A/N: These characters were created in a single universe within a story that held very few levels of intricacy. However, the universe can be expanded through much imagination, so if you find yourself wanting to play around too, please go write your own stuff. Feel free to disagree or review - we are all entitled to our own interpretations.
The Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry had never been more intense. Each year, Professors Snape or McGonagall coveted the Quidditch Cup and the House Cup. At the end of term feast, the loser stared longingly at the winner, a mask of jealousy and plotting overtaking the normally noncommittal mien. For each year Severus Snape was turning into more of a Potions professor, the staff collected more galleons into a pool, some betting on Gryffindor and some betting on Slytherin to win. It was a fairly equal mix, considering that every other year the winner seemed to alternate. But it was always Gryffindor or Slytherin. The other two Houses faded into the background.
Which fit the two Heads of Houses perfectly. Filius Flitwick and Pomona Sprout got along splendidly. No bickering, no arguments, no suspicious interactions could ever be attributed to those two Hogwarts institutions. But Snape and McGonagall were a different story. It did not matter one bit that she was older and had taught him. They went at it hammer and tongs, toe to toe, insult to insult, and woe betide the poor firstie who crossed their paths while they were in the midst of an argument.
"Ten points from Slytherin!"
"Five points from Hufflepuff!"
They stared at each other, then huffed angrily and turned their backs at the same time. Pomona and Filius snickered into their sleeves and watched bemused as some brave students kept a tally going. Slytherin up five, then down fifteen. It was amazing, really, the imagination of their students. But no one could blame them. Hogwarts hadn't seen this much rivalry and fun in far too long a time. Certainly Horace had not been this competitive, for all his name-throwing and his subtle hints of better prospects.
No, truth be told, Horace Slughorn was one of the old generation. In other words, a true gentleman to Minerva McGonagall. Whereas his successor, Severus Snape, a younger man irked by the fact his current colleagues had been his former teachers, had no need for restraint regarding his rival Head of House.
It was now an obsession for the estimable staff members of Hogwarts to gather in the Staff Room after dinner once a week, usually on Thursday evenings, to compare notes and make bets. Lots of galleon swapping went around in the first few years of Snape's teaching. At least the staff had the good sense to do these backroom betting deals when both Snape and McGonagall were not present.
It was a few years into Snape's budding teaching career before he started to be more friendly towards Minerva. And damn it all, it was that old man's twinkling eyes that made him open up to her.
Every year, Albus forced his jolly happy-go-lucky staff members, otherwise known as the dysfunctional Hogwarts family, to partake in every celebration possible. There was the start of term feast and Sorting ceremony on 1 September, the Halloween feast, the first Quidditch match in November, and the Christmas feast and dance, where much alcohol was present to indulge the staff into lingering far later than they would have initially dared. Then after the New Year, there was the dreaded Valentine's Day, where Albus merrily tried his best to festively adorn each classroom, April Fool's Day in which Peeves lost all sense of dignity to the point where not even the Bloody Baron could control him, and finally the end of term feast and the mass exodus of students from the hallowed castle corridors.
And then, of course, there were the other events that Albus invented when he felt bored or particularly in need of some entertainment. Usually, a not-at-all-surprised Snape was the last person to know. Filius, Albus and even occasionally Minerva were the ones to remind him to be in attendance.
It was just one such occasion when Albus had called an impromptu staff meeting where he announced there would be a Yule Ball. It was a new celebration he was trying because, in his honored opinion, "The school needed some festivity to mark the end of the year."
As if the Christmas feast could not be counted as festive what with the fourteen or sixteen decorated trees lining the Great Hall already. Oh joy, Snape thought in his deadpan voice. More fun.
Minerva, catching his eyes in the staff room, rolled her eyes. Snape almost choked on his tea. But, as a first-rate spy, he was able to cover up his surprise well. Except that the darn beady-eyed Dawdling Wizard of Whimsical Mayhem had seen him. Damn the childish glee in Albus's eyes.
