FIC: "The Days & Nights & All The Hours" for kelly_chambliss

[bethbethbeth]

Recipient: kelly_chambliss
Author: psyfic
Title: The Days & Nights & All The Hours
Rating: R
Pairings: McGonagall/Hooch, McGonagall/Moody, McGonagall/Snape
Word Count: ~10,600
Warnings: angst, dub-con (if you squint), forced bonding.
Summary: Minerva reflects on those closest and dearest to her in both past and present
Author's Notes: I hope this suits, kelly_chambliss. Happy Beholding!

***

'Life is the first gift, love is the second, and understanding the third.'
~ Marge Piercy

1 - But The Once

'I don't countenance breaking rules, even for Quidditch.'

'Especially for Quidditch, I'd say.'

Amber eyes grew tawny as Hooch fixed her with an assessing look. It was not really rule-breaking, and they both knew it, but traditionally only 2nd year students and up were permitted to play Quidditch... except in certain circumstances and those circumstances currently applied.

'He's that good?'

Minerva nodded.

'We'll see.'

Hooch said no more and her unsettling gaze turned to the foot rest of the broom she was repairing.

Minerva relaxed, having won the right for young Harry to play. She watched the other woman efficiently stripping bent bristles from the stirrup attachment, a ray of afternoon sunlight making her eyes glow like a candle's flame. They were hard and assessing, rarely relaxed, and only occasionally amused.

She remembered when she had seen those eyes wet with tears. The same night, the only night, she had ever bedded a woman.

The sex itself had not been so surprising to Minerva as how perfectly natural the event had seemed.

~

'What is it? Albus? Alastor?'

Moody spit, a gesture of both profound frustration and disgust.

'Lethifolds.'

Minerva frowned. 'Is Rolan--'

'Dead,' hissed Moody. He jerked his head in the direction of the door. 'I told her.'

Dumbledore grimaced and Minerva could well imagine how Alastor had delivered such news. Only the vague glimmer of shame in his blue eyes kept her from scolding him.

'I'll talk to her.'

'Minerva…'

She turned back to look at Albus expectantly.

'Don't call her Xio.'

Minerva frowned, but it was Alastor who explained.

'After I told her, she cut off her braid and said she was no longer Xiomara.'

Albus's quiet voice completed the narrative.

'She said she would be Rolanda henceforth. In honor of Roland.'

Minerva's throat tightened in sympathy, but she merely nodded and left the staff lounge.

~

She had found Hooch determinedly hacking her long dark hair with her wand, so that it stuck out in spikes.

'Well, that's a new look,' she said drily, aware her friend would countenance no tenderness, no affection.

'It's a new me.'

Minerva nodded and took another step into the room. Hooch's eerie gaze gave her pause.

'You're not here to criticise my hairstyle.'

'They told me.'

Amber eyes flashed.

'Aye. Classy man, that Alastor. Your foolhardy son didn't bother checking the shadows before creeping into one that swallowed him whole.'

Minerva paled and Hooch smiled thinly. Her impersonation of Moody's gruff voice was nearly perfect.

'Sorry, Xio, but I figured you for someone that would appreciate the truth.'

Minerva came a step closer and Hooch's eyes flooded, threatened to quench the fire that burned within them, although her voice remained even.

'I'm not Xiomara, Min. Not any more.'

Minerva nodded. She was close enough to touch now. Blue eyes studied yellow. Hooch's voice was small, but clear.

'I don't know if I can do this, Min.'

Her voice, which normally seemed a stout and starchy presence of its own, was but a whisper as she gave in to her impulse and stroked a hand along one pale and petal-soft cheek.

'Ro.'

~

It was moist and musk and satin stretched taut over sturdy bones. The taste of damp salt kissed off of tear drenched cheeks was very different from the taste of the damp salt gleaned from between powerful thighs. The scent was unforgettable, different from her own aroma and captivating.

Rolanda did not cry out nor scream as Minerva was wont to do in proper abandon. The most vigorous, boisterous woman she knew gasped and sighed and, only once, moaned as if in pain before relaxing into a quivering heap.

Minerva rested her head on that firm stomach, allowing her slightly stiff shoulders to relax. Firm fingers stroked the back of her neck.

'Thank you, Min.'

She wanted to protest, to insist she needed no thanks and that what they had just shared was a memory she would treasure, that she did not do it with expectation of gratitude. Her voice did not reflect her turmoil, however, being clear and shrewd.

