The Divorce

The following days were filled with preparations for the new term. Minerva regretted her imminent departure, even though she had promised to Toke that she would return for at least one day each week if possible, which was a lot more time away from Hogwarts than she usually permitted herself.

Both her parents were seen in the corridors and lingering around her and Morgana much more often than normal. Vesta McGillivray had taken up the habit of asking Minerva's advice on decoration matters around twice as often as she normally did – as every year around this time – and her father seemed to require more and more short trips into past centuries as the days passed, reliably informing his family of every change in schedule.

Minerva had spoken to the new headmaster a couple of times already. Damocles seemed a nice enough man, she thought, even though a little disorganised at times. But he would do a good job, she was sure of it – wanted to be sure, for every additional task at her work place meant less time at home, less time with Severus.

She had come to realise just how much she would miss her younger colleague. The previous year had started without him, too, of course, and granted, she had been furious every time the thought of him had entered her mind, but now that they were friends again, possibly closer than they had ever been before, it seemed an almost unbearable loss not to be able to have their occasional tête-a-têtes in the evening or to see each other at every mealtime in a loud and bustling Great Hall.

No, Minerva resolved, Hogwarts would not be the same without Severus, although a lot of students would likely show open relief at his departure. The situation was still such that her former colleague wanted nobody to know that he was still alive and considering some of the things you heard from the Ministry of Magic these days, Minerva was inclined to agree with this tactic.

Topaz appeared on the manor's doorstep only once before August really dropped all its defences and approached its end with reckless openness, saying that he had just been in the neighbourhood and wanted to drop by. Given the fifteen minutes walk from the outer gates to the building's main entrance, Minerva was inclined to suspect other motives.

"I just know he persists to come here because mother fans his hopes," she said grumpily when taking tea with Severus in the East Wing's small kitchen, three days before the start of term. "If she would just support me in my unwavering efforts to indicate to him that it is over, once and for all..."

"You believe that he would stay away?" Severus enquired.

"I believe I could call him a fool, saying that there was no foundation for his continuing hopes, with some justification then," replied Minerva wearily. "As it is, though, I cannot very well blame him. There is someone close to me who thinks there will be a continuation of the marriage, and she is supposed to know me better than many other people. If she says I will remarry, of course he will assume that she labours on more than just assumptions."

"And are you?"

Minerva looked up.

"I'm sorry?"

"Are you going to remarry?" Severus asked patiently.

"I wish," mumbled the deputy headmistress, rubbing her face, but stopping when she sensed Severus's surprise. "What?"

"I was under the impression that you did not wish to be married to him."

There was a small pause.

"Not to Topaz, I suppose," said Minerva eventually, feeling strained. What did Severus know of the position of a pure-blood wife after a divorce? What did he know of a witch's struggle, who made the decision to live alone and support her family on her own? It was not easy for a woman in Minerva's position – had never been. The anachronistic values of the Pureblood society stretched well beyond the use of quills and parchment. Even now, at the end of the twentieth century, when Muggle women were just beginning to harvest the benefits gained by feminist fighters half a century earlier, witches of her background and blood status continued to live in a Victorian mindset, finding that their life could – nay, should consist of nothing but housework and child-raising.

Minerva sighed and put one hand on top of the other, suddenly seeing herself wear her mother's gloves in three or four decades to go, possibly more alone than she could imagine now that she was still in the prime of her life.

"You are wondering if it will incriminate your mother's position if you continue to be unmarried," Severus said quietly. Minerva looked up.

"And you are practising magic at an incredibly advanced level, Severus. When did you re-gain your Legilimency skills?"

"I didn't," said the former Potions Master quietly. "I merely voiced an assumption."

Another silence lay heavily on the scene and Minerva wondered for a moment whether this was really a conversation she wanted to have with a person whom she had, only a few months ago, misjudged so gravely that she would have duelled him to the death.

"When I divorced Topaz," she eventually said, deciding, once again, for trust and against the barrier threatening to appear between them, "the wizarding community was in an uproar. You didn't notice, probably, because you were still very young, as was Morgana, and the dispute remained within the pure-blood families. We are snobbish when it comes to pride. We fight to the death, but towards those of allegedly lesser standards, we present a unanimous line. You will understand this way of thinking, as it is quite openly practised in all matters concerning Slytherin house even today. It is a kind of pure-blood pride..."

"I know it," confirmed the Snape. "But the cause of the uproar is, as yet, unclear to me. I take it even witches are allowed to divorce their husbands?"

"Severus, do you know wizarding law at all?"

The Snape looked slightly insulted.

"I studied History of Magic under the meticulous and profound care of our esteemed colleague Professor Binns for several years . How can you suggest I am not perfectly informed?"

Minerva smiled weakly. "Well, then you'll know that, according to our law, witches still need to give an incontrovertible reason as to why a divorce is necessary, do you not?"

"Like what?"

"Like violence," replied the deputy headmistress, blushing slightly. "Or mistreatment of his daughter, or constant drunkenness – none of which happened, I can assure you."

"I don't doubt it." Severus's face was very earnest now. He had previously spend a lot of time caressing a very large mug of steaming liquorice tea, but now that the conversation was entering more serious fields, his attention seemed diverted. "Why then did you leave him?"

"Because after he got promoted to head of his department at St. Mungo's he turned into an arrogant bore," Minerva said resolutely. "Because living with him got so difficult that I felt I could not bear the constant stress and fighting any longer. And because the times when he was not at home were the best for me – and for Morgana, I felt."

"Did Morgana like him?" Severus enquired.

"She loves him," Minerva said. "After the divorce... well, there was a good time and there were more difficult ones, during some of which she lived with her father, not with me. A great deal of which, I should say. It seems as though she spent every single holiday between her first and her last year at Hogwarts in London rather than with me."

"Somewhat understandably, seeing as you were with her twenty-four hours a day during term time," observed the young wizard wisely. Minerva smiled.

"Perhaps. But I was hurt. At first, that is. I do understand her motives and I have come to realise... well..." She broke off, looking out of the window in want of the right words to choose. She trusted Severus, very much so, but the topic was no easier than it had been twenty years ago, when she had tried discussing it with friends and family. "It seems to me that he is a much better parent than I am," she said eventually, clinging to her cup as though for dear life. "I have never felt very comfortable in the role of a mother, although I love my daughter beyond anything. There are times when you feel uncomfortable and cannot even tell why. There are times when you think you do not deserve the trust – and the responsibility you are entrusted with. And there are rarely people there to help you."

"I understand," said Severus simply. Minerva felt a surge of warmth well up inside her. Of course he did. And of course it was as simple as this.

"Thank you," she whispered. And then, for a long time, nothing.

"So..." said Severus, several moments later, having finished his tea, "you are wishing now that you were married again, to protect your status?"

"I was just..." Minerva began, feeling tense, "oh, you mean my wishing I could remarry? I must say I was not referring so much to the actual process as to having the option. You see, since wizarding law does not permit divorces executed without a very founded reason, my marriage was never annulled. From a legal point of view, I still am Minerva McGonagall."

"That is ridiculous," Severus hissed. "You should be able to make such decisions."

"I should also be able to offer my seat on the Knight Bus to an elderly wizard without being looked at in a funny way," Minerva said tiredly. "But that is not what the wizarding world is like. It is not the pure-blood way."

There was another small silence, in which suddenly not awkwardness was the predominant sensation, but mutual understanding and even a trace of affection.

"It is your way," Severus said eventually, not taking his eyes off the older witch's. "And personally, I have great respect for it."