remaining consolation, that her students still needed her, she might long ago have walked into the lake with stones in her pockets.
What a Shakespearean notion, smirked a little voice in her head. Minerva McGonagall, mad suicidal heroine... rather like Ophelia, or like Lady Macbeth...
Minerva tossed the paper back onto her desk with a huff and reached for her teapot, frowning to see that it was empty. Stifling a yawn, she rose wearily from her desk, transformed into her tabby form, and slipped out of her office.
To merely pad about the quiet school was enough to wake Minerva up a bit. It being November, and the castle old and drafty, the nip in the air invigorated her more than she would have expected, which was advantageous, as her feline form was quite obviously ready to acquiesce to the fatigue her rational mind so resisted. Dodging in and out of patches of moonlight, she was surprised to hear a clock chime two in the morning, somewhere off in the distance. As she padded round a corner near Gryffindor Tower, she ran headlong into Mrs Norris, who hissed and yowled and then scampered away the second that moronic Sir Cadogan began roaring challenges at the noise; despite her long tenure at Hogwarts, Minerva was still unsure as to whether Mrs Norris knew she was not a real cat. In any case, she had no intention of revealing herself, as tempting as it was to tell that sodding knight to quell his lip; Filch had absolutely no business knowing when Minerva was wandering about at night.
To her annoyance, the staff room lights were on when she reached the door; that she would not be able to waltz in and seize some tea bags unnoticed made Minerva's fur bristle.
'Oh, please.' Septima's voice floated from the staff room as Minerva settled herself in the shadows behind the door, hoping her colleagues would leave soon. 'I don't see how you can say that, not after all that business with You-Know-Who on the back of his head...'
'Well, let's say we're talking about him before we knew about all that business with You-Know-Who on the back of his head!' responded Aurora's voice. (Minerva suspected that, should she slink into the room, she would see a bottle or two of Firewhisky nearly empty on the table.) 'Really, he was a very nice man – fairly easy on the eyes, and he had that sort of endearing stammer that made you just want to hug him...'
'You're so weird, 'Rora,' said Charity in a drunkenly-emphatic tone. 'I mean, just because someone stammers...'
'Well, who do you fancy, then?' retorted Aurora.
'Remus,' replied Charity in a dreamy voice. 'He's so sweet. And he's got the nicest smile...'
'Yeah, but he's ill all the time,' Rolanda pointed out in what sounded like her normal brisk voice. 'I'd go mad, I think.'
'Well, it's better than You-Know-Who possession,' argued Charity in a hurt voice, 'at least there's nothing evil about him!'
If only you knew, thought Minerva to herself, surprised to be reminded that she and Severus were the only other staff members (besides Dumbledore the Omniscient) to know of Remus's condition.
'And besides,' slurred Septima, 'you wouldn't be concerned with that, Ro... only bloke you've ever fancied was Gilderoy Lockhart.'
'Look who's calling the kettle black,' snapped Rolanda. 'Besides, he was gorgeous in a very feminine way. I might have swung for him and his golden locks, had he not been such an insufferable bastard.'
All four professors emitted a dreamy sigh in near unison. Minerva twitched her nose in dismay and felt a little less guilty at her initial furtive admiration of Lockhart, before he'd proven himself to be an arrogant prick.
'Right, then, Ro, who would you fancy of the entire staff? If you had to choose,' added Septima.
'Well, none of you, you're all too annoying,' declared Rolanda, and Minerva could just imagine her waving her hand unsteadily at the other three. 'Ooh, all right, if I had to choose... maybe Minerva.'
Charity, Aurora, and Septima snorted with laughter. Minerva pricked up her ears in alarm, not sure if she should be more dreadfully offended by Rolanda's inebriated impetuosity, or by the fact the other three couldn't fathom that she might still be considered attractive.
'What?' demanded Rolanda indignantly. 'Merlin, you're all too young, but if you'd seen her play Quidditch... I only overlapped her one year at Hogwarts, but I still remember...'
'That would be the deciding factor in your book, wouldn't it, Ro?' gasped Septima, choking on a guffaw.
