She sat through lunch, barely tasting the veal and potatoes, but then somewhat regretting the heavy fare, as it sat in a leaden lump in her stomach. Perhaps it wasn't only the food. The reality was crystallizing in her mind instead of the vague notion it had been before. It would come to the battle for the wizarding world, and many would die. Many. Perhaps Aylmeri sitting next to her, or Minerva wearily looking over the frightened students, Oliver Rathbone at the table as Head Boy, herself, or...Severus.
Could she stand that? There was always a terrible price to be paid for freedom. Widows and orphans left in the trail of wreckage, families torn beyond repair. But it had never affected her before...the danger had never been so near. And she had never before had someone that it would hurt so much to lose. Severus glanced towards her, perhaps thinking the same to judge from the lines of worry creasing his face, and gave her a quick smile, hidden almost before it was there.
She took a good swallow of coffee, grateful for the jolt it gave her. The last few days had been so wearying that she wasn't sure that she could stay awake on her own power. Idly she added a lump of sugar to it for a slight additional rush, remembering for a moment Albus Dumbledore's weakness for sweets and blinking back as-yet unshed tears. Business first. Then the grief.
"Where were you yesterday?" She blinked, looking to see where the question had come from. Persephone Sprout, it seemed, poison-green eyes guileless and worried.
"Well...that is..." she fumbled, unsure if she should reveal it now. "It's sort of...I imagine it'll come up at the meeting?" She gave a sheepish smile, apology written openly in her countenance.
The older witch shrugged philosophically and took it well. Such was Hufflepuff nature. Hermione ate as fast as she could, trying to not show her unease. It seemed a hundred years before they left the Great Hall, and she hurried towards the dungeons, turning over the future in her head again and again, trying to think of something to say.
Severus watched Hermione hurry out and followed at a slightly more leisurely pace beside Minerva. "I assume you will want to bring up our knowledge of the Dark Lord's activities?" he murmured, avoiding a crowd of first-years.
Minerva sighed and gave him a sympathetic look, knowing what he was asking in addition. "I'm afraid I shall have to tell them about your past, Severus. They won't believe what you know of him otherwise..."
"They won't believe a word from me after you tell them," he returned dryly. "After all, I just might turn traitor again, isn't that right?" The sting of years of disdain, and even Minerva's tacit mistrust, lent an edge to his tone. Slytherins. Never turn your back on them.
She turned to him, eyes blazing. "You've pitied yourself for long enough, Severus Snape. There is something much greater at stake than your reputation, and if you're truly so frightened that you're not willing to risk that in order to win this, I think Albus must have seen something that wasn't..." she abruptly cut off.
He forced himself to calm, knowing that she said it not out of malice, but fear. For Heaven's sake, she looked mere inches from the breaking point. It was not a time to bring up House politics and relations. "I am willing to do what I must to win this. I only say so to warn you that I don't think they'll just shrug and say 'All right, so let's listen to the Death Eater.' Once you've been the enemy, they never trust you." The next words spilled out before he could help himself. "I found that out in grade school, Minerva. Six years old and I was 'the enemy'. I was 'the enemy' when I came here and became Slytherin! So don't tell me how it is!" He quickened his pace, realizing that he had said too much.
As he reached the door of the lecture room, he felt the fleeting touch of a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry for the past. And I know…I know that I wronged you when it came to Sirius Black..."
"Never mind it," he said curtly. Somehow, its sting was lessened. Maybe it was the thought that while Gryffindors had tortured him and made his youth a living hell, a Gryffindor now looked at him with all the love in the world in her eyes and never thought of him as Dark or Slytherin or a Death Eater; just a man.
"No, it's not all right…" Minerva stopped and leaned back against a stone wall, arms crossed almost protectively over her chest, hardly daring to look up at him. "I was engaged once, before I met Diaramuid, did you know?"
"No."
"You know how young romances are here," she went on, looking over his shoulder as if staring beyond in some memory, voice almost trance-like. "He had asked me to a Yule Ball our fourth year and from then on, we were always together. Dippet called us his two brightest stars of the year, so it was no surprise when we became prefects together, and then Head Boy and Girl…" He had been from another House, then. Diaramuid McGonagall was a Ravenclaw. Funny that she hadn't married a Gryffindor.
"He was everything I thought I wanted. Charming, brilliant, sweet, ambitious: I agreed to marry him at the end of sixth year. After graduation, he told me about his plans for the future. And my place in them. At that…" She looked up and met his eyes, and there were wounds of the soul still gaping open, he could tell. "Well, my plans to become Minerva Riddle went flying out the window. Riddle indeed…I certainly hadn't solved out who he really was. He had me fooled. He had us all fooled, except for Albus…"
He was speechless for the second time in only a few days. Prim, perfect Minerva McGonagall in love with a young Lord Voldemort? Good God. This truly was becoming a time of surprises.