'Did it help?'

Minerva held her breath, appalled at her levity.

The fingers stilled, and then began to stroke again. The yellow eyes darkened to amber and the edges of that thin-lipped mouth creased up momentarily.

'Aye. More than you know.'

The sigh of relief was as quiet as she could manage but cut short by Hooch's next words, softly uttered as those skillful fingers stroked.

'It won't happen again.'

She nodded. That it happened at all was still making her heart race then relax then race again at each renewed realisation.

Rolanda gently urged her up, looking into her eyes, and pressed those chapped but gentle hands to her cheeks.

'I won't forget.'

The kiss she bestowed was gratitude and benediction, and undiminished sorrow and reluctant leave-taking.

Rolanda Hooch had left her on the bed and Minerva had dressed and left, transfiguring her tartan sash into a sprig of azalea, which she left in the middle of the bed that she had freshened and tidied.

~

'There's no point.' Small, but strong and efficient fingers continued to scoop items into a leather satchel.

'Someone has to teach the First Years to fly.'

'Ask one of the Weasleys. Or get Chang -- she's a damn good flier. Or better still, Flint needs work quite badly. He's a half-blood and the last administration stripped him of his Ministry job. It wasn't much, minding prisoners and mopping out holding cells for the MLE, but it gave him some dignity to say he worked at the Ministry. Teaching flying would be better than mucking the cages at Eeylop's. Then make Chang the DADA instructor. She got an O in that subject, I happen to know, and is a fine duellist.'

Minerva tapped her wand to a spare parchment to note these suggestions.

'This is precisely why I wish you would not leave, Ro. You help with so much more than flying and Quidditch.'

'Speaking of which, I heard teams were to be reinstated, but I'd strongly suggest tryouts for each House again. Some of the House teams were decimated.'

'Ro--'

'I won't argue, Min. I can't stay. I can't be near all this. I buried my son, but at least I didn't have to watch him die or suffer grievous injury. I didn't have to see him struggling to recover from being maimed or blinded or cursed or hexed.'

'Ro, they need you.'

'They need normalcy, Min. What my son had. They need to make their own discoveries, find their childhood again, if they can, then find their own way, like my son did.'

'Yes, but first you taught him how to fly.'

Sharp, yellow eyes, pupils mere slits that glared at her, then the pale colour shifted, turned more golden and Hooch swallowed.

'You're not playing fair, Min.'

'You never tried to cheat, Ro.'

Hooch looked around the ruined equipment room, spell-blasted and half-destroyed during the battle.

'I don't know if I can do this, Min,' she whispered, still facing away.

The lean-fingered hands that gently settled on her shoulders had a fine tremor.

'Nor I, Ro. We're, neither of us, young as once we were, but it's far easier for two to bear than one.'

The small, still firm fingers grasped hers and Minerva marvelled at the heavy tracery of veins the years had wrought. Her own hands were not so work-thickened, but looked like wrinkled parchment, dry and creased. She recalled how they had once explored every inch of the woman before her. But the once...

'Min. Do you ever think about it?'

She squeezed that hand gently. 'Aye.'

'It was good... what was between us.'

Her throat clenched, but she managed to reiterate, 'Aye.'

Hooch turned suddenly, a tear track staining one cheek, but her lips held a quirky, irreverent smile.

'No one would guess that under all that starchy, Scottish reserve lies the heart of a hot-blooded witch that once showed me new ways to fly.'

She said nothing, merely watching Ro with steady eyes. Then Hooch leaned in and gently kissed her. Her kiss was gratitude and benediction, and deep-seated sorrow and weary acquiescence.

Her voice was a thread of sound and her golden gaze was warm and welcoming.

'I'll stay. Because of what we once had. And because it's you who asked.'


* * *

'By three methods we may learn wisdom: first, by reflection, which is noblest; second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third, by experience, which is the most bitter.'
~ Confucius

2 - Coming Up Second

If Rolanda Hooch recalled to her the rugged landscape of her home, lushly carpeted with fragrant heather and overlaid by the tang of sea-salted air, Alastor Moody recalled the storm-wrackt sea and the bite of ozone that spoke of change in the weather.

Alastor was mercurial, indeed, a crusty man with a salty tongue.

