A/N As always, thanks to everyone for their encouraging reviews :-) This
story's turning out longer than the previous one, but it's on its way to
being wrapped up now!
Minerva McGonagall opened her eyes slowly, painfully aware of her throbbing head, preparing herself for the blast of light which could only exacerbate the headache. She was alarmed to discover, however, that even when her eyes were fully open, she could see nothing. Nothing at all.
Merlin, I've gone blind! was her first horrified thought. Carefully she lifted a hand and waved it in front of her face. She thought she could just make out the hand's shape. Forcing herself to keep calm, she waited, and slowly her vision began to adjust to the gloom. So this was the Mont- Strepping's cellar. It was far from pleasant. Quite aside from the darkness, the air was damp and foul; it was extremely cold, and the floor beneath her was hard and dirty.
Minerva could make out objects leaning against the far wall - planks of wood, perhaps - a few boxes here and there, and the outline of what might be a window, though it appeared to be covered with something. No sign of Snape. With a slight groan she got to her knees and crawled forward.
"Severus? Severus!" She hissed, before remembering that there was no need for quiet. It wasn't as though they didn't want to be found. "Severus!" She said, more loudly. No response. McGonagall recalled the horrible crunching sound she had heard when her colleague had fallen through the trapdoor, and shivered.
She continued to move forward slowly, wondering whether it would be worth transfiguring to provide better night vision - but she decided against it, in case there was the remotest chance of the Mont-Streppings watching them. Instead she rose carefully to her feet, hands held out in front of her -she had no idea where the walls were, apart from the far wall which - she could now see - was very slightly illuminated with a minuscule amount of light from the edges of the blocked-out window. She moved towards the wall until her fingers brushed in, changed direction and began carefully to pace along it until she reached another wall, then followed that, trying to get a sense of the size of the room. From what she could calculate it was extremely small, more a little storage room than a cellar, probably no more than six feet by ten feet or so. She reached up, and found that the tips of her fingers could just about brush the ceiling. Her heart leapt for a moment before it occurred to her that the Mont-Streppngs would certainly have sealed the trapdoor by magic - escape would not be so simple as reaching up and opening it.
McGonagall was still walking forward as she examined her surroundings, and in the gloom had no chance of seeing the crumpled figure until she tripped over it. Dropping to her knees, McGonagall could vaguely see a shape lying on the floor before her, in the furthest corner of the room. Tentatively she reached out and prodded the motionless body gently. No response. Feeling nauseous, Minerva was debating whether to attempt first aid in the pitch darkness when it occurred to her that this was a muggle house, after all, and had electricity - surely there would be a light of some sort even down here?
Carefully stepping around her colleague, Minerva followed the wall until she came to the 'front', for lack of a better word, of the cellar. After some minutes of fruitless searching her left hand brushed against something - a sort of string dangling from the ceiling. Experimentally she gave it a tug - and to her relief, the tiny room was suddenly filled with light. She had to close her eyes against it for a moment, but as she did so, the relief increased a hundredfold, making her feel quite weak - a faint groaning was coming from the corner of the cellar!
"Severus…" still shielding her eyes McGonagall stumbled back to her colleague's side. He was awkwardly trying to pull himself to a sitting position.
"I thought you were dead!" She scolded, dropping to her knees beside him. "Keep still!"
"I need to get the weight off my arm…" Snape managed to gasp. McGonagall, seeing what he meant, decided not to argue, and with some effort managed to help him sit, or rather slump, against the wall, while she inspected the damage.
His right arm was badly broken - the bone was poking unpleasantly through the skin, and there was a fair amount of blood staining the sleeve of the vile beige jacket.
"Mont-Strepping will pay for this." Muttered Snape, darkly.
"Are you in a lot of pain?"
"I meant the jacket." Growled the potions master. "the hire shop will never have it back now. Blood is a devil to get out of clothing. I should know."
Minerva rolled her eyes but said nothing - gallows humour was simply Snape's way of pretending he wasn't in agony: the classic technique of covering up pain and fear with inappropriate wit. McGonagall had never found a need for that particular defence mechanism herself.
It was awkward bandaging Snape's arm - in the end, McGonagall carefully removed and tore up his jacket, making a sling of sorts. Snape sat silently, making no sound and barely flinching as she first snapped the bone back into place, then bound up the arm as best she could. That done, she settled herself against the wall beside her colleague.
"We do have a habit of ending up in these situations, don't we?" She sighed.
"Hm."
"I wonder what our charming hosts are up to."
"Hm."
"By the way, I did mean to ask…"
"Hm?"
"How you were able to drink so much wine - drugged wine at that - without any noticeable effect."
"No great mystery." Snape grunted. "I'm immune to most rudimentary, common potions - comes with the job, you might say."
"Being a potions master, or being a spy?"
He smirked a little.
"Both. And as to the wine…well…after drinking my special whisky for the last decade and a half, wine would hardly exert much of an influence on my faculties."