"Let me just say that after that little four years' deception from Tom, I said I'd never believe in a Slytherin again, especially once I saw what he did with his life. And I was deeply bitter towards all of you when you were in school. You caught the worst of me when I was determined to not believe that Black could do such a thing, despite what Lupin had to say, and Potter...I'm afraid I may have colored the Gryffindors with my own bias…my folly." Unspoken was that she had helped contribute to the Slytherins' alienation and helped drive them to Voldemort's ranks. The knowledge of guilt for past sins weighed upon both of them.
He nodded slowly. "And now?" he queried, deliberately casual.
"I trust you." The three simple words said everything. "Is he truly as bad as…" She hesitated, obviously remembering the boy she had laughed with and loved so many years ago.
"Worse," he said grimly. "Much as you hate the Ministry, that's just sheer bungling, willful blindness and stupidity for the most part. He is evil, in its purest form." Something stirred at the back of his mind as he mentioned the Ministry. "Damn! He mentioned something else last night. His spy at the Ministry who betrayed Dumbledore…Haverforth!"
"What?" Minerva stared at him. "Liam Haverforth?"
"Yes."
Anger flared in her eyes at the betrayal of one of her own Gryffindors. Then something snuffed it, like a candle blown out. "What can we do about it?" she said in an almost lifeless tone. "Gwalch won't listen to a damned word we say to warn him. Not until Liam's betrayed every last one of them will he believe it. And we thought Fudge was terrible…"
"Well we can't just let the damned man sit there all smug and kill off any sort of allies we might gain!"
"So what do you suggest? Send someone to kill him?"
He turned the idea around in his mind, like a man rubbing a water-smoothed pebble in his hand. "That's not such a bad idea. Eliminates the threat, and sends a message to Voldemort that we do mean to stand against him. It has to be done, and if Gwalch won't, we must."
"Well…" He could see how awkward she felt with such tactics. Gryffindors were brave, foolishly so, but it was often misdirected. They'd send out a suicidal Charge of the Light Brigade when a bit of simple Swamp-Fox bushwhacking would triumph. They had no sense of the often-underhanded things needed to win a war, particularly when the enemy had no scruples whatsoever. Nobility had to get shot to hell, and fast. She seemed to be realizing that.
"We've been trying to kill Death Eaters before, Minerva. He's one of them." It felt odd to be asked for strategy: leading this fight was one of the last things he wanted. It seemed Minerva had declared him for it, though.
"Yes, but who do you suggest we send?" she said in barely more than a whisper. Unspoken was the cold question of, Who can we sacrifice if it goes wrong?
They both barely heard the reply of, "I will." Severus turned on his heel to see the Boy Who Lived standing there, curious determination written openly in his face.
"Harry," Minerva said, shaking her head, "you can't; it's too…"
"Too risky?" His voice rose, his tone becoming incredulous. "How is it that I am too valuable to risk? Who the hell's been risking their hides day by day to fight for the past years? It wasn't me!" The self-loathing roiling inside him was all too obvious in the bitterness of his words. "I have to do something. Let me do this. Let me do something. I couldn't stand being here swaddled in cotton wool, dammit, my every move guarded until I could be turned loose on Voldemort!"
That wasn't quite the way of it, but trying to interrupt the young man was pointless. He could tell. Let him rant it out. Minerva's jaw was squarely set, though. "Oh, aye? And if we turn you loose to hunt down Mister Haverforth, what guarantee have we that you won't be so filled with this anger that you won't bungle it and lose us a valuable fighter?"
A crooked smile. "I'll do it. You know when I have my mind set to something I'll do it and do it well. I was your youngest and best Seeker because I wanted it. I want this." There were a few beats of silence as they merely looked at the short young man with fire in his green eyes. "I'm going after him, with or without your go-ahead. He's betrayed the Code of Conduct, he's betrayed Hogwarts, he's betrayed Gryffindor, and as you two said, he has to be stopped."
Minerva sighed. "Then go. But for the love of God, come back."
"I survived Voldemort himself my fourth year. One of his slimy little minions won't take me down," Harry replied, and Severus could almost smile this time at the Potter arrogance in it. "Now, we have a meeting." He brushed past the two of them and went into the lecture room, shoulders set, head carried high.
"Always was willful," Minerva said with a half-smile. "I think we have him back, Severus."
He nodded, rather relieved himself. He followed Minerva into the lecture room and stopped short to see that it was nearly full. Not only with Hogwarts' staff, but with wizards and witches from every corner of the globe. There sat Sherlock and Irene Holmes, John Watson with them. Remus Lupin was present. Hagrid and Madame Maxime on behalf of the giants sat near the back. Apparently Minerva had been busy yesterday sending out the rallying cry to anyone and everyone who would stand with them. In all, there were thirty-four souls present from outside Hogwarts. Still less than Voldemort's forces, but he began to hope. After all, some of them were only here to represent an entire group…
Minerva cleared her throat and stepped in front of them, beginning to speak as she gestured them to their seats. He sat down beside Hermione, barely aware of her hand brushing surreptitiously against his for a moment.