Her hand twisted the edge of the Daily Prophet special edition as her eyes read his name in the list of honoured dead... as she remembered how very well he wielded that tongue.

The first time she'd learnt this had been at a clandestine party at the end of her final year. Her class felt they had a lot to celebrate.

The horrific events of their third year, which had culminated with a fourth year girl's death and the expulsion of a third year student, had faded into unpleasant and not-often revisited memory. The ruthless social-climbing Tom Riddle had completed his studies two years before, and the rather extreme cliquish exclusivity he had engendered among the student body had dwindled. So her class felt even more like survivors than many Leaving classes did.

Ravenclaw had won the final Quidditch match of the year, but Gryffindor had won the House cup. Slytherin had won the Gobstones championship. Wilhelmina Plank, her boon companion and friend from Hufflepuff House, had managed to successfully propagate a new breed of puffskein, a miniature puffskein, which had earned her an Outstanding with distinction in Care of Magical Creatures. The Head Girl and Wil's dorm mate, Pomona Sprout, had earned an apprenticeship in Herbology. So every house felt it had made a good showing and the bonhomie among the seventh years was high.

Her dormmate, Augusta, had been the only one to beg off, sneaking out with Harcourt Longbottom not long after dinner. Privately, Minerva felt the two deserved each other and ofttimes wondered why either one had been sorted into Gryffindor. Augusta was a staunch and opinionated termagant who felt a proper Pure-blood witch did not play Quidditch, and Harcourt, a rather timid bookworm, agreed with whatever Augusta asserted.

Her twin brother, Algernon, equally opinionated, but far more boisterous and a beater on the Quidditch team, had snuck in a case of butterbeer, which all enjoyed. Pomona had brought pumpkin seed cakes she made in Muggle Studies -- her talent at cooking exceeded only by her talent at growing plants -- and Wil had her newly dubbed 'pygmy puff' on her shoulder where the Ravenclaw Head Boy, Rufus Scrimgeour, kept pretending to look when he was really admiring her diddies.

She was the only girl in their group with any to admire, Minerva had conceded, aside from Pomona Sprout, who had a bottom to match her burgeoning bosom.

The last and most silent girl in the group, tall and slat-thin Eileen Prince who had been casting sidelong looks at the oblivious Scrimgeour, was a champion at Gobstones. This was an odd talent in a Slytherin, and she was also less clannish than most of her House which was in her favour to Minerva's way of thinking, but she'd lost out in the diddy department nor did she have a well-padded bottom. So far as bottoms were concerned, Minerva had just enough cushion to keep her broom from becoming uncomfortable during a long game, and that sufficed.

Paps were a detriment to a Quidditch player; this being the only reason Minerva did not bemoan her own lack. Besides weren't men rather stupid about them? They did nought, but nurse bairns and serve as painful targets during Quidditch matches so far as she was concerned.

The tawny-haired, blue-eyed, kilt-wearing Alastor Moody showed her that night, not just how to kiss, but how very good her wee diddies could make her feel.

His lips and tongue had ventured far and wide... and deep. They had not made love, not then, but it was the night Minerva felt she became a woman. It had seemed just right, the culmination of four years of trading barbed insults as well as genuine admiration at each other on the Quidditch pitch.

The young, audacious and indomitable Alastor made her feel desirable and delicate and daunted, things Minerva McGonagall had never felt before and believed to be nugatory. They remained good friends and occasional lovers, and the rediscovery of that side of herself during their future assignations never failed to live up to that first memory.

Alastor had a way of making every encounter new and thrilling, a way of making her feel cherished and charmed, even as Auror training coarsened his already salty tongue and war reshaped his body. Her own tongue could be sharp and her body was scarcely the subject of most men's fantasies, but her words and body were strong and unyielding and it was strength they both valued above all.

Strength had bound them, but it was strength that ultimately failed them in the wake of Death Eater wrath.

~

'Can nought be done?'

'Injuries caused by dark magic are never truly gone. Wounds from dark magic will scar permanently, and organs or limbs removed by dark magic means cannot be repaired or even regrown.'

'But he's an Auror.'

Even as she spoke, Minerva felt foolish. What did it matter if he was an Auror or a bus conductor? Losing an eye and a leg would affect anyone.

Albus did not chide her, though, but merely spoke in the same kindly voice as before.

'He'll need our help more than ever, Minerva.'