McGonagall shrugged.
"Pity you weren't drunk."
"Hm?"
"Well, it wouldn't have made a lot of difference - we'd still be stuck down here - and with your muscles relaxed, you might not have been hurt very much."
Snape flashed a brief glare.
"Are you implying that my attempts to save us were ineffectual?"
For answer, the deputy headmistress simply gestured with both hands, indicating the poky little room in which they were imprisoned.
"Yes, well…" Snape muttered, his sallow face flushing slightly. "You're always criticising me!" He growled, huddling down against the wall and closing his eyes.
"What are you doing, Severus?"
"Going to sleep. What else? I'm tired, I'm in pain and I've had to listen to the Mont-Streppings talking complete drivel all evening. I'm not in the mood for any more insipid conversation."
"Insipid!" McGonagall was offended. "Well!"
There was a brief silence. Then Snape murmured, reluctantly,
"Sorry."
McGonagall, though startled, merely harrumphed.
More silence. And then…
Ping!
The light without warning went out.
"What's happening?" McGonagall demanded.
"How should I know, woman?" There was a panicked edge to Snape's voice which Minerva hadn't heard very often…in fact she could only remember one occasion when he'd sounded so alarmed: during the werewolf incident in the Forbidden Forest, some time ago.
"Do you think the Mont-Streppings…"
"I don't know!"
For a few minutes the pair waited, tensely, for something terrible to happen. When nothing did, McGonagall allowed herself to relax, leaning back against the wall.
"I think perhaps the light is broken." She murmured. "Muggle lighting is hardly the most efficient of inventions. Perhaps it simply…burnt out, or something."
"Nonsense." Snape snapped. "What would be the point of that? You'd have to keep replacing them…and what if the light suddenly went out at an inconvenient moment, such as…when one was…sitting on the toilet, or…something…muggles surely can't be that useless!" He was speaking quickly and panting slightly between clauses. McGonagall could almost hear his heart thumping.
"What on earth are you drivelling about?" She asked, then, more gently, "are you all right?"
"You've spent this entire mission asking me that! Stop worrying about me and worry about what the Mont-Streppings are about to do to us…in the dark…when we can't see them creeping up on us…"
"Oh, Merlin. You're afraid of the dark, aren't you?"
"Certainly not!"
"Werewolves and the dark…any other phobias I should know about, Severus? Perhaps you're scared of bogeymen? Perhaps you wet the bed?" Her exasperation waned as she listened to his convulsive swallowing. She sighed. This was not going to be a fun evening.
"If…if you dare to tell anyone, anyone at all, about this…" Snape hissed out of the blackness.
"I won't. If you promise to tell me why you're afraid of the dark."
"I'm not."
"And I suppose you never wake up screaming with nightmares, either."
"No…oh. Damn! Only when I…"
"When you what?"
"Only at a particular time of the month."
"You're secretly a woman?"*
Snape glared at her.
"If I was a woman, Minerva, perhaps I would understand better your particular brand of 'compassion'. Since when did sympathy become synonymous with bitchiness?"
McGonagall bristled, but replied in a controlled voice,
"Since the person towards whom the sympathy is directed decided to be a stubborn idiot."
There was silence for a moment.
"Why *do* you only have nightmares at certain times?" McGonagall gave in eventually to her curiosity. "It hasn't got anything to do with the…er…full moon, has it?"
"My nightmares are *not* about…things. If you must know, I take a particularly strong form of dreamless sleep potion which, due to its mildly toxic ingredients, can only be taken once a month. Towards the end of the four-week period, the effects begin to wear off. It would be foolish to risk serious illness or death by overdosing."
Snape rattled all this off in a breath, then closed his eyes and tried to slump in a dignified manner. His attempt to fold his arms defensively, however, resulted in a sharp cry of pain.
"Oh, Severus!" McGonagall scolded, in an irritated voice which did not hide her concern. "Be careful."
He grunted.
"Severus…"
"Gods! Yes!?"
"Why are you afraid of the dark?"
"Why do you want to know?" He shot back.
"It's something to talk about. And it might take your mind off it."
"Talking about my fear of the dark is supposed to take my mind off my fear of the dark? Well, isn't that a wonderful piece of logic! Exactly what I've come to expect from a *Gryffindor*." He sneered.
"I know you're only lashing out at me because you're frightened and in pain…"
"Merlin's nose, the woman is a psychologist!"
"You're trying to put me off." Minerva scolded him impatiently, having had enough of his snide, snappish replies. "Is it some terribly embarrassing story? Come on, Severus, this is *me*. We've known each other for a very long time. I knew you when you were a little, neurotic, greasy brat. I've watched you grow into a tall, neurotic, greasy brat. And if you must know it, I'm not very happy with the situation either…I have a very bad feeling about all this. So I would welcome a little civilised conversation to make the hours pass more easily."