He tensed when she began to reveal the role he and Hermione had played in the war, and closed his eyes, waiting for the condemnation to rain down when she spoke of him playing the same role twenty years before. After a little jaunt as a Death Eater, of course. There were gasps and he heard a distinct cry of "I knew it!" from somewhere in the crowd. He felt himself flinch, unable to deny or defend. He heard Hermione faintly whispering to him to take courage.
Minerva quickly hushed them by speaking of his heroism this time around and a lump formed in his throat when she almost defiantly said, "He and Hermione Granger have done much for this cause; more than anyone else here can claim. I would trust them with my life." There were no murmurs of resentment after that.
Minerva concluded by explaining what steps were to be taken and pleading for their aid. In all, it was a rather good job of stirring the warrior in the hearts of the masses, even if some of her words bordered on the melodramatic. He breathed a sigh of relief when it was over and they were all filing out. Prayed that revealing his sordid youth hadn't ruined Minerva's case. The damage, though, was done. He was certain of it. He spied Sirius Black and averted his eyes. The last thing he wanted to hear about was Black's gloating about how he had known about Snape's Death Eater past all along.
To his surprise Black nodded to him, nonchalant and nearly amiable. Things have changed, he thought in a daze. House elves were dashing around frantically in the halls, obviously making accommodations ready for those who would be staying with them. He only hoped some would stay and fight. He sauntered towards the dungeons, passing Harry Potter on the way, looking almost ready to be ill. Apparently he wasn't quite as resolved as he had given the impression of.
"Potter!" he called, and Harry's head jerked up. "Take care." He almost enjoyed the young man's surprised expression and added over his shoulder, "See you at dinner."
He went to his rooms and was comfortable before the fire with a volume of Ovid when Hermione came through the fireplace, dusting the Floo powder off her robes. "Severus," she said, sitting down on the arm of his chair almost casually. "Doing all right?"
"Be thankful that none of them smuggled in rotten tomatoes," he sighed. "After all, once branded, you're forever a Death Eater…" Almost unconsciously his fingers crept to the Dark Mark, like perversely probing at an old wound to see if it's truly healed. The strange fear of being cornered, trapped by his past sins finally caught up with him still pervaded his senses. A hundred and fifty years of life left, and always the hiss of "Death Eater" would be ringing in his ears. Never forgiven, never forgotten. Why had he let Minerva tell?
To his surprise, she gently removed his hand and then tugged up the sleeve of his robe, murmuring, "Let me see it." She unbuttoned his shirt cuff, and he wondered if it was of some freakish curiosity that she wanted to see it. Carefully she pushed it back and laid the Mark bare. He never rolled up his sleeves, even in making Potions. And yet here he was, exposing his darkest flaw, his deepest fear, to her.
He felt the touch of her fingertips on it and jerked his arm back as though he had just been burnt. "I don't want you touching it!"
She reached a hand out and touched his cheek. "I touched it two nights ago," she murmured quietly. "It felt no different, Severus…" He had been too caught up in the headiness of kissing her, touching her, making love to her, to notice. He saw the hurt in her eyes that he hadn't trusted her. Damn. Going to chase her away, too? The joy of her loving him came crashing down and he realized that merely existing wasn't going to keep it going. He'd have to work at this. Starting now.
He forced himself to relax as she ran her fingers over the Mark, and he could have sworn a tear or two prickled in his eyes when she leaned down and kissed it. She truly accepted his past, accepted him. Had journeyed into the center of the nightmare with him and clung stubbornly to him still. At that moment it didn't matter whether those present at the meeting forgave his past or not.
As if reading his thoughts, she murmured, "I forgave it long ago, Severus. Now do you think you can stop beating up on yourself long enough to kiss me?"
He smiled and leaned forward, his lips meeting hers. He kissed her long and slow, putting every ounce of everything good she saw in him into it. But it wasn't enough, despite his intents to leave her untouched until they had married again. She was his wife, after all, and there was no shame in that. If he were honest, half his refusal before had been fear of being before her, completely exposed and in the light. The darkness had been well enough: he could hide in it, as he had hidden for years. A creature of shadows couldn't stand the light, or so he had thought. Breaking the kiss long enough to scoop her into his arms, he whispered, "Once more before we quit?" and smiled at her nod, carrying her to his bed.
He wasn't thinking of the Mark when he began to touch her, seeing the light in her eyes to chase the shadows away, not even embarrassed at how clumsy he must still be. He wasn't thinking of the darkness when he noticed with pleasure the contrast between the silken feel of her skin under his lips and the wool of her robes under his hands. He wasn't thinking of Voldemort's cold voice when her mouth settled over his and sent them both spiraling down into the warmth of desire. And by the time he found himself with her in his arms, eyes locked with no secrets or barriers between them, he couldn't even muster himself to think at all except to send thanks to God for how he had been blessed.
Much later, when they went down to dinner, after noticing Potter's somewhat faraway stare present, he took a count of those sitting at the fifth table brought into the Great Hall and couldn't help for a moment the wide grin breaking out over his face. Thirty-four.