A/N: It's been a while... All characters belong to J.K Rowling.

Hope is a Dangerous Thing

One

2008

Minerva McGonagall shifted to grasp her wand from the bedside table and then charmed the head of the bed to rise up, allowing a better vantage point from which to watch the sunrise before her. She replaced the wand; she had long since lost the energy for windless magic.

The sky shone a pink hue, with the Highland peaks in a darkened silhouette. The turret she occupied afforded her almost a panoramic view. She sighed. There could never be a more pleasing vista, she thought. How lucky she was to witness it. How lucky she was to have witnessed it so many times over the decades.

She rather hoped she might witness it many times more. That much was up to Providence, however, and each wax and wane she was forced to consider might be her last.

Poppy Pomfrey bustled in shortly after the sun had burst over the mountain tops and bathed the room brightly. She had returned to Hogwarts, come out of retirement, with the sole purpose of nursing the ailing Headmistress. Minerva was deeply touched. The long hours of inertia were not so very long when she had her old friend nearby. They swapped stories of the past - tales of laughter, tales of mischief, and tales of melancholy, too.

But she was lucky, in spite of it all. She was surrounded by old friends. Only in the nights was she left with her own thoughts and memories for company. Only in the night she had to try harder to keep the ghosts and demons away - the regrets and the what might-have-beens.

However, she was not afraid. She always assumed she would have had longer, but now that the time was near, she was ready for what was next.

Her affairs were mostly in order, but there was one thing that still gave her pause. In spite of the revolving carousel of visitors and well-wishers, she was still waiting on one person in particular. She had written of her predicament, when she could keep it under wraps no longer. She had stopped short of requesting his presence as he had not set foot in the castle in some ten years, after all. But she had hoped he would understand and would travel north, nevertheless.

The fact she had not received any written reply gave her hope and she expected him any day now.

Thankfully, she was not to be disappointed. The following evening, as the sun was beginning to sink, and not many moments following Poppy departing for the night, Minerva heard light footsteps on the stairs. The door opened and, without ceremony, there he was - all of a sudden. At last. After all this time.

Minerva peered over the top of her glasses and smiled warmly. Shutting the door, he swept over to the bed and immediately took the wingback chair next to it.

'Minerva,' he stated softly, without smiling.

Her smile did not waver. 'Severus'.

Her right arm lay at her side, on top of the covers, and she turned her palm upwards. He caught the expectant movement and, with only a small hesitation, placed his hand on top of hers. She squeezed it gratefully, surveying him.

'How long has it been? Three years?'

He nodded. 'I regret that -'

'Don't; I understand.'

She had always tried her best to coax him out of his self-imposed exile. To little avail, apart from a few meetings over the years. But he had always been happy to write and she enjoyed his letters. Many a time she had nearly cackled aloud over the breakfast table; he had an undeniable way with words. It was always a challenge for her to compose a worthy reply.

'You look well.' She meant it. His hair, as dark as ever, was shorter now. A more open countenance suited him, she decided. 'I expect I have looked better,' she continued with a wry smile.

His eyes dropped briefly. 'Minerva, is there nothing that -'

She interrupted with a stern shake of her head. 'Nothing, Severus; my time has come.'

She was pleased to sound matter-of-fact, rather than resentful.

He sighed. 'Are you going to let me talk? Or am I to merely observe?'

'Sorry.'

He affected a look of long-suffering and Minerva chuckled. He raised his eyes and glanced around the room. A faint grimace appeared around his mouth.

'Couldn't they find somewhere better for their illustrious Headmistress?'

Minerva knew he was recalling his own time spent in this remote, empty turret.

'I like it here,' she admonished.

The room was bare and clinical, apart from a few vases of flowers and the wide reaching view, of course.

'It's very…Scottish of you,' he remarked dryly, eyes also dropping to the tartan blanket that was splayed across her bed.

Minerva smoothed at it with her free hand. 'Now, now,' she warned. 'You're in danger of complimenting me too much.'