'And besides,' yelled Rolanda loudly, banging a hand flimsily against the staff room table in a failed attempt to regain attention, 'she does that thing where she just stares at you and looks really intimidating and powerful...'
Minerva would have snorted with some indecipherable emotion herself, had she not been a cat at that moment. This was all getting too absurd, as useful as it would be as blackmail material to keep Rolanda in line in future situations.
'Fine, then,' snapped Rolanda as her colleagues' chuckles subsided into wheezes of mirth. 'Septima, your turn.'
'Severus Snape,' replied Septima without a pause for consideration.
Minerva's eyes narrowed as the room filled with 'oohs' and giggles.
'What?' Septima challenged in a voice that might have sounded matter-of-fact. 'Just think, if he pulled some of that greasy hair out of his eyes...'
A brief pause. Minerva's ear flicked.
'Yeah, I can see that, maybe,' said Aurora finally. 'But, Sep, don't forget... he's already taken.'
'Oh, that's right!' squealed Charity, and the entire room erupted into laughter again.
Minerva was surprised to find that her heart had suddenly doubled its tempo. She wondered what that might mean, and why exactly she was more annoyed when her colleagues gossiped about Severus than about herself.
'Oh, Merlin, I thought I was going to die,' gasped Charity, pounding a weak fist on the table once or twice.
'You thought you were going to die?' wheezed Septima. 'I thought she was going to die! I thought he was going to kill her right then and there!'
Minerva bristled again and leapt to her feet. Who exactly were they talking about, this woman, and what had happened between her and Severus?
'Really?' said Rolanda with a slight sneer. 'With a charming personality like his, when do you think a girl – drunk or not – last had the impulse to snog him like that?'
Minerva had had enough; with a whoosh of magic, she found herself in her customary form at the staff room door and pushed it open to let herself in.
'Good evening, ladies,' she said coolly, revelling inwardly at the expressions of slowly-comprehending shock that were spreading across the faces of her colleagues. 'I do hope I'm not disturbing your, er, little get-together?'
Charity, Aurora, and Septima all glanced at Rolanda, and the four witches burst anew into peals of glee. She could have sworn she heard Rolanda mutter under her breath, 'That's it, that's exactly the stare...'
'Really, you four,' snapped Minerva, attributing her unusually strong irritation towards her always-silly colleagues to exhaustion and anxiety. 'Is it at all a wise idea to sit about with a few bottles of Ogden's Best, when there's a high probability of Sirius Black bursting through the doors any moment and shooting us all?'
'Aw, M'nerva, let your hair down a bit,' muttered Charity, waving her hand flippantly at the Deputy Headmistress, but allowing a slightly concerned frown to cross her face nonetheless. 'What're you doing in here this late, anyway?'
Septima muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'Off to visit Albus,' and the tipsy witches all broke into giggles once more. Minerva closed her eyes in disdain.
'I had come in to look for some tea bags, if you must know, Charity, although I do believe I have every right to walk the corridors at night, keeping an eye out for any dangerous goings-on around the castle.'
'Yeah... sorry we're no help,' said Septima with a surprising measure of remorse. 'You, ah, didn't hear anything we were saying, did you?'
'More than I wanted to hear,' replied Minerva breezily, crossing the room in a few brisk strides and rummaging about in the basket on the counter near the mugs.
'Like?' There was genuine apprehension in Rolanda's voice.
Minerva bit her tongue, deciding to spare Rolanda a good amount of teasing for another day, and got straight to the point.
'Like something about Severus and – how did you put it, Rolanda? - snogging.' Minerva shot a rigid glare over one shoulder at the four guilty faces behind her. 'Pray do explain what may have sparked this discomfiting piece of gossip, or I shall have to go ask Severus myself what you mean.'
'OH, no need for that, Minerva!' interrupted Aurora a bit too loudly, her eyes wide. 'When you didn't turn up at rehearsal last night, well...'
'Well, what?' snapped Minerva in the voice she usually reserved for Harry Potter and his friends when she'd caught them doing something particularly stupid.