Snape sneered into his cuppa and determined then that Minerva McGonagall owed him a favor. Because dash it all, Albus would lord this over him until the next report he would have on suspected Death Eater activity. Even though the Dark Lord had fallen, there were still a lot of loose ends to tie up. Yes, Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange and countless others had been arrested, tried, acquitted or sent to Azkaban, but that did not mean all of the Dark Lord's followers had been found. A fair number had run to ground and still had yet to emerge.
It was a day or two after his sudden declaration of this new event that Albus caught both Snape and McGonagall in a corridor, arguing once more over Quidditch.
Albus, like a true gentleman, gently coughed to announce his presence.
Straightening up, Minerva regally acknowledged her long-time friend. "Albus," she smiled. He nodded back at her.
Snape, not wanting to be outdone, stood ramrod straight and muttered, "Headmaster," in as quiet a voice as he was able.
"Ah, Severus, Minerva, I am so glad I caught both of you," Albus smiled, beaming at them like a pair of sixth year lovebirds. "I have been looking for volunteers to assist me in organizing the Yule Ball. Alas, I cannot find anyone who is free in the evenings this week except for you two. Would you be able to come to my office tomorrow night?"
The twinkle of merry blue eyes and the knowing glint of blinding spectacles caused both professors to stutter, "Yes," and "Sure, Headmaster." Against their better judgment, they were being arm-wrestled into working together on a project for the daftest prat ever. If possible, Albus's long beard turned a shade more blinding white as his smile extended from ear to ear.
"Excellent," a well-chuffed Headmaster said, clapping his hands. In an instant Fawkes his trusty phoenix appeared and in a puff of smoke both master and familiar disappeared from view.
Snape made a fervent prayer that he would not have to wear festive robes for the occasion before he mustered the courage to turn to see Minerva's reaction.
"Bugger me to hell," she whispered, startling Snape. "I do believe the Star-Spangled Daft Prat has outsmarted us. Again. And I'm sure we will need a lot of Dutch courage before tomorrow night."
Snape merely gawked at her. Minerva, turning back to the younger man, smiled conspiratorially. "If it wasn't Albus Protector of the Light, I do believe I would have Stunned him right then and there."
Snape gave her a hesitant smirk which she interpreted as his smile, before he scathingly said, "Nevertheless, were we to refuse I am sure that the Headmaster would stuff us chock full of Bertie Botts Every Flavour Beans before trotting us around the school to set an example that whimsy is never to be underestimated."
Minerva finally laughed, a musical light sound that Snape found he rather enjoyed. He couldn't remember her ever laughing like that in front of him, except for that one time in his sixth year when he had overheard her laughing. It was a memory he found he had kept as a positive youthful experience. Hmm, something to think about later.
Rousing himself from his thoughts, he found Minerva was saying goodnight to him in order to prepare herself for tomorrow.
"Goodnight, Minerva," Severus said, without thinking.
Stopping in her tracks, Minerva turned around to appraise him. Not detecting malice, she gave him a small frosty smile. "Goodnight, Severus."
He stood there watching her back as she swiftly walked up the stairs. His face wore an indeterminate look - something unusual considering his normal mask was a scowl or a sneer and a derisive comment aimed with a sharp acidity at his various colleagues he was forced to put up with on a daily basis. His more pointed barbs he retained for use on his students, particularly the more dunderheaded ones, in order to clear his classroom or mete out well-earned detentions.
His predatory eyes gleamed as he found himself thinking that the head of Gryffindor may have a point regarding the Headmaster. If he and she put their heads together, they could very well be a force to be reckoned with. Hell, they already were formidable amongst the professors. Nobody dared set off a prank in Potions or Transfiguration class. And if someone did decide to misbehave, it can be well assured that both Professors Snape and McGonagall could give out appropriate - if not somewhat severe in Snape's case - punishments.
Minerva willed herself to not look back at her former student. She held her head high and kept walking with her determined step up to Gryffindor tower. She would not turn around like an overexcited sixth year Hufflepuff to see if his eyes were watching her swaying hips as she sauntered away with that parting remark. She didn't need to have a crystal ball to tell that he, and several other pairs of eyes no doubt, were watching her every move, hanging on until the end in utter silence. Much like in her classroom, Minerva knew how to captivate her audience and how to exit properly.