She met his gaze then and merely nodded. As members of the Order of the Phoenix, their duties were clear: Alastor must heal and resume whatever tasks he was capable of performing, and as his longtime lover, she must help him heal.

She did not know then it was the only task she would be unable to complete.

~

'Just leave it!'

'Ally, please let me--'

'Don't call me that!'

His hands, those large, warm hands which had showed her so much pleasure, touching her with surprising gentleness, now harshly grabbed her by the knuckles, briefly crushing them before shoving her questing hands away.

The suddenness of it startled her more than the violence or even the pain. Her voice reflected her confusion.

'I just wanted to--'

'There's nought to be done, Minerva. Just leave me be. It's over.'

She tried again, careful to modulate her voice to what she hoped was reason and calm.

'You've been on so many different potions, Alastor.' She prided herself privately on saying his first name without emphasis; his refusal of her private name for him still stung. 'I'm certain things will improve once you're eating better and--'

One large warm hand suddenly cupped her face, covering her lips to silence her, and that one remaining blue eye held an expression she had never seen in her lover's gaze.

'Get this, and get it straight because I'll only say it the once. It's over. If that's not clear enough, then let me put it this way. We are over, Minerva. I'll not have it, not any more. I had enough of pity at St Mungo's and from the gang at the Ministry. I won't have it from anyone else, most especially not from you.'

She had been so dumbstruck she had merely nodded her understanding of his words. She understood him perfectly; they had been as one for so long it was impossible for her not to understand.

Unlike the epiphany he had engendered in her, creating feelings of rightness and splendour and completion, her actions instead left him with a sense of pain and inequality and incompleteness. He had taken her love and praise and patience for pity and was armouring himself against all kindness. This was his choice, and now as she studied him, she realised she could not take it from him when so much else had been taken already.

Minerva nodded again and he let her go, but not before she saw a glimmer of shame in his eye, quickly hidden as Alastor turned from her.

'I'll see you then, at the next meeting.'

'Of course, Alastor,' she managed to say with equanimity.

Just before she stepped out the door, she heard him mutter, 'I'll never forget you, Minerva.'

She barely paused, but she knew he knew she'd heard.


The next morning when Poppy Pomfrey asked her if she wanted bruise salve for her knuckles, Minerva merely shook her head and tucked into her plate of eggs.

It was the only way she had to hide suddenly wet eyes.

~

He never again spoke to her without a miserable sense of guilt reflected in his gaze which was often downcast in their exchanges. Still they retained a sense of camaraderie whilst working together in the Order.

No one had the bad taste to enquire what had become of their relationship.

It was not until much later that Minerva realised many assumed they had broken things off because of his maiming, something which reflected on her, although she did not sense any lessening of respect from any of her friends in the Order.

Still, there were bigger things at stake than a broken relationship between a redoubtable witch and an irascible wizard.

Tom Riddle and his ugly vision of blood purity and world domination had returned, although he called himself Lord Voldemort and his followers were known as Death Eaters. The influence of his followers was being felt far and wide, including the halls of Hogwarts where Minerva watched with growing concern as students began to espouse his cause and then join his ranks.

It was only later that Minerva saw the parallel. Shut off from any hint of kindness and prising his independence, Alastor began to treat everyone with suspicion and distrust, even those who meant him well. It was much the same at Hogwarts, where a lonely young Slytherin student, courted for his not-inconsiderable talents by one of Riddle's chief supporters, was shut off from his only source of kindness and parity at a pivotal point in his life.

What happened in both cases was tragic, if inevitable. She still treasured her memories of her union with young Alastor, though. It had been a glorious time, a period of unexpected grace in her life she could cherish.

Sometimes, though, on admittedly rare moments of introspection, Minerva McGonagall wondered if Alastor Moody had not been training for the lengthy and arduous travail that was Severus Snape.

* * *

"To look is one thing. To see what you look at is another. To understand what you see is a third. To learn from what you understand is still something else. But to act on what you learn is all that really matters."
~ unknown

3 - Three Parts Bittersweet

Minerva McGonagall, newly appointed Deputy Headmistress and the renowned Albus Dumbledore's right hand, had thus far gleaned the following facts about one 22-year old Severus Snape, Acting Head Of House and the youngest professor to grace Hogwarts school as a full professor on staff as opposed to a teacher's apprentice or assistant or non-resident outsource instructor:

One was that he was considered nigh unapproachable, except by Poppy Pomfrey who had no ill word for him.

