Repentance – part 4

Minerva was with Severus when he received his summons. As the days had passed they had found a fragile sort of camaraderie – based she was sure on her ability to help him understand what it meant to be a spy. Not since her lengthy debriefing had she spoken in such detail about her time in Grindelwald's fortress. There was a catharsis in her honesty – which was more than she had expected. It helped that her newest student was so resolutely not curious about what had happened to her. His questions were all focussed on what he would need to know to survive; what he should do in any given situation. His interest was purely academic – which enabled her to be almost dispassionate about the subject and she recognised there was security in that.

But the air around them had changed suddenly, the almost companionable atmosphere vanished and in its place had come palpable tension as he clutched the place on his arm where the dark mark was etched. She moved rapidly, not waiting for Snape's confirmation of what had happened, grateful at least that this moment had come after classes had ended for the day and the students were safely ensconced in their common rooms. When she made contact with the Headmaster their conversation was brief and to the point.

"I'll be there at once." As good as his word he was with them within seconds – his mysteriously rapid transit through the castle not a subject to be dwelt upon in this moment.

"Minerva – would you mind leaving us?"

"Of course not," The dismissal was not a surprise, but she took a moment to look at the young man she had tried prepare. She wanted to believe they could trust him, she wanted to believe that she had done enough to help him stay alive. But she knew better than anyone that where he was going there were precious few certainties.

There were a multitude of things she could have said to him in those final moments. She found it disturbing that she fell so easily into the character of stern teacher. But, perhaps that was what he needed from her.

"Mr Snape – good luck. I expect you to return with your report as soon as practicable." He met her eyes and for a moment she could clearly see his fear but then he lifted his chin and clenched his jaw, nodding at her with steely determination.

Her progress back to her study was characteristically brisk, she scarcely saw the staircases and corridors she passed along. Her gaze, for once, was fixed firmly on the past.

They had all grown closer after having worked so intensively together for the week. Even Moody had loosened up a little towards her, and she'd suspected that he was someone who did not easily give his trust. But, on the last night he and Albus had become awkward, she'd interrupted several whispered conversations between them, they'd almost seemed to be arguing over some task. Eventually Moody had left, muttering something unintelligible about paperwork. She still had no idea what was going on and she'd almost laughed outloud, when faltering and stumbling her former professor had started to talk to her about sex.

It had quickly become clear that he was making sure that she understood exactly what she would be returning to, what would likely be expected of her. She'd been amused at his reticence – after all she'd been educated at Beauxbatons, a school with a distinctly relaxed attitude to relationships and sex. From her former Head of House's reaction she'd gathered that at Hogwarts the situation was not so liberal. But, she'd also wondered if things between them were making the discussion more complicated. There had been no repetition of the moment when they had touched, both of them had been careful about observing the proprieties. A little too careful perhaps.

She'd let him stutter on for a while longer, maliciously enjoying his discomfort. She'd been aware of his daunting power, of his amazing intellect and she was almost relieved to discover that he had weaknesses after all. Eventually however, she'd felt the need to put a stop to his rambling.

"Albus, it's fine. I'm not exactly a trembling virgin." His eyes had widened and for a moment she was sure he was lost for words. "In fact, I'm not a virgin at all – and I do realise that my beloved father plans for me to become Grindelwald's latest mistress." His discomfort had seemed to vanish in the face of her practicality and it had been his turn to shock her.

"He'll be more interested in you when he realises you aren't a trembling virgin." All week she had been surprised at just how much he knew about Grindelwald – although this conclusion was the most astonishing insight yet.

"I'd have thought he'd have been the deflowering type?"

"You can only deflower a virgin once, Minerva. Your experience will make you more interesting to him, he'll want to impress you, seduce you."

"And so I'll warm his bed for long enough to be of more use?" His abrupt nod had confirmed her conclusion . Yet even now, decades later, she'd never really known what prompted her to add, "so – given that, what were you planning to do had I been, unsullied?"

His response had been an explosion of outrage that sounded distinctly like, "damn it Minerva!" Which made her think she didn't want to know what his answer was going to be.

And then he'd kissed her, hard and she didn't care anymore.

Sometimes it amused her to remember that the two of them ever shared such a moment. That they had ever clung together, desperately trying to maintain physical contact as the reality of their situation crashed down around them. Sometimes, when they were ensconced in a game of chess, or grumbling good naturedly about the deliberations of the Board of Governors she was astonished that she had ever been strong enough to let him go. But, they had been subject to the greater good and she could still remember the moment she stepped out of his embrace to say firmly, "we shouldn't do this."

Lost in memories she found that her steps had carried her back to Griffyndor tower, almost without a conscious decision about her destination. She crossed her study to stand at the window and watched as a small, lonely figure made its way across the school grounds. The darkness enveloped him like a cloak and only her excellent eyesight made it possible to distinguish him from the shadows that swirled around him. From this distance Severus looked too fragile and insubstantial for the weight they had placed upon his shoulders. If she were a different woman she might have offered a prayer for his safe keeping – but she was logical and rational – and any belief in a higher power had been sacrificed on the alter of necessity many years ago.