Snape finally collected his wits and headed back down to his dungeon lair. He paced in his rooms before throwing himself down at his desk. Maybe marking some dismal essays would make him feel better.
Rosier. He snorted before marking a big D at the top of the scroll. He had no need to read the essay to know the idiot didn't write the proper length. Crabbe and Goyle got E's because at least they tried. Bowen. Ah, yes finally an O. Bones and the rest of the Ravenclaws received E's. He wrote scathing remarks on all the Gryffindor papers partly to piss off a Scot and partly because earlier they had all snickered behind his back landing half the fourth years in detention with Mr. Filch. Glorious. His grading done, Severus massaged his aching head and poured himself a drink. He didn't normally drink since as a rule he would need his wits about him, but in the recent years, he had started to unwind to one drink at least. He wasn't drunk, but he needed something to take the edge off of teaching a bunch of ham-fisted idiots who didn't know the end of their wand from a Blast-ended Skrewt. Honestly, for all the Pure-blooded traditions, you would have thought that at least reading and looking at pictures would give some of his more clueless students a chance to recognize some of the key ingredients. For instance, there were plenty of pictures in their textbooks regarding wiggentree bark, flobberworms and beetles. You would think even the thickest skulls would understand that bark and tree would mean something dead and brown-ish in colour. But no hope there. Maybe colourblindness was as prominent in the wizarding world as it was in the Muggle world. Hmm, something to think about for later.
Severus sighed and drained his glass. He turned his next thoughts to a much happier thought - if Severus Snape and happy could ever exist in the same sentence. He relished his conversations with Minerva and he went back over each movement, each comment and every arched eyebrow they shared. All in all, he had come to the same conclusion once again. She was just as chuffed as he was to be suddenly summoned to the headmaster's office tomorrow evening to go over a - ball. Severus shuddered and thought maybe in all probability she was right. A second drink was called for.
Maybe this teaching position was turning him into an alcoholic, a small part of his brain thought before he quaffed the second drink. Well, tomorrow would come eventually. And he would face whatever the headmaster threw at them as he had faced every challenge before. He would have a grim smirk which would give his normally sour face a more uncomfortable look like he had accidentally swallowed some jumping beans and fizzing whizbees.
Minerva finally reached her rooms and sank into her comfortable leather armchair. Summoning her bottle of Glenfiddich, she poured herself two drinks in quick succession and considered Dumbledore's announcement. While she understood his comment about the two rival Heads of Houses not being busy this week, she failed to understand why an additional event was needed this year. Wasn't the Christmas feast enough? And weren't most of the students about to be going home for winter hols soon anyway? She sighed and rubbed her aching temples before pouring herself a generous third drink.
This last drink she sipped cautiously, savoring the liquor properly. She recalled the Potions Master's countenance and put two and two together. He was certainly not the party type and no doubt she would have to do the majority of the work. However, knowing Dumbledore as she did, he would not allow his tamed former Death Eater to wriggle out of any commitments nilly-willy. She sighed again and thought about her impending Herculean task. She and Severus would have to find a way to work together and quickly in order to finish their task on time. No doubt Albus the Benevolent Wizard of Folly would give them a shorter time limit than normal based on his springing his little trap so suddenly.
She slammed her glass down rather harder than she initially intended. Damn that twinkling starry-eyed romancer! She knew what he was up to and she wouldn't fall into that trap. His all-knowing eyes had fairly challenged her to tell him he was wrong about her and a certain Slytherin. Well, too bad, Albus. This year would be no different than the years before. She and Severus would quarrel and challenge and fight just as usual about all the House-related issues and this little project, as he dared to call it, would not change their relationship one knut. Determined now to follow this course of action, she hadn't realized her glass had refilled and she continued to partake of the wonderful warm liquid spreading warmth through her body.
Damn that obnoxious purple-robed fashion catastrophe. He was turning her into an alcoholic. She sighed, shook her head, and poured another drink. Why not? she thought grimly. It's not like there's anything else to do tonight. Tomorrow is another day after all.
