A/N: "Not everything about a man could change in fifty years…could it?" (insert Evil Laugh here)
A/N: Severus—I hate you! Even though I'm writing you! You evil bastard!
Chapter Four: 1995
When Minerva was a little girl—very little, not even old enough to know about Hogwarts yet—she and her Muggle family had lived in a little house in the countryside. Well, actually, it was not very far from a large city, but they could not see the city for a wing of the forest that was splayed out to the west of the house, and to the east, it was all pasture to the horizon line. So they lived out in the country.
In the summer, thunderstorms would come upon the house quickly, hiding behind the trees of the western forest until they were nearly upon the house. Minerva vividly remembered the sudden framing of lush green trees by a purple and forbidding sky, the stark forks of lightning as they struck the fields roundabout, the rumble of thunder so close it would shake the little house to its very foundations.
Whenever a storm of this magnitude came up—and to the little girl's imagination Minerva possessed, nearly all the storms were of this magnitude—the electricity would go out. Invariably.
Dad would complain loudly and get on the telephone to give the electricity plant in the city a piece of his mind, Mum would light candles and then declare a "special occasion" dinner to cheer Minerva up after the storm was over, but still, Minerva was terrified whenever the lights went out. The house became dark, forbidding, defined in shafts of flickering light from Mum's candles and gray storm light from the windows.
Sometimes the electricity would flicker. On, off. On, off.
Sometimes the electricity would go off in advance of the storm, giving them a fair ten minutes' warning.
"Yes, Severus," said Professor Minerva McGonagall, "I know what this feels like."
Severus looked at her wonderingly, and went back to examining the items on his classroom desk.
* * *
"The question," Severus said, picking up a digital wristwatch that Dumbledore had brought back with him from London, "is not so much what is happening as it is how Voldemort has managed to enchant the castle."
Minerva gave him a sidewise glance. She had long held the suspicion that Severus was in fact a double agent for Dumbledore—playing the part of the prodigal Death Eater who had returned home to his Master. She returned her eyes to her work before Snape could see her questioning gaze. It was probably for the best if she didn't know.
They worked in silence for the next few minutes, Minerva with her Dark detectors, Severus with his Muggle technology.
"It seems inconceivable that he would be able to sneak inside—especially now that the tunnels are blocked."
"The tunnels we know about," Minerva pointed out. More for conversation than for any other reason. It had been one week since Albus had discovered the anti-Apparition spells were gone. Six days since they had discovered that the spells were back in place. Two since they had discovered the spells gone again.
Three hours since they had discovered the spells back in place. For all the terror these magical flickerings inspired, Minerva was beginning to find them a bit annoying. Severus would probably have a psychological pronouncement to make on that if she voiced it out loud; she kept it, wisely, to herself.
And they worked. Albus had given them the rather nebulous goal of being able to ascertain when the spells—and which spells—on the castle were present and absent. The only way to test anti-Apparition charms, of course, was to attempt to Apparate, and hope you didn't end up splinching yourself in the process. There were, thankfully, practical tests for the other spells guarding the school, and Minerva had a hunch that they might be flickering along with the anti-Apparition defense.
Muggle-technology inhibitors, for instance.
The rest of the faculty had been called back from summer hiatus as soon as the problem had been spotted, of course, but as the other teachers were spread far and wide on their vacations, Dumbledore still awaited return owls from most. Flitwick spent most of his time out inspecting various charms on the school gates and the boundary with the Forbidden Forest.
That left two qualified teachers to see to the rest.
Minerva could barely contain her joy.
Severus had actually been remarkably self-contained in the past week, Minerva reflected, though she sensed tension in him whenever they were working together. She hazarded another glance up at him—he was hunched over the desk, deeply immersed in the inner workings of an electric torch. He turned the open body-cylinder upside down over the work surface, watching as two large batteries fell out with respective thunks. Now he held the lightbulb, a frown of concentration creasing his forehead. Minerva had to hold in a chuckle—Severus was not Muggle-born, she had known this; but somehow she couldn't believe he hadn't run by such simple technology as this during his time in school. He'd certainly gotten into everything else imaginable…He had been, in his own way, worse than James Potter's posse…
But always a good student. Enthusiastic—you didn't find that often in Transfiguration, easily the hardest of Hogwarts' core subjects and the class most people simply tried to pass and be done with. She had always secretly favored Severus over most of the rest of his classmates…
And he'd fallen to the Death Eaters.
Minerva went back to her own work, that of fixing up several small sneakoscopes for placement by each of the Muggle artifacts. It was dull work, really, but necessary and time-filling.
