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(P.S. I'm not JKR, I don't own any of this, blah blah blah yada yada yada.)

Chapter 9

Minerva went to the bridge the next day just as the note directed. The temperature had plummeted overnight and fat, loose flakes of snow floated from a heavy and overcast sky to alight on her shoulders, hair and eyelashes. The forested hills rose in mounds and ripples in the hazy distance, their naked black trees wound through with the large white tendrils of Muggle ski runs and moguls.

Bitter wind whipped the witch's long dark hair about her face as she stared about, wondering if she had been set up. There was no noise but the gust's hollow howl, nor could Minerva sense another human presence anywhere nearby. Some part of her had expected this, but to find that such a mouth-wateringly genuine-looking hint was just another dead end did lead to some disappointment. Tucking her threadbare gold-and-red scarf into her thick wool coat, she turned back and prepared to Apparate away.

It was then that she felt the prickle of heat at the base of her skull, signifying that someone was behind her. Wheeling, McGonagall found herself facing the very man she had spent a week and a half trying to find.

Severus Snape instantly cut a striking figure, even more so than she remembered. Considering his status as a vigilante and the dreams she'd had of him, he looked strangely…healthy. Ruddy skin, full shoulders and the shaggy mane of thick and glossy raven hair falling in neat waves about his face threw her for a loop. Even the way the ex-Potions Master carried himself was odd—he looked more relaxed than she had ever seen him in all the years they had known each other.

"Severus?" Minerva gaped, blinking in bewilderment.

A wry lopsided smirk touched his mouth, and he gave a shallow bow. "The one and only." The sound from his throat caught Minerva off-guard—it was raspy and much higher-pitched than his usual velvety bass.

"Where have you been?" she continued, heedful of the sensation of deep unease creeping up her spine like a drop of cold water.

Snape shrugged with one broad shoulder, pursing his lips and glancing aside, "Out and about, I suppose." His dark eyes, sparkling in the sunlight reflected from the snow, met hers. "You got my dream messages, then."

Minerva ever so slowly eased her weight backwards onto her heel and casually said, "Aye, that I did. Took you long enough, didn't it?"

Snape grimaced mildly. "I apologize for the…inconvenience," he said roughly, "but I've been on the run…if you hadn't noticed."

"I did notice, and that's why I'm here," Minerva told him in a chilly voice. "I also noticed that you aren't the real Severus Snape."

The man recoiled, giving her a skeptical look. "What do you mean, McGonagall?" he asked sarcastically. "Who else would I be?"

"Oh, I don't know—anyone at all," snapped the witch. "I can smell the Polyjuice on your breath. Secondly, the real Severus wouldn't meet me in a public setting; he's far too clever for that. You really need to study up on a person before you try to imitate them." She leaned forward; jaw jutted and narrowed eyes flashing fire. "I don't know how you got ahold of Severus's hair, but let me tell you one thing right now, laddie: whatever you did to him, you're going to regret it," she hissed.

The imposter grinned, and it was a horrible, un-Snape-like snarl of bared teeth. "Not as much as you'll regret your stupidity, witch," he chuckled darkly. Then, lifting his head—"Show's over; come on out, everyone!"

A series of muffled pops sounded as five other spellcasters Apparated in a circle around the two. Minerva's heart plunged painfully in her breast as she defiantly drew her wand and prepared to fight, only to be halted by the bristling tips of six enemy wands. "Put it down, little pussycat," drawled the Snape imposter, lazily flicking her chin up with a crooked grayish wand that was certainly not Severus's.

"Pry it from me cold dead fingers, y' blisterin' bampot," snarled Minerva in a thick Scottish brogue, swatting his wand aside with a flash of her hand.

"Ooh, the kitty has teeth!" one of the Dark witches crowed with a snigger.

"Aye, an' she'd be more'n glad to sink 'em right into your feckin' arse cheeks!" McGonagall raged, whirling on her in a swirl of tartan wool. The sheer force of her verbal wrath made the woman skitter back a step. "C'mon, you louts!" she growled, brandishing her wand, "who wants a go at this kitty first?"

"Easier if we get rid of the teeth first, don't you think?" a young wizard grunted, and flicked his wand in her direction: "Expelliarmus!"

Minerva tried desperately to grab at her wand as it flew out of her fingers, but to no avail. The Polyjuiced Snape lookalike smirked. "Now that's all taken care of, let me show you lot how it's done." With that, he bent over to retrieve his fallen wand.

It was a mistake.

With a wordless snarl of rage Minerva lunged forward and thrust her leg up, smashing her kneecap into his nose. Howling, "Snape" fell, clutching his face as blood streamed from his nostrils. Knowing the other spellcasters were about to start throwing curses and hexes, she rolled aside and lashed out with a leg to knock over the young wizard who had her wand. With a startled grunt he went down, and within a second Minerva's grip tightened around the comforting smoothness of fir wood. The powerful thrum of magical energy from its dragon heartstring core reverberated through her being with the spur of her emotions and, flipping onto her back, she deftly blocked the first hex.

Even so, five on one was hardly a fair fight. The previous night's sleep had been fitful due to her excitement at locating Snape, and the weariness she felt only increased with every spell she deflected. Merlin, give me some help here, Minerva thought desperately. Or Albus, if you're out there—hell, I'll take anyone at this point!

Her arms shook as she fought to keep her shields up, the sweat streaming into her eyes and burning fiercely; she couldn't seem to draw enough breath into her lungs. The two downed wizards had since regained their wits and joined the fray, and the pressure of hex after curse after jinx was beating on her. Minerva didn't even have time to counterattack, the enemies' spells were coming at her so fast. She really wished that she had thought to take that Felix Felicis…

Just seconds from her inevitable collapse, a flare of red light blinded her as a new voice roared out, "Stupefy!"

Out of the corner of her blurry vision Minerva swore she saw one of the witches fall. There was a physical release of pressure as suddenly the barrage of spells halted and the Dark spellcasters focused on someone new. "Wait—who…?!" she heard one of the wizards mutter in confusion just before he went "Oof!" and was blasted backwards.

"Go!" shrieked one of the remaining witches, her tone frantic. Then, venomously: "We'll get you later, you filthy traitor—just you wait!"

Five snaps rent the chilled air as the enemies Disapparated to whence they had come. Trembling hard, Minerva allowed herself to sag backwards onto the snowy ground and gaze up at the cloudy gray sky, relishing the cold wetness of flakes landing on her burning cheeks. Heavy footfalls drew close and she glanced to her right—a worn-out pair of black boots filled her field of vision. There was a rustle as her defender crouched beside her; Minerva got a faint whiff of spicy herbs and French cologne.

"Wha…?" she tried to ask, but all that came out was a slurred mumble.

"Hush, Minerva," soothed Severus Snape as he lifted her into his arms. "You're safe now."