A protracted silence.
"Severus?"
A blatantly fake snore.
"You can't possibly be asleep. Not with your arm in that condition."
But Snape ignored her. Sighing, McGonagall gave up on the verbal attack and decided to attempt an alternative strategy. She inched closer to Snape, found his uninjured shoulder, and leaned carefully against it.
"What do you think you're doing?" The potions master growled.
"Making myself comfortable." She retorted. "If you won't talk to me, I may as well use you as a cushion."
"Please yourself." He grumbled. "But mind my arm."
"Mmm."
"Minerva?"
"Mm?"
"Are you going to sleep?"
"Yes…"
"Oh. All right."
"Unless you want to talk, of course…"
"No."
"Well, good night, then."
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Minerva?"
"Yes, Severus?" Something about the tone of his voice made her look up, though she could see nothing of his face in the gloom.
"The window." He had been staring desperately at the only sliver of light he could see - at the edge of what seemed to be a window frame.
"What about it? We can't possibly escape that way. Besides…"
"Why does a cellar have windows?"
"What? Oh…good grief!" McGonagall couldn't believe her lack of observation. But then, there were circumstances… "perhaps…" she began, then tailed off, unable to make a sensible sounding suggestion as to why an underground room needed windows. Snape got to his feet with much scrabbling and grunting.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding the 'window'. That's another point - must be dark outside. Why is there light filtering around the frame?"
Snape moved carefully along the wall, with McGonagall following, until he reached the object of their bewilderment. Reaching out, he ran his long fingers around the edge of the rectangle. Found something to grasp at and tugged. With some effort, the stuff covering the 'window' came off…
"Oh, my goodness." Minerva gasped weakly.
"Bloody hell." Agreed Snape, equally aghast.
They were looking through a two feet by three feet rectangular window into what was unmistakably Dumbledore's office. The headmaster was sitting at his desk, blithely sucking a sherbet lemon as he riffled through a pile of papers.
"Albus?" McGonagall exclaimed.
Dumbledore looked up, and walking straight towards them with a purposeful air, paused right in front of their gaping, astonished faces…it seemed they could reach out and touch him…then, to their amazement, Dumbledore simply straightened his hat, smoothed his beard, and strode out of view.
"What *is* this thing?" McGonagall demanded. Snape reached out as though to put his hand through the 'window'. It reached a solid surface, like glass. Making a fist he pounded on it. Nothing happened, except for a bolt of pain running up his arm.
"Ow…I don't know. Some sort of spyglass, I suppose."
"They're spying on us? The Death-Eaters are spying on us? They must know everything! All our plans…all about the mission…oh, Severus!"
"Well, don't look at me. I had no idea the Dark Lord's minions had a magical device of this kind. Much less than they'd planted it in Albus' office."
"Who planted it?" McGonagall wanted to know. "Who could have sufficient access to the headmaster's office?"
Something in her tone nettled Snape.
"Are you making some sort of insinuation? Why not just come out and ask me if I'm working for He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, McGonagall? That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"
"Don't be silly. I meant nothing of the kind. If Albus considers you trustworthy, who am I to disagree?"
"Aha! If *Albus* thinks so. You don't consider me trustworthy yourself, then?"
"I didn't say that…why are we arguing about this *now*? We need to get out of here and warn Albus!"
"And just how are we supposed to do that? We're trapped in a magical cellar with the Mont-Streppings cavorting above us. Any time now a band of Death Eaters will be here to take us off and torture us before putting us to death."
"What a very defeatist attitude!"
"There's little point in holding any other kind! If one is an eternal pessimist one cannot be disappointed!"
"Why are you so peculiar?" McGonagall sighed, wearily. She laid a hand on his good arm. "Severus, I'm sorry if I gave the impression that I don't trust you. I trust you implicitly, believe me. And I won't allow you to give up. We *will* find a way out of here. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named must not continue to spy on Hogwarts! It's a dirty, nasty way to fight." She added, in disgust.
Snape cleared his throat meaningfully.
"Except when it's a necessary means to an end, employed justly, of course." She amended.
Snape grunted. McGonagall returned her attention to the window. Fawkes the phoenix could be seen, ruffling his feathers.
"The mirror in his office must be a spyglass." She mused. "How on earth did Albus not realise? Or any of us? You know more about the Dark Arts, and related magical devices, than any of us, Severus. Haven't you ever noticed anything odd about Albus' mirror?"
"Not particularly. I can't say I've looked at it much. I dislike mirrors. Mine addresses me very rudely."
"I'm not surprised, given how you look in the mornings." Muttered Minvera. "Surely," she said aloud, "that thing can't have been in Dumbledore's office for long? But I don't remember a new mirror being installed recently."
Snape didn't answer. He was frowning, concentrating deeply.
"Why does it have to be recent?" He said suddenly. "What if the spyglass was fitted years ago…decades ago…perhaps before Dumbledore became headmaster, even?"