"It's a shame Alastor declined," Severus said, the only break in silence for several minutes.
Minerva nodded, using her wand to adjust the range to maximum on her last sneakoscope. "You really can't blame the poor man, though. He's been through hell…and back."
"Several times, I would think, with his life."
"All the same, I know what you mean," Minerva continued. "I would feel much safer if Alastor Moody were present. He has so much experience with the Dark wizards, being an Auror…"
She trailed off. Minerva McGonagall took pride in the fact that she never prattled on beyond the limits of necessity…normally.
Severus took up the line of conversation. "Dumbledore remains. The castle is safe—as safe as it could ever be—as long as Professor Dumbledore remains."
Minerva did not respond—no response was really necessary. They lapsed into silence, she and Severus finishing inspecting the last few Muggle artifacts and finding them in good working order. Except that they could not work because of Hogwarts' magic.
Usually.
Now all that remained of this phase in the plan was to coordinate the sneakoscopes together—a sort of network, centered on the one large specimen that Minerva held in front of her now. This venerable Dark detector was larger than a fishbowl, and Minerva fervently hoped she would never be around it when it lit up.
Severus cleared his throat. Minerva glanced up at him again.
"It is," he said, checking his wristwatch, "time for noon meal. I believe the rest"—he indicated, with a sweeping gesture, the desk surface strewn with their various projects—"can be saved for this afternoon?"
Minerva narrowly avoided an outward groan. Now he was suggesting a joint lunch. And she was stuck—it would look silly, not to mention unprofessional, to decline now, and she and he both knew it. Damn him, anyway.
"I was beginning to get a bit hungry myself," she answered in a voice that wasn't too fake in its friendliness—or too personal. She smiled. "Shall we?"
They left the dungeon workroom, Severus taking extra care to lock his door as they exited.
* * *
Days came, and went, without any special occurrences. July faded imperceptibly into August, which beat down upon the castle grounds with an intensity rivaled only by the faculty's own concentration on the problem of the defense charms. By and by the rest of the teachers trickled in, by train or broom or Apparition—though not so much now; the flickerings (or blackouts, as the faculty had taken to calling them) seemed to be getting further between and shorter. Albus came, and went, and always brought news—Fudge had done this, Fudge had said this at such and such function, the Head Auror had declined to comment…it appeared that perhaps Fudge was, after all, doing something quietly to build up the magical world's defenses against Voldemort.
Maybe.
As Hagrid had said—rather loudly, having had a third glass of wine—over dinner one day when Albus was gone, "Fudge—don't trust 'im, never have, never will. He's the kin' that'd put an innocent man in jail rather 'an fin' the real culprit—what'll 'e do now there's a real villain runnin' around?"
A sober—for most—silence had followed this speech, broken by uncomfortable rustlings of fabric and clinks of metal silverware on china. Hagrid pushed back from the high table and stood to leave, perhaps sensing he'd spoken beyond the normal bounds of politeness. Minerva had continued to sit, poking at her pudding with her fork, contemplating this speech—which had probably, if her experience rang true to life, been accurate. She had noticed Severus quietly slip out of his chair and follow Hagrid from the Great Hall. They worked together every day after that, but Minerva never questioned him, and Severus never mentioned it.
The sneakoscopes weren't working. Minerva and the other teachers routinely checked the twenty or so Muggle items that were placed around the castle. Whenever the anti-Apparition charms were gone, the technology did indeed function. But the maximum-range sneakoscopes never detected an untrustworthy presence—whoever was doing this to the school was doing it from the outside. Or he wasn't untrustworthy, which was unlikely, considering he was opening the school to Dark attacks.
Or, he had such powerful magic he could shut the sneakoscopes down. This was a distinct possibility Minerva and Severus had discussed with Albus, who had pointed out that a Dark wizard with power like Voldemort and his Death Eaters would certainly have better things to do inside Hogwarts than turn a few spells on and off. All three had left the meeting perplexed—even Dumbledore, unless Minerva had misread the expression in those normally twinkling gray eyes. The very thought of Albus Dumbledore not knowing what to do, not even having the slightest idea of what was happening, was frightening to Minerva.
It was at this time that details of security trolls began appearing in dark and out-of-the-way corridors.
Albus trusted Severus.
