DISCLAIMER: The characters, locations, and most situations are not mine. I've made no money from writing this, I want no money for writing this.
IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well. I never planned on making this longer, as you can obviously tell from the length of time it took for this update. However, now that I've finished it, I'm going to start posting once or twice a week until it's all up. It's about 5-7 parts, and will be AU starting in the next chapter. There might be a bit of a break when I go back to school, but not for long, so that's neither here nor there.
RESPONSES TO REVIEWS:
Severinus, Bipolar Girl, Ari, LinZE, Nebula Zirconia, alatariel-aldarion, WayStone, hawaii5063, Rosaleen, Elizabeth in April, Cal, Alex, Nameless, Grym, stocktonwood, lilyqueen777: Thank you!
Lorelei Lupin: Thanks... Yes, you're probably right, I did beat that dead horse a bit. I figured they were all so worked up that McGonagall and Dumbledore would indulge Snape and Snape wouldn't protest the indulgence.
Fennel: No worries, there's nothing more than strong friendship between Snape and McGonagall. The age difference is a bit much for me, and I think the plot is stronger without romantic relationships taking up room. I don't trust Dumbledore much myself, not after the fifth book.
Ilmare2: I'm flattered. Thank you so much.
Cucussette: Thank you! Yes, you're right, the vomiting was nasty (probably worse to write than to read, since I had to think about the best ways to describe it), but it had to do with the stress and the pain. This is, I believe, the last chapter in which reference is made to vomiting. I just wanted to make Snape seem as vulnerable as possible, physically and emotionally. And may I also say, I'm really impressed by your English!
Albus had been gone for only a handful of days, but it felt like months. I was trembling by the time I returned to my apartments that evening. With shock, with anger, with fear, I do not know. Quite possibly, all three contributed to the two attempts I took in unlocking my own door. Everything was going wrong. The castle's magic felt wrong without Albus there. My duties had increased exponentially, and one of them was apparently cleaning up after Dolores Umbridge. I was grateful to know that Severus would still be in my apartment when I returned, someone with whom I could commiserate, someone who understood what Dumbledore's disappearance meant. He probably could have left and been relatively well alone, but neither of us felt particularly like spending time alone without Dumbledore in the castle.
I never indulged myself like this, but I was willing to indulge Severus. He was, after all, rather less stable than myself.
After I dropped my bag beside the coat rack and took innumerable deep breaths, I noticed that Severus had moved himself to the generously stuffed sofa in my sitting room. He lay on it barefoot. Silently, I thanked him for his consideration even as I noted that he had also stripped to trousers and the filmy tunic he wore under those heavy damask robes. With his hair tied back and his face relaxed in sleep, he looked his age, all of thirty-seven, instead of the ageless creature I had seen for the past year.
Examining him had drawn my attention from more immediate matters, and my thigh connected solidly with the sideboard behind the sofa. We cursed in unison. Severus shot from peace, drew his wand, and had it trained on me before I could quite register what he likely planned to do. There was a long pause during which I held quite still, watching him watch me, watching the desperation flitting through his eyes as he likely struggled to place my apartment and my face in the melee of his mind. After a minute of inertia, I risked a soft, "Severus?"
The wand fell with a dull thud to the Persian rug on the floor, and he followed it down, folding himself like a jack-in-the-box. I watched his throat muscles convulse spastically and wondered—sickeningly—if he had just swallowed his vomit. When he clenched his hands together in his lap, I hurried around the sofa and helped him back onto it.
"I hope you don't mind my sleeping on the sofa," he whispered, ignoring the fact that he had just held me at wand point. There was no real point in mentioning it; I understood that he had plenty of reasons for his reflexes. He gestured to an overturned book on the floor. "I only meant to read for awhile... I must have drifted off..."
"That's perfectly all right," I assured him, forcing myself to compartmentalize my concerns.
He continued to whisper, and I was grateful that he had recognized his limitations. Attempting to speak in a normal voice would probably have torn his throat to shreds. "Minerva, I think that I may have hit my head harder than I initially thought. I may be having hallucinations... This afternoon when I woke, I swear that Lucius's old house elf spoon fed me porridge..."
"He very well may have done," I said reassuringly.
"The Headmaster hired Luc's old house elf?" His incredulous voice rasped as he raised himself up on one elbow and stared at me. "Why on earth...?"
"Why does Albus do any of the things he does?"
"I was... I was so worried."
I looked down at him, and his eyes had melted. I felt a sudden surge of the closest thing I'd ever felt to anger toward him. Later I realized the irrationality of it all, of daring to be angry with the man who was, arguably, my staunchest ally in the school at the moment. But I was too emotional for rationality at that point, and I snapped, "Don't you dare cry."