"I suppose it's possible…but why? And why have the glass's receiving counterpart in the basement of a muggle house? That's the part that doesn't make sense."
"It's possible the Mont-Streppings chose this accommodation *because* it had the receiver already fitted. If this is the type of spyglass I think it is, the receiver is non-mobile…it's a very elderly model, but reasonably effective if nothing else if available. I think the enemy came across the glass serendipitously and decided to use it for their own ends."
"It's more likely than someone breaking in to Albus' office and fitting the device without him noticing. But who placed it there originally, and to what end?"
To McGonagall's surprise, a strange, almost wistful smile crossed her colleague's face.
"I think," he said softly, "that I can tell you *exactly* who placed the glass there, and why." He shook his head, frowning. "I can't believe I didn't realise immediately. The fall must have addled my brain."
"Well? What are you waiting for? Explain!"
Snape's smile returned. It wasn't the most pleasant of smiles - there was something mildly evil about it, McGonagall thought, as though Snape was indulging in thoughts he should be reprimanded for.
"That's Salazar Slytherin's spyglass." He said, with a definite smirk.
"It's…*what*?"
"A legend…and, I always thought, a myth. If you had read the History of Slytherin House, and Salazar's own memoirs …"
"That kind of literature does not appeal to me."
"If you had read that fascinating volume," Snape growled, ignoring her, "you would have found reference to the final argument between Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor, which led to Slytherin's leaving the school. The Serpent Spyglass is mentioned briefly along with the Chamber of Secrets. Before Slytherin left, he placed the glass in Gryffindor's office, so that he might continue to observe his onetime friend, and ensure that his students were treated properly."
"And in all these years, no one has noticed this?"
Snape's smirk faded.
"In all these years, no Slytherin has become headmaster or mistress of Hogwarts. Only someone from Slytherin House, who had risen to become head of the school, could use, or indeed even perceive, the glass."
"How very bizarre."
"Not really, when you consider how Salazar's mind worked. He really was rather peculiar…quite mad, in fact, at the end, but he never lost his profound intelligence. The Spyglass is a piece of art; a wonderful combination of Dark magic, cunning, and egotism. It is not merely a method of remote viewing; it is a portal, open only to Slytherin himself, and his potential, but sadly non-existent, successors at Hogwarts. "
"How charming." McGonagall muttered. "May I assume," she went on, "that Slytherin's Heir could also use the glass, for his own ends?"
"Unfortunately, that is likely to be the case. Doubtless the Dark Lord knows all about the Serpent Spyglass. He must have instructed those denizens of hell upstairs to buy this place, discreetly, so it could be used as a watching post. Merlin knows what He might have witnessed! It's almost as good as having a spy at Hogwarts - He must know everything. And what is far, far, worse - He may also know how to use the glass as a portal, giving him access to Dumbledore's office."
McGonagall, latching on to the word 'portal', looked eagerly at Snape.
"Is there any way *we* could use it?"
"It isn't a fireplace, Minerva, it doesn't work by floo powder." Snape told her condescendingly. "I have already explained that use of the Glass is extremely limited."
"Yes, I understand that, but surely there are ways around it…"
"Slytherin was far too clever. Besides, we have no wands. What magic could we hope to perform? There's nothing we can do from this cellar. Using the Glass to observe is one thing, but using it as a portal quite another - whatever spells existed to open it have long since been lost. Hopefully, The Dark Lord may not yet know how to operate the portal, if we assume that it has only recently been discovered. The Mont-Streppings have not been in this accommodation for long, after all. We can but hope that the Spyglass' full potential remains a mystery as yet to the enemy."
A/N But does it!? Find out in the next exciting instalment! Forgive the lack of action in this chapter, I was establishing a bit of plot…such as it is…please review and tell me what you think!
* By the way, re Minerva's 'You're secretly a woman?' line: couldn't resist this reference to Alastair McGowan's sketch 'Louis Potter and the Philosopher's Scone'. For anyone who didn't see this, it's a combination of HP and Louis Theroux, an investigative interviewer who is known for asking searching and often very personal questions, usually getting an answer. When Louis and his friends Nigella and Ron Robinson (a combination of Ron and Anne Robinson) are in Professor Alan Rickman's class, the professor says, 'I'm secretly a woman. (Gasp) So it's true!' He then proceeds to say his lines while drinking a glass of water :-) The great mystery Louis must solve is: why does Professor Alan Rickman speak without opening his mouth? (Answer: he's eaten the Philosopher's Scone, and it's lodged at the back of his throat. Ron Robinson gets him to sick it up by winking at him). Another great line from the start of the sketch was from Hagrid, meeting Louis and telling him he had been granted a place at Hogwarts school of witchcraft, wizardry and investigative interviewing, because Louis is so brilliant an interviewer: 'I'm gay…I shouldn't have told you that…' But the classic moment was when instead of Voldemort, Gary Lineker turned up on the back of Quirrel's head…
Minerva McGonagall opened her eyes slowly, painfully aware of her throbbing head, preparing herself for the blast of light which could only exacerbate the headache. She was alarmed to discover, however, that even when her eyes were fully open, she could see nothing. Nothing at all.
