Chapter 11

A cold rain poured steadily onto the gabled buttresses and ramparts of Hogwarts castle. From the solitude of Gryffindor Tower, Minerva gazed unblinkingly out into the dreary evening. A roll of thunder startled her as it reverberated through the small stone-walled office, followed shortly thereafter by a jagged crash of lightning which burned a whitish-blue afterimage into her pupils. She drew back from the window to rub her eyes, and when she looked back up she saw a black speck in the clouds which grew steadily larger with each passing moment.

He had arrived.

Grimacing angrily, Minerva wheeled away and stalked down to the Great Hall just as the doors flew open with a resounding bang and in swept Severus Snape. Water streamed down from his cloaked shoulders and spattered on the floor as he lowered the deep cowl and met the Deputy Headmistress's accusing gaze. "Good evening, Minerva," he said, his voice somehow carrying a note more authority than it had before. "I trust all is well?"

"Aside from allowing two Death Eaters to teach classes and being forced to surrender my rightful place to allow a traitor to become Head of Hogwarts, everything is just jolly," the witch growled.

"Oh, come now, Professor," purred Snape lazily. "We know each other; this arrangement isn't quite as terrible as you make it out to be. At least Flitwick isn't Headmaster."

"I'd prefer Flitwick over you any day, you filthy, two-timing—"

"Don't waste your breath, Minerva," cut in Snape irritably. He snapped his cloak, sending drops of chilled rain everywhere; McGonagall hissed in annoyance as a spray hit her face. "Now, if you're quite finished, I have some paperwork to issue you as pertaining to certain classroom teaching method…alterations," he said in clipped tone. "Follow me."

Instinctively Minerva's feet began to take her left, down the corridor which led to the dungeon staircase. "Wrong way, Minerva," corrected Snape silkily, gazing down at her from the landing of the staircase which led up to the Headmaster's office. Flushing pink with embarrassment and fury, the Scottish witch felt more cold and empty than she ever remembered as she padded after the batlike figure of the new Headmaster of Hogwarts.

"Watch your step," Severus said sharply, yanking Minerva back from her stupor of memories. The witch sucked in a startled breath and focused just in time to skirt around a large pothole. A twitch of amusement was evident on the ex-Potion Master's narrow face as he stared at her out of the corner of his eye. "Taking a trip down memory lane, were we?"

"What? No," she denied quickly.

He scoffed. "It's unkind to lie to an Legilimens, Minerva. I know that look. What were you thinking about?"

She bit the inside of her lip—he knew her so well. "The day you became Headmaster," she admitted gruffly.

Something like a disgusted grunt came from the back of Severus's throat. "An awful day for all of us, I assure you," he said with a sneer.

Surprise registered with the Animagus witch, and she turned her head to stare at him. "What do you mean by that?"

The thin man stopped in his tracks and met her eyes, his own glittering black in the shadows. "What I mean is that I never wanted to be Headmaster," he said quietly. Another derisive huff blew from his lips; "In fact, I never wanted to be a teacher." That said, he moved onward again, picking his way carefully through the cluttered alleyway.

"I never knew that," Minerva said evenly, tracing his footsteps with her own.

He smirked wryly. "There is much you don't know about me—and most of it you wouldn't care to know, either."

Hazel eyes narrowed, and her chin jutted defiantly, "I'd bet five Galleons that's not true."

Snape's shaggy black head shook, somewhat sadly. "Trust me on that. Even I don't want to remember my own past.…" His deep voice faded out and his shadow-ringed eyes were distant.

Minerva swallowed back her curiosity and hated the awkward silence that settled between them. "Remind me again why we can't just return to Hogwarts," she said finally.

"I don't want to lead those Death Eaters back there," Severus grunted.

"Severus, don't be a fool! There's…what, twelve of them at most? I could alert Flitwick and we'd have the entire Auror community standing guard 'round the clock to do them in the moment they showed up!"

"It's more complicated than that."

Minerva groaned sarcastically. "Oh, I'm sure. It always is with you."

"Besides, I don't want to go back."

"Why?"

Hard black eyes fixed on her from over his shoulder. "Think, Minerva," he snapped. "Everyone there hates me, some of my worst memories were lived out there, and I almost died there." He faced front. "Plenty logical, if you ask me."

Minerva focused on walking for a bit, then said, "Y'know, not everyone hates you."

"Prove it," he snorted.

"You were awarded the Order of Merlin," she said. He froze mid-step, and she added, "First Class. I kept it for you, because I knew you weren't gone. I wanted to be able to give it to you myself if—when—you came back."

"It was posthumous?" he asked slowly.

"Aye," she confirmed, "but I can easily have that changed."

A derisive sneer curled his lip. "What makes you think I'd take it?"

"It's a symbol of your faithfulness—to the Order…to Albus…to Potter."