Dumbledore was not surprised to find her watching Snape's progress into the darkness. He wasn't surprised by her stiff posture, or the way her lips had narrowed almost to the point of vanishing. He wished there had been a way to spare her the anxiety of the role he had placed her in – but realistically he knew she would be no use to Severus if she had not cared whether he lived or died.

Over the years he had deliberately kept her out of this war, hidden behind his need for her support at Hogwarts.Whenever she questioned his decision he had told her that she would help him most by ensuring she could not be implicated if his enemies moved against him. But he had not hesitated to make use of her when he'd needed her, when there was a role that no one but she could fulfil. He hated the fact that in this mammoth game of chess against the forces of darkness, there was no one he cared about whom he could keep safe.

He joined her in her vigil at the window and they watched in silence until Severus had disappeared into the night. He was sure it would be several hours before either of them would even think about getting some rest and quietly he suggested a game of chess to pass the time. She agreed readily, apparently grateful to engage in an activity that would demand much of her attention. It was something he knew he needed as well. He was worried about the fate of the young man he had so blithely sent into the night but, equally, at every turn he seemed to be assaulted by memories of the hours before Minerva had left to go to Grindelwald.

He hadn't planned to kiss her that night; he'd gone out of his way to be careful around her since the crackle of energy and attraction from their accidental touch days before. But, the thought of her looking at Grindelwald with the same interest and curiosity he could see in her eyes when they talked, had made him realise just how fascinated by her he had become himself. And when she had asked what he would have done if she'd been a virgin, almost teasing him, it had been more than his tenuous grip on control could bear.

For the first few seconds the fact that she was kissing him back was heady and intoxicating – something he hadn't felt in far too long. But reality had asserted itself and when they had parted to catch their breath he had looked into her eyes and known that it was impossible.

"We shouldn't do this," she'd said firmly and a voice in his head, that sounded suspiciously like Moody's, had agreed with her.

"You're right. Forgive me?"

"Always," the word was almost a whisper and something in its timbre had made him pause in the act of retreating to a safe distance. Frozen, they'd simply gazed at each other, trapped by circumstances – but the thought of where she might be in 24 hours had hammered away at him, making him weak.

"I think an early night is called for," she'd said at last in a tone so normal it sounded as though she were discussing the weather. "I'd like it if you joined me." And still he had hesitated – even though it was abundantly clear what she was suggesting. It had felt too complicated and in his personal relationships he had always favoured simplicity. Even now he can't be sure what his answer would have been had she not added, "I'm scared Albus, I don't want to be alone tonight." She'd turned away and stepped out of the room, almost before he'd realised what she had said and as soon as he had realised it had taken him only a few seconds to decide to go after her.

He'd caught up with her on the stairs, neither of them spoke, but he'd rested his palm against the small of her back and hoped that somehow she'd realised he was scared too. As they'd reached the top of the stairs he'd looked back over his shoulder and not been at all surprised to see Moody standing watching them, with an expression that screamed disapproval.

It was all too evidently going to be one of the nights when she beat him at chess. Such nights were fairly frequent occurrences, since she was by far the better strategist and certainly the more ruthless of the two of them. He'd always hated having to sacrifice his pieces – perhaps because it hit too close to home.

His mind wasn't on the game tonight, fragments of his thoughts lay with Severus and his fate, but more than that he was remembering the cold light of a dawn many years ago, when he'd given up something important - for the good of the cause.

She'd been sleeping on her stomach, head buried in a pillow, bare shoulder tantalisingly visible above rumpled sheets. He hadn't wanted to leave the warmth of the bed, but he'd known for hours that his next course of action was an unavoidable necessity.

What had passed between them didn't matter, whatever they might have become in a different time or place was irrelevant – there was only what he knew had to be done. And it had to be done to protect her – but he hadn't thought she would see it that way. Nothing he knew about her now, decades later, made him doubt that assessment.

Dressed, he had sat beside her on the bed, watching her sleep, terrified that he would wake her. Her hair was soft and as he felt it trickle through his fingertips he'd been assaulted by memories. Carefully he'd touched the back of her head and whispered, "legilimens."

Her mental defences were raised even though she was asleep and he remembered being relieved that she had absorbed so much of his teaching. But he was accomplished at legilimency and he had known exactly what memories he was seeking. He'd found them easily enough, carefully separated the moments following their first kiss when she'd backed away from him, from the memories of what had come after.

He'd taken a breath, summoned all of his tattered courage and spoken what had turned out to be the last word he would say to her for almost a decade, "oblivate."

At the time he had promised himself that he would have to remember for both of them. And, despite everything that had happened over the years, despite the people they had both become, he'd kept his promise. He still remembered. His spell ensured that she did not.

TBC