Merlin, I've gone blind! was her first horrified thought. Carefully she lifted a hand and waved it in front of her face. She thought she could just make out the hand's shape. Forcing herself to keep calm, she waited, and slowly her vision began to adjust to the gloom. So this was the Mont- Strepping's cellar. It was far from pleasant. Quite aside from the darkness, the air was damp and foul; it was extremely cold, and the floor beneath her was hard and dirty.
Minerva could make out objects leaning against the far wall - planks of wood, perhaps - a few boxes here and there, and the outline of what might be a window, though it appeared to be covered with something. No sign of Snape. With a slight groan she got to her knees and crawled forward.
"Severus? Severus!" She hissed, before remembering that there was no need for quiet. It wasn't as though they didn't want to be found. "Severus!" She said, more loudly. No response. McGonagall recalled the horrible crunching sound she had heard when her colleague had fallen through the trapdoor, and shivered.
She continued to move forward slowly, wondering whether it would be worth transfiguring to provide better night vision - but she decided against it, in case there was the remotest chance of the Mont-Streppings watching them. Instead she rose carefully to her feet, hands held out in front of her -she had no idea where the walls were, apart from the far wall which - she could now see - was very slightly illuminated with a minuscule amount of light from the edges of the blocked-out window. She moved towards the wall until her fingers brushed in, changed direction and began carefully to pace along it until she reached another wall, then followed that, trying to get a sense of the size of the room. From what she could calculate it was extremely small, more a little storage room than a cellar, probably no more than six feet by ten feet or so. She reached up, and found that the tips of her fingers could just about brush the ceiling. Her heart leapt for a moment before it occurred to her that the Mont-Streppngs would certainly have sealed the trapdoor by magic - escape would not be so simple as reaching up and opening it.
McGonagall was still walking forward as she examined her surroundings, and in the gloom had no chance of seeing the crumpled figure until she tripped over it. Dropping to her knees, McGonagall could vaguely see a shape lying on the floor before her, in the furthest corner of the room. Tentatively she reached out and prodded the motionless body gently. No response. Feeling nauseous, Minerva was debating whether to attempt first aid in the pitch darkness when it occurred to her that this was a muggle house, after all, and had electricity - surely there would be a light of some sort even down here?
Carefully stepping around her colleague, Minerva followed the wall until she came to the 'front', for lack of a better word, of the cellar. After some minutes of fruitless searching her left hand brushed against something - a sort of string dangling from the ceiling. Experimentally she gave it a tug - and to her relief, the tiny room was suddenly filled with light. She had to close her eyes against it for a moment, but as she did so, the relief increased a hundredfold, making her feel quite weak - a faint groaning was coming from the corner of the cellar!
"Severus…" still shielding her eyes McGonagall stumbled back to her colleague's side. He was awkwardly trying to pull himself to a sitting position.
"I thought you were dead!" She scolded, dropping to her knees beside him. "Keep still!"
"I need to get the weight off my arm…" Snape managed to gasp. McGonagall, seeing what he meant, decided not to argue, and with some effort managed to help him sit, or rather slump, against the wall, while she inspected the damage.
His right arm was badly broken - the bone was poking unpleasantly through the skin, and there was a fair amount of blood staining the sleeve of the vile beige jacket.
"Mont-Strepping will pay for this." Muttered Snape, darkly.
"Are you in a lot of pain?"
"I meant the jacket." Growled the potions master. "the hire shop will never have it back now. Blood is a devil to get out of clothing. I should know."
Minerva rolled her eyes but said nothing - gallows humour was simply Snape's way of pretending he wasn't in agony: the classic technique of covering up pain and fear with inappropriate wit. McGonagall had never found a need for that particular defence mechanism herself.
It was awkward bandaging Snape's arm - in the end, McGonagall carefully removed and tore up his jacket, making a sling of sorts. Snape sat silently, making no sound and barely flinching as she first snapped the bone back into place, then bound up the arm as best she could. That done, she settled herself against the wall beside her colleague.
"We do have a habit of ending up in these situations, don't we?" She sighed.
"Hm."
"I wonder what our charming hosts are up to."
"Hm."
"By the way, I did mean to ask…"
"Hm?"
"How you were able to drink so much wine - drugged wine at that - without any noticeable effect."
"No great mystery." Snape grunted. "I'm immune to most rudimentary, common potions - comes with the job, you might say."
"Being a potions master, or being a spy?"
He smirked a little.
"Both. And as to the wine…well…after drinking my special whisky for the last decade and a half, wine would hardly exert much of an influence on my faculties."
McGonagall shrugged.