"Ha!" barked Severus, kicking a pebble. It clattered loudly as it bounced away. "Me, faithful to Potter? I hate that insolent little wretch. I only preserved his life for his mother's sake."

"Another lie," Minerva said. "You were appalled when Albus told you that Voldemort was to kill him." A bitter grimace twisted Snape's mouth, and he refused to look at her. "Why is it so difficult for you to admit things?" she pressed, her tone gentle. "It's not as if I'd condemn you for wanting to protect a student out of the goodness of your heart…"

Another derisive hiss came from Severus. "There's no goodness in my heart, Minerva," he said gallingly. "I presumed you would have determined that much by now."

"You know what I hate about you, Severus?" Minerva asked suddenly, stopping in her tracks to stare at him quite fiercely.

He turned and met her gaze levelly. "What?"

"I hate how much you hate yourself. And you know what else I think? I think that you don't really loathe everyone else as much as you let on; it's the self-loathing that you have, and it projects out to others and makes them think you're just a sour old codger," Minerva declared, folding her arms and tipping her chin primly.

Snape stared. "A touching sentiment, to be sure," he drawled at last. "Now, if you're intent on wasting your own breath on foolish presuppositions and distracting me from finding a route out of this city which will allow us to escape unnoticed by the Death Eaters, by all means continue talking. But if that is not the case, I highly suggest you stay silent. Besides, there are Muggles who are fond of staying out late, and I would be loath to Obliviate someone so early in the game."

"You couldn't Obliviate someone if you tried," snapped McGonagall in a terse whisper, her stubbornness making her unable to keep silent. "You're far too weak for it."

"I'm not weak." The words were rough and clipped, and in the harsh yellow light Snape's thin form seemed to draw up tight. "In fact, I saved your life just a few hours ago, if you're too thick to recall."

"And I'll bet every Galleon in my Gringotts vault that you exhausted your last shreds of magical energy doing it," said Minerva. "Look at you, Snape; you're hardly fit to stay on your feet."

"Shut up."

Minerva flinched. Never in her entire career had she heard Severus Snape say those words—not to anyone, much less her. As a student he had always been ever so respectful, perhaps even a bit admiring; as a fellow staff member he had been formal, albeit sometimes a little chilly, but their lightheartedly dour joshing at the Cribbage board, card table or Quidditch stands was always just that.

And then, up ahead, Severus abruptly stumbled. "I'm sorry," he gasped roughly, and tripped over to lean against the slimy brick wall. "That was…a slip of the tongue. Didn't mean it." He blinked hard and laced his fingers behind his skull, the posture opening his chest up to draw in more oxygen. His dark eyes, now suddenly dull, found McGonagall's.

"Severus, are you alright?" Worry seized the witch as she swooped in, instinctively reaching for his face. A sharp and ragged intake of breath punctuated the still air just before a bony hand with spidery fingers lashed out and swatted hers away. "Ouch," she muttered out of reflex, drawing back and cradling her stinging knuckles. "Sorry, laddie, I didn't—"

"…'S fine," panted Snape, waving vaguely. "Jus'…a moment, 'aight?" His words were beginning to slur.

"No, not alright," insisted Minerva, and approached once more, this time with a degree more caution. "C'mere, laddie," she said gently. "Let me help you. Let's sit down here, yeah? That's it, just settle in…" she soothed as the weary and trembling ex-Potions Master slid down the wall and sagged onto the cold asphalt.

"But…my Occlumency…shields," mumbled Snape, blinking hazily and trying to fight off the instinctive urge to rest. "Death Eaters…find us…"

"No one's going to find us," McGonagall assured him confidently. "I'm right here, with my wand. I'll put some Invisibility Charms and Shocking Hexes up and you can sleep in peace."

Wait—that was it! Peace! In a flash Minerva had out the potions satchel and was unstoppering the small vial of silvery liquid, which she nudged up to Snape's dry lips. "C'mon now, laddie," she murmured encouragingly, "down the hatch it goes."

Snape's next breath parted his lips just enough to allow Minerva to tip the Draught of Peace down his throat. Out of reflex he swallowed, coughed slightly, and then crumpled slowly back as the quick-acting potion took effect. The Animagus witch watched in satisfaction as his heavy eyelids drooped closed and his body relaxed. Once his breaths came in an even and slow rhythm, she sat back and flicked her wand, mutely casting several sturdy shields and detection deterrents.

She sat with Severus and watched him sleep until dawn beams brushed the sky, and as the morning star faded above she studied it. "I know you're up there, Albus," she whispered. "I know it's asking a lot of you, but…I think we're still going to need a bit more help here before this whole thing resolves itself, yeah?"

Miles away, in the Headmaster's office of Hogwarts castle, the painted portrait of Albus Dumbledore smiled and chuckled merrily.