He shook his head ruefully, whilst she smiled inwardly. How easily they always fell back into their old patterns. Exchanging barbs, trading insults. She was sure it had kept her young, sharp, over the years. Her eyes crinkled fondly behind her spectacles at the memories.

'The castle was never the same after you left, Severus.'

She had surprised him, she could tell. Just a sudden stillness in his whole posture, told her it was so. 'For me, that is,' she clarified wryly.

He was silent. It was true, though. No one else had so equally given her such entertainment and vexation. No one had so equally roused such affection and frustration. She could see he was beginning to look mildly uncomfortable and she took pity, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

'Forgive an old woman, Severus; I find little need for a filter, these days.'

Truly, the prospect of death, how freeing it was. From his own brush with death, she knew he understood that. And despite their shared history, they had always tip-toed around so much of it. She was too tired for that now. She wanted him to know what it had meant to her.

Her companion nodded his understanding, but whatever he was about to say was lost. There was the sound suddenly of quick footsteps on the stairs. The door was pushed open and a chuckling voice sounded through it.

'Oh, Minerva, you'll never guess what happened!'

Any subsequent words from their guest were instantaneously curtailed at the sight of the pair of them.

Severus moved first. He released her hand and slowly got to his feet. 'Professor Granger,' he greeted stiffly.

Minerva regretted the interruption only briefly, for it quickly became apparent there was something rather more interesting to be observed. She was quite sure she had never seen the colour of her deputy headmistress drain so soundly. Nor had she ever looked so dumb. And neither could Minerva recall any recent situation where she had witnessed a tension so taut that were it to snap, she feared great harm might be done.

Professor Granger, it appeared, could not effect a reciprocal greeting, other than to stare blankly. Eventually, she seemed to remember herself and she blinked back into life. 'I, ah, I apologise; I didn't know you had company, Minerva. I'll come back later.'

In a swirl of robes, she was gone, taking the oppressive air with her.

Severus gingerly took his seat again, but it was a moment before he would meet her eye.

'What on earth was that?' she demanded, when he did.

His expression turned irritable. 'Minerva, please -'

'Ah! No, no, do not brush me off. Hermione is never rude.'

Severus shrugged. 'I have neither seen nor spoken to Hermione Granger in years, what does it matter that she momentarily forgot her manners -'

Minerva scoffed loudly. 'You would fob me off, would you, on my death-bed? That was more than just a surprise - she looked like someone had stupefied her.'

She thought he almost flinched and she regretted her words, only a tad. His eyes blazed in frustration before he suddenly let out a growl and flew to his feet. He turned his back to her and leaned both hands onto the windowsill.

Now he was definitely uncomfortable, she thought. 'You have not seen her since you left Hogwarts?'

The question hung in the air for a time. 'You know I have not,' he muttered finally.

She let her head rest back against her pillow and narrowed her eyes in thought. She remembered the moment of his departure and the news of his survival breaking. What a shock it had been. How he had surprised them all. But in the aftermath, she did not remember Hermione Granger featuring in any way specifically. Had she been in on it? Perhaps the reasons she had attributed to his self-imposed exile had been inaccurate all these years, after all.

'I will tell you.' His voice sounded unbearably low. 'But not tonight - it is getting late.'

'I might not be here tomorrow!'

He snorted. 'I should be so lucky.' He returned to his chair with an elegant slump and there was a small smile. 'I will tell you, but do not pester Granger about this, do you understand?'

Minerva nodded.

He watched her for a moment. 'Are you in pain?' he asked.

'No,' she answered. 'Poppy has me on several concoctions...'

'Well, if you require anything… stronger…'

She gave his hand a squeeze in acknowledgement. She rather hoped it would not come to that.

He left after promising to call upon her at the same time the following evening. She bit her lip as the tiredness started poking at her consciousness, alongside indiscriminate memories of the dark little boy who had been overlooked the first time, but who she had tried to support the second time around. It had not been easy, however, and she could never be sure she had achieved anything. He always gave so little of himself.

Her eyes stung a little and she removed her glasses to wipe them.

There was maybe one more thing she could do for him, she decided.

She just hoped she had enough time.