In fact, the only time the large fishbowl-sized sneakoscope Minerva had been diligently working on did light up was after it had been disconnected from its magical network. Minerva was locking up her office for the evening, ready to take a nice, long, hot bath after a day of both fifth-year OWL prep planning and her watch on the Muggle technology—working again; she'd Apparated up to the Astronomy tower just to test it for sure and accidentally appeared in the middle of Professor Sinistra's large, spherical model of the galaxy, with magical stars like pinpoints of light all around her. She'd extricated herself without much trouble, though she'd taken a fair amount of time to make sure she didn't break anything in the very expensive model. She Apparated back down to her office and recorded the blackout on her calendar, then Apparated again to inform Albus.
Now it was time to lock up. Minerva had just inserted the large key into the lock on her office door when she heard soft breathing behind her. She whirled around immediately and discovered a slightly startled Professor Snape looking at her. Faint smile on his face.
Damn.
"Good evening, Severus," Minerva said politely, turning the key and placing the extra charm on the door to render it impervious to alohomora. "I trust you are turning in soon?" Minerva winced as soon as she'd said it, and she could tell Severus had noticed—way too personal there.
"As a matter of fact," Snape began, giving her another faint smile, "I thought you might accompany me to the library. There is a certain…book I am looking for, and Madam Pince has never heard of it."
A book Madam Pince had never heard of?
"Exactly what book is this?" Minerva began, but was drowned out by a sudden clamor from behind her closed office door. She quickly undid the charm, unlocked the door with a hurried alohomora, and opened it. The shrill sounds doubled—tripled—in volume and Minerva clamped her hands to her ears. She saw Severus do the same out of the corner of her eye. It was the giant sneakoscope which had been sitting on her desk; now it was whirling and giving off shrieks and whistles to wake the dead…(with Peeves and Binns and the other castle ghosts around, that wasn't an idle phrase). Minerva closed the door and locked it again hurriedly, and began pushing Severus down the hallway.
"Minerva—what—" he stammered out as soon as they had proper function of their ears back again.
"It was whistling for you," she hissed back. "You told me a lie, and the sneakoscope picked up on it—now, Professor Snape, what did you come to ask me?"
"In all truth," he said, looking irritated, "I came to ask you to help me find a certain book." He looked at her hand, still resting on his shoulder from where she had been pushing him ahead of her. Minerva quickly removed it. "I bid you good night, Professor," he said, whirling and storming toward the dungeons. Gods, if that didn't bring back memories…
A faint sound of whistles and shrieks behind Minerva abruptly quit.
Albus trusted Severus.
Her private rooms were at the base of Gryffindor Tower, not far from the corridor where the Fat Lady in her portrait presided over the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. Minerva let herself in, lit the candles along the walls, and drew herself a bath in her tub. As she sank into the warm, frothy water, Minerva allowed herself to relax. At last. A warm bath, flickering candles, faint dusky light coming in the window from the still-gray western horizon, all her work for the day complete…
…the school still in danger…
Stop it. Just stop it. You're doing all you can, she felt like telling herself, but that was what she told herself twenty times daily, and yet she could not shake this nagging feeling. Minerva had considered going to Albus with her concerns, but she knew he would say the same things her rational mind told her conscience—there was no way she could have known, fifty years ago…
Add to this her concerns about Severus.
But Dumbledore trusted Severus. And Minerva should too.
Probably.
Minerva sighed—"on top of everything", eh? Yes, this was turning out to be mostly accurate. Hogwarts, Voldemort, Fudge, Severus…
One thing she knew, which was alternately repulsive and comforting to her. That was that, whatever might happen, their enemy was someone she knew. Very well, in fact. His strengths. His weaknesses. Maybe he'd changed, but not everything about a man could change in fifty years…could it? Minerva was probably the best person to have working in the resistance.
In the 'psychology' parts, of course…
She winced. MmHm. Right back to this little turn in the road…
What's a girl to do? Minerva thought again, this time letting a laugh escape her lips. What, indeed.
* * *
The summer's heat, not yet dissipated by the setting of the sun, keeps her from shivering as she moves from the bath to her bedroom. Dusk is fading now—it must be horribly late, she thinks as she moves to her bed—and she lies down to what she expects to be dreamless sleep. The deep blackness of her dresser mirror her last glimpse of the waking world as she is pulled irresistibly under the covers by waves of drowsiness…
Images swim and collide in the brain. Neurons flash and spark, lighting the darkness and darkening the light. Dreams come and go, forgotten…
And a face appears. A child, a boy-child, sixteen, pale, dark hair, face a perfect marble statue under shadows of black hair and blacker eyes. The marble cracks into a smile.
Slight.
"Hello, sweet," he whispers again, reaching out a hand to touch
* * *