A/N: Since so many of you seemed interested in what happened next…

"And this is your new room," Minerva finished decisively, watching as the boy looked around hesitantly. It was true that the place was nothing much- she hadn't even decorated it, but had returned after her fierce statement to the Headmaster to find that a new room had been added to her sparse, sometimes cold quarters, the quilt on the bed a more Slytherin green than she could have envisioned in her worst nightmares, bookshelves and a small night table flanking the bed, and a tiny- too tiny, she had thought- desk providing the only other furniture.

It was simple, that much was true, but it was clean, and surely once the boy had settled in and made it his own- the thought still made the unmotherly woman gulp decisively, almost in fear- surely then it would be more comfortable.

She turned to look at him again, watched as his beady, nearly lifeless black eyes took in his new surroundings, absorbing everything like… well, like a bottomless pit, or a black hole with a particularly strong gravitational force. Severus had always been a quiet boy, but the past few years had seen his solemnness denote something altogether more serious, some hardened, determined and perhaps even vicious or vengeful aspect of his character it had somehow, now, become Minerva's duty to quell.

Seeing his lips purse almost in contempt, she was not sure how well she would succeed.

"As you can see, your trunk and the rest of your things have already been brought up," she said, when he remained silent.

Without a word, he went over and got up on the bed, running his hands over the very Slytherin-esque duvet as if examining it for any lose threads or defects- the way, McGonagall knew, that he examined people- and, finally, moving his spindly long legs to sit what in what the Muggles termed Indian-style.

"I will be in the sitting room if you need anything."

That would do for now. She would bring him some dinner later, she decided; no need to spend longer in each other's company than was wont, she thought as she turned to go. But her musings were interrupted by a small voice from the bed.

"You don't have to pretend, you know."

Minerva blinked in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"To care. You don't have to pretend that you care. It's alright. Better if you don't."

Startled, the door shut behind Minerva with more bang than she had intended. What in Merlin's name did the blasted boy mean?


Dinner was a quiet and rather subdued affair, plain roast chicken and rolls. It was Easter holls, which meant, unfortunately, that all of the boys in the fourth-year Slytherin dormitory had vacated Hogwarts like so many crawling spiders, leaving the Deputy Headmistress with the unfortunate duty of taking in her charge for the first fortnight.

Neither said much. Minerva replenished Severus's water when he'd drunk it all, and pursed her lips when he neglected to ask for more food when he was done, causing her to place a second roll on his plate with the same Don't- You- Say-Anything look she gave students who grumbled over Transfiguration essays. He glared, not caring that she was still his Professor, despite it all, but ate it anyway, without a word.

"There," she said with finality, when he had done. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Severus glared all the harder.


Minerva approached the shut door, feeling vulnerable and exposed in her tawdry dressing gown, the folded linens in her arms behaving like so many shields and barriers. Sucking in a breath, she gave a quick but firm rap on the door, and waited for the surly child to answer.

At last he did, looking almost surprised to see her, though the unhappiness still etched across his features made his teacher's skin crawl.

"I brought extra blankets," Minerva informed him.

"I don't need 'em," he said suddenly, eyes wide as saucers.

She could not have been more surprised if he had shut the door plain in her face.

"Are you sure?" she tried again, biting her tongue to keep from reprimanding him for his disrespect.

This time he did shut the door in her face.


Minerva had not expected to sleep soundly that night- not with the boy just down the hall- but this tossing and turning had surpassed even her expectations.

Her own bedroom was coordinated, organized and simple, with no lavish décor, no outlandish colors or flourishes of any kind anywhere to be found. Her quilt was Gryffindor red, it was true, but with no frills or other design, and a golden throw blanket was folded neatly on the end. A glass lamp, a glass of milk and the new knitting magazine Albus had lent her were the only things gracing the side table, although the desk perched just under the stone window told quite a different story.

Minerva McGonagall's desk was the only part of her living space she allowed to be a little cluttered, simply because… well, she needed a little space to sprawl just as everyone else. There must have been five of the most recent rubbish from Transfiguration Today thrown there among the sewing needles, each article well and truly marked up with Minerva's sturdy red grading quill in her small and cramped writing, each correction giving her a rush of satisfaction that became an indulgence. Half-finished crochets and stitch patterns were littered on top of these: sprawling farm houses and greens, the new socks she was darning for Albus's birthday, Pomona's sweater that needed a new thread she'd offered to mend. And, on top of this- student homework. It was, of course, not always possible to leave such unpleasant tasks in her work hours, and as a result dozens of papers had begun to stack up, each grimy and hastily compiled assignment plopped one on top of another as if an infectious disease had begun to rise out of the ink. It was well and truly disgusting, and for the moment, a lovely scapegoat for the Professor's newfound sleeplessness.

But deep down she knew better.

Grabbing her wand and heaving a great sigh, she got up from the bed and shuffled into the hall. All seemed quiet; but of course, she supposed, a house with Severus Snape was never truly devoid of mischief.

Going a little further, she finally came to the boy's room, and she stopped to see if anything could be amiss. No noise came from the dark room, but she was not fooled, and waited a moment longer, almost tricking herself into believing she had heard something. Surely she had- Minerva pressed her ear to the door, just to be safe.

Soft moans were coming from inside. She hadn't dared believe it at first, be sure enough, low groans and sighs were coming from the other side of the door. Before it crossed her mind that she was actually entering the boy's room, much less that she had actually gone to check on him, she had crossed the threshold and was at Severus's side. He was moving and flopping, the duvet pulled all the way up to his chin, as ungraceful in sleep as he was awake, apparently trapped in some relentless dream. Unsure of how to proceed, she shook him firmly, to no avail.

"It's only a dream!" she tried. "Wake up, child!" Nothing.

Slowly, but with certainty, she placed a firm hand on his chest, stilling him and preventing his rapid, incessant movement. Denied the release of struggle, Severus began breathing very heavily, raspy and jerky breaths that almost made Minerva call Poppy. However, a mere moment later and he was sitting up, sweating but no longer twitching, terrified and even startled to see the worried face of his Professor looming over him.

"Professor McGonagall?"

His voice was hoarse, and she quickly conjured a drink of water and brought it to his lips, sitting beside him on the bed and watching him swallow and gulp as if it would be the last drink he ever had.

This made her stomach squirm inside of her.

But before Minerva had time to examine these emotions further, he was finished, leaning back against the headboard with a great gasp. She took the glass from him and laid in on the side table.

"That must have been quite the dream."

He shut his eyes, but said nothing.

"Should you wish to discuss it…"

"I asked you to stop pretending, Professor."

"And has it occurred to you that I am not?" She was inflamed now. The Scot in her could not allow otherwise.

"But no one has ever"-

"They were idiots." The cat in her was almost growling now. "Arrogant, insufferable fools."

"They were right." His voice was stronger now.

"No child, however…" she gulped again. "However difficult it is for him to focus on Vanishing spells in class, deserves that kind of treatment, Severus."

He huffed, but to her great relief, did not press the point. His Professor conjured a warm cloth and began to wipe some of the moisture from his forehead, and he was so tired he did not even try and take it from her. Severus must be really exhausted, she thought, and sure enough, in a few minutes his breathing had evened out and he had fallen again into slumber.

Satisfied with this, McGonagall turned to leave, but turning back to him again was struck anew with what must have been the one millionth unpleasant thought she had had these past twenty-four hours.

I can see his ribcage.

This time the door did not bang behind her.