"Pity you weren't drunk."
"Hm?"
"Well, it wouldn't have made a lot of difference - we'd still be stuck down here - and with your muscles relaxed, you might not have been hurt very much."
Snape flashed a brief glare.
"Are you implying that my attempts to save us were ineffectual?"
For answer, the deputy headmistress simply gestured with both hands, indicating the poky little room in which they were imprisoned.
"Yes, well…" Snape muttered, his sallow face flushing slightly. "You're always criticising me!" He growled, huddling down against the wall and closing his eyes.
"What are you doing, Severus?"
"Going to sleep. What else? I'm tired, I'm in pain and I've had to listen to the Mont-Streppings talking complete drivel all evening. I'm not in the mood for any more insipid conversation."
"Insipid!" McGonagall was offended. "Well!"
There was a brief silence. Then Snape murmured, reluctantly,
"Sorry."
McGonagall, though startled, merely harrumphed.
More silence. And then…
Ping!
The light without warning went out.
"What's happening?" McGonagall demanded.
"How should I know, woman?" There was a panicked edge to Snape's voice which Minerva hadn't heard very often…in fact she could only remember one occasion when he'd sounded so alarmed: during the werewolf incident in the Forbidden Forest, some time ago.
"Do you think the Mont-Streppings…"
"I don't know!"
For a few minutes the pair waited, tensely, for something terrible to happen. When nothing did, McGonagall allowed herself to relax, leaning back against the wall.
"I think perhaps the light is broken." She murmured. "Muggle lighting is hardly the most efficient of inventions. Perhaps it simply…burnt out, or something."
"Nonsense." Snape snapped. "What would be the point of that? You'd have to keep replacing them…and what if the light suddenly went out at an inconvenient moment, such as…when one was…sitting on the toilet, or…something…muggles surely can't be that useless!" He was speaking quickly and panting slightly between clauses. McGonagall could almost hear his heart thumping.
"What on earth are you drivelling about?" She asked, then, more gently, "are you all right?"
"You've spent this entire mission asking me that! Stop worrying about me and worry about what the Mont-Streppings are about to do to us…in the dark…when we can't see them creeping up on us…"
"Oh, Merlin. You're afraid of the dark, aren't you?"
"Certainly not!"
"Werewolves and the dark…any other phobias I should know about, Severus? Perhaps you're scared of bogeymen? Perhaps you wet the bed?" Her exasperation waned as she listened to his convulsive swallowing. She sighed. This was not going to be a fun evening.
"If…if you dare to tell anyone, anyone at all, about this…" Snape hissed out of the blackness.
"I won't. If you promise to tell me why you're afraid of the dark."
"I'm not."
"And I suppose you never wake up screaming with nightmares, either."
"No…oh. Damn! Only when I…"
"When you what?"
"Only at a particular time of the month."
"You're secretly a woman?"*
Snape glared at her.
"If I was a woman, Minerva, perhaps I would understand better your particular brand of 'compassion'. Since when did sympathy become synonymous with bitchiness?"
McGonagall bristled, but replied in a controlled voice,
"Since the person towards whom the sympathy is directed decided to be a stubborn idiot."
There was silence for a moment.
"Why *do* you only have nightmares at certain times?" McGonagall gave in eventually to her curiosity. "It hasn't got anything to do with the…er…full moon, has it?"
"My nightmares are *not* about…things. If you must know, I take a particularly strong form of dreamless sleep potion which, due to its mildly toxic ingredients, can only be taken once a month. Towards the end of the four-week period, the effects begin to wear off. It would be foolish to risk serious illness or death by overdosing."
Snape rattled all this off in a breath, then closed his eyes and tried to slump in a dignified manner. His attempt to fold his arms defensively, however, resulted in a sharp cry of pain.
"Oh, Severus!" McGonagall scolded, in an irritated voice which did not hide her concern. "Be careful."
He grunted.
"Severus…"
"Gods! Yes!?"
"Why are you afraid of the dark?"
"Why do you want to know?" He shot back.
"It's something to talk about. And it might take your mind off it."
"Talking about my fear of the dark is supposed to take my mind off my fear of the dark? Well, isn't that a wonderful piece of logic! Exactly what I've come to expect from a *Gryffindor*." He sneered.
"I know you're only lashing out at me because you're frightened and in pain…"
"Merlin's nose, the woman is a psychologist!"
"You're trying to put me off." Minerva scolded him impatiently, having had enough of his snide, snappish replies. "Is it some terribly embarrassing story? Come on, Severus, this is *me*. We've known each other for a very long time. I knew you when you were a little, neurotic, greasy brat. I've watched you grow into a tall, neurotic, greasy brat. And if you must know it, I'm not very happy with the situation either…I have a very bad feeling about all this. So I would welcome a little civilised conversation to make the hours pass more easily."
A protracted silence.
"Severus?"
A blatantly fake snore.