'Let's just say your understudy got a bit too enthusiastic with the romantic aspects of the role assigned her,' finished Aurora delicately.
Minerva's jaw clenched angrily.
'And I suppose you're not going to divulge the identity of this interloper?'
The four witches glanced nervously at each other.
'Sybill Trelawney,' Charity finally offered with a small hiccup. Merlin, she knew Minerva couldn't stand the Divination professor, but she hadn't expected Minerva's eyes to flash quite so viciously.
'Indeed,' breathed Minerva, cramming a handful of tea bags into the pocket of her tartan dressing gown. 'Well, I expect you all to be completely sober tomorrow, and if tonight a hair is touched on the head of Harry Potter or any other student at this school – whose safety, you'll recall, has been placed by their parents into your hands – I can assure you,' Minerva paused to glare at them all, 'you will all regret this night to the utmost of my legal power.'
And with that, she turned on one heel and stormed out of the staff room.
'Good grief,' exhaled Septima in unison with the other three professors. 'Something's really brought out the mother lioness in Minerva tonight.'
'Well, think about it,' said Charity slowly. 'You know how she is with her Gryffindors, and she's always been especially protective of Harry... I mean, she's not acting any worse than she usually does when he has one of his near bouts with death, is she?'
'I dunno,' muttered Rolanda, 'but so long as whatever it is keeps her glaring like that, I'd better keep away from the Firewhiskey at staff parties.'
Minerva didn't even bother transforming back into a cat as she charged back to her office, shouting 'Shoo!' at Mrs Norris as the cat crossed her path again. She nearly got off on the wrong floor, thanks to a shifting staircase, and snapped angrily at Sir Cadogan as he saluted her passing ('Ho, there, fair damsel, might I be honoured with your leave to challenge the scourge responsible for your evident ire?'). Finally, slightly winded and still several hallways from her office, she slowed to a brisk walk and allowed herself to think a bit as she regained her breath.
It was really too careless of her colleagues to be drunk under such circumstances in the first place, but discussing the attractiveness of their peers made the whole matter all the more sordid. Especially Severus... Minerva knew the man well enough to guess that Trelawney's attack would have completely mortified him, and it infuriated her to think that the other professors would take the matter so lightly. Poor Severus. And to be assaulted by Sybill Trelawney, of all people...! Minerva pressed her lips together in a mixture of sympathy for Severus and rage towards the would-be Seer.
Part of her felt terrible because she suspected that Rolanda was right; although she had never paid much mind to the romantic lives of her students, she could not recall Severus having a single significant other through all his time at Hogwarts (other than his close friendship with Lily Evans in their early years, she suddenly thought). She wondered if perhaps Severus had enjoyed being kissed by even a drunken lout like stupid Sybill.
And she suddenly realised that she hoped he hadn't.
It was a ridiculous feeling, and at first Minerva wasn't sure what to make of it. Severus's love life was, of course, absolutely no business of hers; therefore, the jealousy that had flared up in her had to be because Sybill sodding Trelawney was better at tapping into the emotions of her role than she, Minerva, could ever do, alcohol or no. For Merlin's sake, she hadn't even wanted to be Lady Macbeth in the first place, whatever Severus's opinion may have been of the situation, so it was completely absurd for her to be so possessive of... the role. Yes.
Minerva paused and rubbed her brow with one hand. She was too exhausted to think rationally, that was clear enough. Thank goodness the enclosed comfort of her office was only a few paces away.
Not until she had slammed the door of her office behind her, ignited a magical flame under her tea kettle, and settled back into her chair with a sigh, did Minerva notice the note left on her desk, written in a familiar spindly hand:
I called to see if you would be willing to speak with me some time in the near future. As you were not in, I took the liberty of leaving you a message. I will be up for at least another hour brewing Pepper-Up Potions for Poppy – please do not hesitate to disturb me.