"Forgive me," he growled (more accurately, he tried to growl. It was more a sort of rasping attempt at words), "if I indulge in a bit of self-pity after having been tortured."
"You are hardly the only one with trouble tonight."
"Have you heard from the Headmaster?"
"No, no, I haven't."
"I don't mean to press," he continued more insistently, his voice taking a bit of an edge that I had not expected. "Only the Dark Lord has been active of late, and if I am summoned..."
"Severus, please-" I knew that I could not cope with the war at that moment. My own personal concerns—for Severus, for Albus, for the school—had elbowed their ways to the forefront of my mind, and if I had also to consider the war, I would completely break down. I did not have the time for that, my rational mind told me, its voice a faintly audible whisper.
"To whom will I report? To you?" His hand reached across the aisle between the sofa and the chair and fell to rest on my knee. A weak shiver of magical energy slid into me, meant, I know, to be comforting, but really barely sensible. I covered his hand with my own, and for long moments, we shared nervously contemplative silence. There was no conversation to be had. I was swirling in the whirlpool of the Ministry's inequities, barely able to draw enough breath to comfort him. "Minerva," he half-whispered, "Minerva, I need to know-"
With an apologetic smile, I drew back and said, "You will report to me until Albus returns, regarding your intelligence and your students."
"The students as well? But surely Umbridge-"
"Madam Umbridge is not my concern. With Albus away from the school, I am in charge."
I think that if he had not been so exhausted, that would have amused him somewhat. There was a flicker of a smile in his eyes, anyway, when he said, "Yes, ma'am" in that half-mocking tone he had used when he was my student.
I have yet to determine why that finally made me smile.
A loud pop interrupted us then, and that ridiculous creature called Dobby stood in the middle of my apartment wearing, of all things, one of the sweaters knit by Molly Weasley for the boys' Christmas presents and a pair of mismatched socks. "Master Severus," he said. His words ran together nervously. Not, I think, that he was frightened of Severus, but something was bothering him. "Master Severus, Dobby must speak..."
"What is it?" Not exactly patient, but not so harsh that he frightened the poor thing. Rather kinder than he'd addressed my Gryffindors.
"Angry people on the grounds, angry people who say that they will stop Hagrid from hurting more children, angry people who say that Hagrid hurt Young Master two years ago... They will hurt Hagrid..."
"Who? Do you recognize them?"
"No, Master Severus, Dobby is mostest sorry—"
"It's fine, it's fine... Do you know who brought them here?"
"Professor Umbridge is talking to them, is telling them that they must protect children from half-breeds..."
"Damn her!" I was startled by Severus's outburst, so much so that I almost did not realize that the elf had panicked at the explosion from his former master's associate. He was not fond of Hagrid by any means; Hagrid was too emotive for Severus's tastes. Sometimes, I thought that rocks were too emotive for Severus's tastes. It was respect for Dumbledore that spawned his indignation. "Damn her. Why must she do this...?"
"Severus, you'll hurt yourself, dear." No time for emotion, certainly not for my own anger. "You're not ready to face... Thank you, Dobby. I will see what is going on."
"She has Ministry wizards storming his hut at midnight. You know what is going on."
I glared him into silence and, asking Dobby to remain with him until my return, pulled my cloak back on. The run—for I did cross nearly half the castle at a job which exploded into a run when I saw Hagrid. In a combination of silver moonlight and golden firelight, he fought off no less than six attackers whose wands were trained on him as they shouted curses.
Halfway across the field, I heard Hagrid's indignant bellowing and the incessant, hysterical barking of that monster of a dog. It was the two of us against them, six of them, hulking men, all my former students, with their wands drawn. They were attacking Hagrid with Sunning Spells, charms that Flitwick taught them to protect themselves. I wondered if they saw what they were doing in that way, if they honestly believed that the children were in danger from Hagrid. Had they been afraid of Hagrid when they were at school? Or had Umbridge's insanity manifested itself in these people? In my students?
"How dare you!" I shouted, the first thing that popped into my head, the first way I could distract them. I had my wand discretely held at my side. "How dare you! Leave him alone! Alone, I say!"
I was close enough to see them now, and among them was an Auror called Dawlish who had been there the night Dumbledore left. Hot fury erupted in the pit of my stomach and dripped into my voice as I screamed: "On what grounds are you attacking him? He has done nothing, nothing to warrant such—"
I did not hear them speak the incantation. I did not see the light that I knew must have flown through the air toward me. I only felt the spring-softened ground hit my back and my head. I should have been frightened, terrified, of these strangers, or Azkaban, or what would happen to my children or to Severus who still needed tending back in the castle. I only felt the air rushing around me and the hungry pain pounding in my chest, and then I felt nothing.
And I was relieved.
