Part Three
It was early evening, midweek, and Professors Snape and McGonagall were enjoying a hurried make-out session in the teacher's lounge. Hearing footsteps in the corridor, Minerva jumped up and bounded to the opposite end of the room. The footsteps passed by the door, and they both visibly relaxed.
"Okay, that was the third time that happened this evening! It's been three days and I'm sick of this already! What does that tell you?" she fumed.
"That we should stop making out in the teachers lounge?" he teased.
"No!"
"What then?" She paused for a moment.
"Okay, I don't know what that should tell you, but I can't carry on like this for much longer!"
"Well what do you propose that we do then?" he asked, worried.
"I don't know!" she cried as she stormed back over to the other side of the room and sat down in his lap, resting her head on his shoulder. Playing with the strands of hair that had fallen out of her tight bun onto the back of her neck, Snape thought a little.
"Think about it his way," he began. "Even if anyone did see anything, do you really think they'd believe it? I mean, I'm fairly sure Potter only accepted it because we pretty much admitted it to him. We're not exactly the most believable couple in the world, are we?"
"That's a good point," she mused. "Infact, when I woke up this morning, I had a little trouble believing it myself. I think I have a liking problem with you. In that, I don't. Much. Sorry," she added hastily.
"Hey, don't flatter yourself, I'm not all to thrilled with this situation either you know!"
"Really?" she teased. "I thought that maybe you were beginning to warm to me a little," He snorted with laughter.
"Yeah, right!" seeing the annoyed look on her face, he sighed. "Oh come on, I'm not the only one in this for one thing and one thing only you know!"
"Uh-huh, well carry on like that and you won't even get a month," she joked. "But in all seriousness, what are we going to do? I'm not willing to take the chance that anyone who may stumble in on us wouldn't believe it."
"Well, I don't think there's a whole lot we can do," he said, thoughtfully. "Unless…."
"What?" she demanded.
"We make ourselves even less believable as a couple," he suggested. "You know, fight a lot in public, etcetera. Well," he paused. "Fight more than usual anyway,"
"You mean throw everyone off the track completely?" she questioned.
"Yeah, why not? I can't think of anything else we can do anyway," she started to reply, but paused as she heard another set of footsteps coming towards the staff room.
"You wanna try it now?" she asked, climbing out of his lap.
"Why not?" he laughed. She stood, hands on her hips and feet wide apart and made as if to yell, but stopped.
"What are we fighting about?" she hissed. At that moment, Professor Lupin entered the room.
"Come on Minerva, I'll trade you Slytherin's Thursday and Friday evening timeslots on the Quidditch pitch, for Gryfindor's Saturday evening! How can you refuse that?" Snape stormed. Catching on, McGonagall retaliated:
"If the Saturday evening timeslot was so bloody important to you, you should have got in first and reserved it yourself shouldn't you?!"
"Oh be reasonable! I'm offering you an entire evenings extra practice time! Can you really refuse the team that?"
"Yes, quite easily, because the Friday evening is of no use to me what-so-ever, as Fred and George Weasley more often than not find themselves spending that time in detention!"
"I'll make it the Wednesday then!"
"Still no good, Katie has a clarinet lesson!" By this time, Professor Lupin was starting to back out of the room nervously and it was roughly five seconds before he'd disappeared down the corridor completely. McGonagall chuckled deviously.
"You know, I think we might just be able to pull this off!"
And for the rest of the week, they carried on staging fights of much the same manner. But when, the following Thursday, they were pulled aside by Dumbledore himself, they began to worry. As he led them into an empty classroom, each were privately thinking he must have seen through their act and worked out what they were really up to. Afterall, Albus Dumbeldore wasn't easily fooled. Which was why what he had to say came as such a shock.
"Now I've noticed a serious decline in the professional relationship between the two of you over the past week," he began, perching on the edge of a table. Minerva and Serverus stood as far apart from each other as was physically possible. "And quite frankly, I'm worried. I know things were never that brilliant, but the way things are rapidly becoming is awful! And all over Quidditch practice times!" he sighed and took a deep breath. "If things continue the way they are, I am seriously considering disqualifying both Slytherin and Gryfindor from this year's Quidditch cup." An ominous silence fell, then:
"No!" they both protested at once.
"Of course, it would be a great shame if it had to come to that, but if I'm forced I will." He took another deep breath. "Now, I own a small holiday cottage in the muggle sea side town of Cornwall. May I suggest you both stay there over the weekend and try to reconcile your differences?" he threw a set of keys to McGonagall. "I shall re-asses the situation on Monday. That will be all." And with that, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke.
Outside the door, where she had been eavesdropping with Harry, Hermione was looking suitably worried.
"Harry! Did you hear that? This is awful!" she moaned.
"Uh-huh," Harry muttered. "Something tells me their going to do a fair site more than reconcile this weekend."
"You mean their-?" Harry realised just what he had let drop.
Well there you have it. Hermione knows. I forget why that's meant to be exciting, cus I wrote the fic at like, one in the morning. Never mind!