A slight smile flitted across Minerva's face as she slid the note into her desk and glanced at her clock. Nearly three in the morning; Severus would have to wait. Nevertheless, she was glad (yes, glad) that he had called upon her and wanted to speak with her, even if it was about Sirius Black, or (worse) the wretched play. Minerva knew she should probably apologise for having snapped at Severus like she had the last time they'd spoken – misplaced anger meant for Dumbledore, that sounded reasonable enough – and decided that that would have to be enough for the poor man. She was not going to rejoin Albus's little emotional-manipulation-masquerading-as-demure-performance-art, and Severus would just have to get used to Trelawney slurring her way through Shakespeare and clinging to him like a lover...
At the thought, Minerva's mental tirade stuttered to a halt, and an unexpected flush rose through her body, but she shook it off guiltily. She did not want to be forced or cajoled back into her role... the role (she corrected herself), and she certainly did not want to kiss Severus. For one thing, she was too old for that sort of nonsense; for another, she was quite certain the Potions Master regarded her only as a former professor, a current colleague, a friend. Yes, a friend. Septima was much more age-appropriate anyway, and so was Sybill (Minerva grimaced). The matter was closed. But she would talk to him, if he so desired – everyone deserved a fair hearing.
The water in her tea kettle whistled. Minerva tapped it with her wand and poured herself a hot cup of water with one fluid flick of her wrist. Only then did it occur to her that she could have sent for a house-elf to fetch her the tea bags in the first place.
Pomona espied Severus from across the lawns and bustled over to him, her arms filled with undulating shrubs.
'Help me with some of these?' she asked, placing several into Severus's arms before he could say anything. Severus scowled slightly, but said nothing, and even waited patiently as Pomona waved at Hagrid, who was glumly working at his pumpkin patch.
'Poor fellow,' Pomona sighed heavily as she led the way back towards the castle. 'Hasn't been a jot cheerful since that whole incident with young Draco Malfoy and the Hippogriff.'
Severus opened his mouth to make some snide remark about how the oaf should not have placed his third years in direct contact with Hippogriffs in the first place, but decided it best not to bite the hand that fed him.
'Can't we just levitate these?' he grunted, catching a slipping pot with his thigh as it slid out of his arms.
Pomona shook her head.
'Excessive contact with wizarding magic stresses them, which can dilute their own magical properties,' she explained matter-of-factly. 'Really, Severus, have you forgotten that much from my class?'
Severus bit back another snarky retort.
'Not that I suppose it matters much for you,' Pomona grumbled as she and Severus carefully trudged up the steps of the castle, 'I'm sure your fifth years will have decimated these poor plants in a matter of seconds once they start concocting whatever it is you've assigned them for this afternoon... Anyway, have you spoken to Minerva yet?'
'What?' Severus panted.
'Minerva McGonagall, Severus,' clarified Pomona unnecessarily, as if Severus was well acquainted with a multitude of Minervas. 'I thought you were going to talk to her about... well, the play, and whatever else might be disturbing her...?'
'Been a bit busy,' mumbled Severus, avoiding Pomona's eye. 'Besides, I thought you were her best friend.'
'Even so,' said Pomona delicately, shifting a pot out of harm's way as she pried the doors open, 'in some ways I think you understand her better than I.'
'I haven't a clue what you mean.'
'That sarcastic tone right there, for one,' Pomona noted. 'Minerva and I are close friends, but I don't think like her.'
'Oh, and I suppose you think I do?' Severus pulled his lips back in what may have been a smile but more closely resembled a snarl. 'Because, last I noticed, Minerva McGonagall wasn't a grumpy recluse with a penchant for terrifying students and a shady past as a Death Eater.'
His robe had slipped against the pots he carried so that the Dark Mark on his forearm peeked from beneath his sleeve. Pomona glanced at it with a shudder and averted her eyes quickly.
'On the last count, of course not. But,' Pomona twitched the corners of her mouth into a smile, 'if you look at the rest of your enumerations, you'll find you're not so entirely, er, off the mark.'
Severus sniffed.
'I called upon her yesterday, if you must know.'
'And?'
'She was not in.'
'I see.' Pomona regarded Severus thoughtfully. 'There's no need to avoid her, you know.'