"You can't possibly be asleep. Not with your arm in that condition."
But Snape ignored her. Sighing, McGonagall gave up on the verbal attack and decided to attempt an alternative strategy. She inched closer to Snape, found his uninjured shoulder, and leaned carefully against it.
"What do you think you're doing?" The potions master growled.
"Making myself comfortable." She retorted. "If you won't talk to me, I may as well use you as a cushion."
"Please yourself." He grumbled. "But mind my arm."
"Mmm."
"Minerva?"
"Mm?"
"Are you going to sleep?"
"Yes…"
"Oh. All right."
"Unless you want to talk, of course…"
"No."
"Well, good night, then."
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Minerva?"
"Yes, Severus?" Something about the tone of his voice made her look up, though she could see nothing of his face in the gloom.
"The window." He had been staring desperately at the only sliver of light he could see - at the edge of what seemed to be a window frame.
"What about it? We can't possibly escape that way. Besides…"
"Why does a cellar have windows?"
"What? Oh…good grief!" McGonagall couldn't believe her lack of observation. But then, there were circumstances… "perhaps…" she began, then tailed off, unable to make a sensible sounding suggestion as to why an underground room needed windows. Snape got to his feet with much scrabbling and grunting.
"What are you doing?"
"Finding the 'window'. That's another point - must be dark outside. Why is there light filtering around the frame?"
Snape moved carefully along the wall, with McGonagall following, until he reached the object of their bewilderment. Reaching out, he ran his long fingers around the edge of the rectangle. Found something to grasp at and tugged. With some effort, the stuff covering the 'window' came off…
"Oh, my goodness." Minerva gasped weakly.
"Bloody hell." Agreed Snape, equally aghast.
They were looking through a two feet by three feet rectangular window into what was unmistakably Dumbledore's office. The headmaster was sitting at his desk, blithely sucking a sherbet lemon as he riffled through a pile of papers.
"Albus?" McGonagall exclaimed.
Dumbledore looked up, and walking straight towards them with a purposeful air, paused right in front of their gaping, astonished faces…it seemed they could reach out and touch him…then, to their amazement, Dumbledore simply straightened his hat, smoothed his beard, and strode out of view.
"What *is* this thing?" McGonagall demanded. Snape reached out as though to put his hand through the 'window'. It reached a solid surface, like glass. Making a fist he pounded on it. Nothing happened, except for a bolt of pain running up his arm.
"Ow…I don't know. Some sort of spyglass, I suppose."
"They're spying on us? The Death-Eaters are spying on us? They must know everything! All our plans…all about the mission…oh, Severus!"
"Well, don't look at me. I had no idea the Dark Lord's minions had a magical device of this kind. Much less than they'd planted it in Albus' office."
"Who planted it?" McGonagall wanted to know. "Who could have sufficient access to the headmaster's office?"
Something in her tone nettled Snape.
"Are you making some sort of insinuation? Why not just come out and ask me if I'm working for He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, McGonagall? That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"
"Don't be silly. I meant nothing of the kind. If Albus considers you trustworthy, who am I to disagree?"
"Aha! If *Albus* thinks so. You don't consider me trustworthy yourself, then?"
"I didn't say that…why are we arguing about this *now*? We need to get out of here and warn Albus!"
"And just how are we supposed to do that? We're trapped in a magical cellar with the Mont-Streppings cavorting above us. Any time now a band of Death Eaters will be here to take us off and torture us before putting us to death."
"What a very defeatist attitude!"
"There's little point in holding any other kind! If one is an eternal pessimist one cannot be disappointed!"
"Why are you so peculiar?" McGonagall sighed, wearily. She laid a hand on his good arm. "Severus, I'm sorry if I gave the impression that I don't trust you. I trust you implicitly, believe me. And I won't allow you to give up. We *will* find a way out of here. He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named must not continue to spy on Hogwarts! It's a dirty, nasty way to fight." She added, in disgust.
Snape cleared his throat meaningfully.
"Except when it's a necessary means to an end, employed justly, of course." She amended.
Snape grunted. McGonagall returned her attention to the window. Fawkes the phoenix could be seen, ruffling his feathers.
"The mirror in his office must be a spyglass." She mused. "How on earth did Albus not realise? Or any of us? You know more about the Dark Arts, and related magical devices, than any of us, Severus. Haven't you ever noticed anything odd about Albus' mirror?"
"Not particularly. I can't say I've looked at it much. I dislike mirrors. Mine addresses me very rudely."
"I'm not surprised, given how you look in the mornings." Muttered Minvera. "Surely," she said aloud, "that thing can't have been in Dumbledore's office for long? But I don't remember a new mirror being installed recently."
Snape didn't answer. He was frowning, concentrating deeply.
"Why does it have to be recent?" He said suddenly. "What if the spyglass was fitted years ago…decades ago…perhaps before Dumbledore became headmaster, even?"