'And who ever said I was avoiding her?' snapped Severus, nearly tripping on the next step down towards the dungeons.
Pomona, taking note of the dangerous tone edging its way into her colleague's voice, decided not to respond.
'Well, that's that, then,' she said, once the pots were all safely placed on one unused desk in the dungeons. 'I suppose I shall see you at dinner, Severus, or else tomorrow. In either event, good luck until then.'
And she marched out of the dungeons before Severus could sort out whether she'd meant his unruly fifth years, or the other situations at hand.
Minerva was just finishing her marking of Hermione Granger's paper (which, as usual, was exemplary for all its verbosity) when a soft voice from her fireplace made her jump.
'I hope I'm not disrupting anything, Minerva?' said Severus Snape's voice from the flames.
'No, not at the moment,' answered Minerva, tapping the papers strewn across her desk so that they collected themselves into a neat pile. 'Please...'
With a soft whoosh, Severus's form enlarged within the fireplace and stepped out onto the hearth, carelessly brushing a bit of soot off his robes as it did so.
'May I?' he asked, gesturing towards a chair, and he seated himself at Minerva's nod.
An awkward silence passed as Minerva recalled the last time they'd sat here, when Minerva had been such a coward and failed Severus so absolutely. Well, she would not give him any false hopes this time.
'I know why Albus sent you here,' she said quietly, 'and I'm sorry, Severus, but I cannot and will not return to the production.'
'I know,' replied Severus.
Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'Do you, now.'
Severus flashed a fleeting smirk in Minerva's direction. 'Anyone who has observed you long enough knows when your mind is irrevocably made up.'
'Then might I ask why you are sitting here anyway?' Minerva snorted softly. 'Perhaps Albus thinks that some sort of psychic bond has been forged between us through our casting, and that this in itself will recall me to his little experiment?'
'Unlikely,' Severus lied, a twinge of hurt pricking at him upon hearing Minerva's words. 'I merely wanted to talk to you about... whatever has been disturbing you.'
Minerva's spine straightened a bit defensively.
'I apologise for my completely inappropriate behaviour the other night, Severus; I said far more than I intended, and I insist upon leaving the subject there.'
'As I expected,' Severus nodded. His black eyes glistened for a moment as he stared at Minerva, and she briefly wondered if he was about to use Legilimency against her. 'I did not come here tonight to beg you to relate your entire life story to me, Minerva.'
Minerva was about to ask, somewhat impatiently, why exactly Severus was here, but before she could, he spoke again:
'I am here to tell you mine. Or, since you have been present for much of it,' Severus smirked slightly, 'at least to fill in those details to which you have not been privy.'
Severus's voice paused, his uncertainty palpable. Minerva's air lost none of its scepticism, but her eyes softened slightly.
'Go on.'
Severus stared into the fireplace for a few moments, the firelight flickering in the hollows of his gaunt features, seemingly unsure of how to begin.
'A brief tangent, then,' he began after a few moments. 'Call me foolish and brainwashed if you will, but I have not allowed the horrors involved with producing this play to interfere with my enjoyment of Shakespeare's language and theatrical sensibilities. And I am not embarrassed to admit to having read several of his other plays over the course of the past few weeks.'
He glanced casually at Minerva, who seemed to have no intention to laugh at him. When she nodded slightly for him to continue, he did so.
'Our current drama of focus is, of course a tragedy, one of many written by the Bard throughout his life. There are also many comedies and histories, which likewise vary in their calibre and longevity, often according to where they fall chronologically in the canon.'
Minerva's lips twitched slightly – was Severus here to give her a lecture on British theatrical history?
'However,' continued Severus, 'towards the end of his life, Shakespeare wrote four plays which seemed to defy categorisation. While they contain comic elements, in larger quantities than the mere drunken porter or two,' (Severus stiffened slightly as he thought momentarily of Trelawney), 'their premises rest on the resolution of some seemingly insurmountable tragedy. Because a pair of young lovers is often instrumental to this resolution, these plays are referred to as the "romances."'
'Like Romeo and Juliet, without the deaths at the end,' Minerva offered. Severus nodded, suspecting he had not been the only one poking his nose into the Bard's complete works more often than necessary. He took a deep breath and continued.
'One of these plays, these tragically-comical romances, is a play called The Winter's Tale. Although its plot borders on the absurd, I will outline it in brief for you.'
Severus paused again, as if about to divulge something deeply personal, and an inexplicable chill suddenly rushed up Minerva's spine.
'This story begins with a king who, through insanity or stupidity or sheer insecurity, becomes completely convinced that his wife – the centre of his existence – is in love with another man, a man they have known since childhood. Unable to contain his irrational fury, he first attempts to have the other man killed, and in a fit of lunacy exiles his wife's child to a distant land. The instant he hears that his actions have led to his wife's death, the king suddenly realises his own foolishness and begs for a second chance, but it is too late: those whom he had once loved most in the world are now dead, and the king can never forgive himself for the destruction of his family, so much so that he swears to never love another unless his wife should live again.'
There was a terrible lost look in Severus's eyes, and Minerva wanted to reach out and comfort him, but she found she could not move.
'As it so happens,' Severus continued, 'a prophecy keeps the banished child safe in the distant land, and, after years of being reared under simpletons and fools, the child returns by chance to the king's domain, and there is told the truth by the king and welcomed back as the long-lost heir to the kingdom.' Severus smiled bleakly, never shifting his gaze from the fire. 'In the king's eyes, it means he has a chance of redemption.'
'And what then?' whispered Minerva. 'Is the king able to forgive himself for his mistake?'
Severus remained frozen for a few moments, then shook himself slightly.
'Shakespeare's play has one last act, but that is where my tale ends,' he replied simply. Because, in the real world, stone statues do not turn into living beings, and I am not a king but merely a half-blood Prince...
The two sat in silence for a long while, Severus's glistening eyes searching the fire for ghosts he wished would burn to smoke, Minerva staring only at Severus, as if a thin veil of water ran between them and she could only part the surface with her fingers, unsure of how to plunge her entire hand in and grasp at his story's true meaning...
'Well, I have said all I have to say,' said Severus at last, rising slowly to his feet. 'I will not ask you to return to the production, Minerva, although I dare say your presence will be, shall we say, sorely missed by many.'
Minerva opened her mouth to back this statement fully, but then the thought of Sybill Trelawney crossed her mind, and she closed her mouth, looking at Severus in helpless pity. It's just as hard for you as it is for me, isn't it, Severus...
'Perhaps not,' she said briefly. 'But do not make any promises to the Headmaster on my behalf, as there is still a tremendous chance I will stand by my earlier word.'
Severus nodded, and Minerva could have sworn she saw a flash of triumph in the Potions Master's dark eyes.
'Good night, then,' he said with a curt nod, and stepped back into the fireplace.
Minerva continued staring at the flickering flames long after Severus's dark shadow had vanished into their midst, unsure of exactly what had just happened, but increasingly convinced that that psychic bond that Severus had so glibly mentioned was not, in fact, real.
Albus was delighted to find a short but encouraging note from Severus on his desk that evening:
I have spoken with Minerva, and she has made no explicit statement as to the likelihood of her return to the production. For the moment, I believe it would be best to leave her be and move on to other scenes.
Albus's smile crinkled his eyes, and he glanced up at Fawkes, who chirruped approvingly.
'He's done the nearly unthinkable, hasn't he, Fawkes? Yes, I dare say he does deserve a bit of an interval for the time being, and that I shall give him. Well played, Severus,' Albus said, shaking his head in amusement. 'Very well played.'
NB: That was a ridiculously over-simplified reduction of The Winter's Tale, which is one of my favorite plays of all time (and, incidentally, the source from which JK Rowling pulled the name "Hermione"). I encourage you all to read the actual play so that you can appreciate its poignancy and brilliance; I'm a bit mad at myself for having taken so many liberties in sculpting (I won't exactly say "misrepresenting") its synopsis for the purpose this story.