"I suppose it's possible…but why? And why have the glass's receiving counterpart in the basement of a muggle house? That's the part that doesn't make sense."
"It's possible the Mont-Streppings chose this accommodation *because* it had the receiver already fitted. If this is the type of spyglass I think it is, the receiver is non-mobile…it's a very elderly model, but reasonably effective if nothing else if available. I think the enemy came across the glass serendipitously and decided to use it for their own ends."
"It's more likely than someone breaking in to Albus' office and fitting the device without him noticing. But who placed it there originally, and to what end?"
To McGonagall's surprise, a strange, almost wistful smile crossed her colleague's face.
"I think," he said softly, "that I can tell you *exactly* who placed the glass there, and why." He shook his head, frowning. "I can't believe I didn't realise immediately. The fall must have addled my brain."
"Well? What are you waiting for? Explain!"
Snape's smile returned. It wasn't the most pleasant of smiles - there was something mildly evil about it, McGonagall thought, as though Snape was indulging in thoughts he should be reprimanded for.
"That's Salazar Slytherin's spyglass." He said, with a definite smirk.
"It's…*what*?"
"A legend…and, I always thought, a myth. If you had read the History of Slytherin House, and Salazar's own memoirs …"
"That kind of literature does not appeal to me."
"If you had read that fascinating volume," Snape growled, ignoring her, "you would have found reference to the final argument between Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor, which led to Slytherin's leaving the school. The Serpent Spyglass is mentioned briefly along with the Chamber of Secrets. Before Slytherin left, he placed the glass in Gryffindor's office, so that he might continue to observe his onetime friend, and ensure that his students were treated properly."
"And in all these years, no one has noticed this?"
Snape's smirk faded.
"In all these years, no Slytherin has become headmaster or mistress of Hogwarts. Only someone from Slytherin House, who had risen to become head of the school, could use, or indeed even perceive, the glass."
"How very bizarre."
"Not really, when you consider how Salazar's mind worked. He really was rather peculiar…quite mad, in fact, at the end, but he never lost his profound intelligence. The Spyglass is a piece of art; a wonderful combination of Dark magic, cunning, and egotism. It is not merely a method of remote viewing; it is a portal, open only to Slytherin himself, and his potential, but sadly non-existent, successors at Hogwarts. "
"How charming." McGonagall muttered. "May I assume," she went on, "that Slytherin's Heir could also use the glass, for his own ends?"
"Unfortunately, that is likely to be the case. Doubtless the Dark Lord knows all about the Serpent Spyglass. He must have instructed those denizens of hell upstairs to buy this place, discreetly, so it could be used as a watching post. Merlin knows what He might have witnessed! It's almost as good as having a spy at Hogwarts - He must know everything. And what is far, far, worse - He may also know how to use the glass as a portal, giving him access to Dumbledore's office."
McGonagall, latching on to the word 'portal', looked eagerly at Snape.
"Is there any way *we* could use it?"
"It isn't a fireplace, Minerva, it doesn't work by floo powder." Snape told her condescendingly. "I have already explained that use of the Glass is extremely limited."
"Yes, I understand that, but surely there are ways around it…"
"Slytherin was far too clever. Besides, we have no wands. What magic could we hope to perform? There's nothing we can do from this cellar. Using the Glass to observe is one thing, but using it as a portal quite another - whatever spells existed to open it have long since been lost. Hopefully, The Dark Lord may not yet know how to operate the portal, if we assume that it has only recently been discovered. The Mont-Streppings have not been in this accommodation for long, after all. We can but hope that the Spyglass' full potential remains a mystery as yet to the enemy."
A/N But does it!? Find out in the next exciting instalment! Forgive the lack of action in this chapter, I was establishing a bit of plot…such as it is…please review and tell me what you think!
* By the way, re Minerva's 'You're secretly a woman?' line: couldn't resist this reference to Alastair McGowan's sketch 'Louis Potter and the Philosopher's Scone'. For anyone who didn't see this, it's a combination of HP and Louis Theroux, an investigative interviewer who is known for asking searching and often very personal questions, usually getting an answer. When Louis and his friends Nigella and Ron Robinson (a combination of Ron and Anne Robinson) are in Professor Alan Rickman's class, the professor says, 'I'm secretly a woman. (Gasp) So it's true!' He then proceeds to say his lines while drinking a glass of water :-) The great mystery Louis must solve is: why does Professor Alan Rickman speak without opening his mouth? (Answer: he's eaten the Philosopher's Scone, and it's lodged at the back of his throat. Ron Robinson gets him to sick it up by winking at him). Another great line from the start of the sketch was from Hagrid, meeting Louis and telling him he had been granted a place at Hogwarts school of witchcraft, wizardry and investigative interviewing, because Louis is so brilliant an interviewer: 'I'm gay…I shouldn't have told you that…' But the classic moment was when instead of Voldemort, Gary Lineker turned up on the back of Quirrel's head…