Two was that he was surly to the point of insolence to everyone, including his colleagues.

Three was that his medicinal potions were all improvements on the textbook and highly efficacious, a fact their resident mediwitch would proudly assert when given a chance.

Four was that he never left the school except when he was assigned to chaperone Hogsmeade weekends, a chore that all the Heads of House shared equally.

Five was that he had yet to receive visitors of any kind. He was alone, he seemed to always be alone, and moreover, he seemed to prefer it.

The fourth and fifth fact troubled Minerva, given that his predecessor, Horace Slughorn, had managed to fund quarterly trips to exotic locales out of the Board of Governors claiming the need to obtain rare Potions ingredients, despite the well-maintained greenhouses and the prolific grounds. Snape had not even gone to the Hogsmeade's apothecary for rare herbs or supplies since he started teaching. So how was he stocking his classroom and laboratory?

The fact he was so very young had troubled Minerva initially, although Albus had taken pains to assure her he personally vouched for Snape's character. Such a young man could easily have his head swayed by an insistent and willing young witch under his tutelage, and even if he was above reproach in that regard, his natural healthy male urges could lead him to seek inappropriate venues for his needs. It would not be the first time Hogwarts had seen a scandal involving funds misappropriated for the use of strumpets or illicit euphorics.

Still her fears had been misplaced. Throughout his first term as an instructor Severus Snape had not once stepped out of bounds... until the night before. The night after OWLs & NEWTs did see many a staff member cut loose a little, step out to Hogsmeade for a tot or two of their favourite libation, so that was not unusual in itself.

What was unusual was the fact Argus Filch had caught the dangerously inebriated young Professor out by the lake well after midnight, and had woken her to obtain her assistance in getting him back to his quarters. He did not have to state he had been concerned the young man had been contemplating drowning more than his sorrows; in the many years she had taught, Minerva had yet to see the redoubtable man look so fearful and diffident to speak, as if afraid he would be breaking a trust.

She had assured Filch it was likely nothing but end of the year overindulgence and bundled Snape through her Floo to his own quarters, bidding a House Elf to see him to bed.

The next morning, she braced herself to visit the source of her unease and hopefully settle things before next term began.

~

'I regret having disturbed you after curfew, Professor McGonagall. It won't happen again.'

Minerva pursed her lips and turned, beginning to pace in Snape's cramped, stone-wrought sitting room. The only illumination, aside from the fireplace, came from the huge bay window that beheld the inner workings of the Black Lake, since his quarters were deep in the bowels of the castle. By day the sun's rays filtering down from the lake's surface made for a lovely view, but at night she imagined it must appear a black morass. Moreover, Minerva privately felt it must have been quite a forbidding view during the dark winter months.

She turned from the view now and eyed her young colleague.

He sat, hunched in his chair by the fireplace, not looking at her, glass of elf-made wine by his elbow on the table. A thick book sat there, too, a scrap of parchment marking his place and making her feel better disposed toward him. So, Severus Snape was a reader. Minerva could understand such a pastime, and approved of it.

'My concern isn't that you were drinking, Severus,' she admitted, hoping to draw him out a bit. 'Nor even that you drank to excess; we all have overindulged on occasion. I'm concerned because you were drinking alone. You don't go to Hogsmeade except when chaperoning the children and you don't frequent any of their establishments. Hagrid and Filius both inform me you've turned down their offers of an outing to the Three Broomsticks or their private quarters to share a libation more than once throughout the term and yet, clearly, you do imbibe.'

He frowned. 'You've watched me?'

'Not at all. Just pointing out what I've noted, and again, my concern is not that you were drunk on the grounds--what you do when off-duty and after hours is no one's business but your own so long as you are discreet, let us be clear--but my concern is that you were drinking alone and you were discovered by Mr Filch in an unfortunate condition on the grounds. What if it had been a student?'

He scowled and looked to the fire, pointedly turning from her.

'I said it won't happen again. In future, I'll be sure to engage a detection charm that will not allow me from my rooms if it senses I am intoxicated. Will that put your mind at ease?'

It would, but it was also not at all what Minerva intended by her visit.

'Only partly,' she averred.

At this he did glare up at her, the expression in his black eyes one of resentment.

'What else do you and Dumbledore want then? I've avoided the other staff as much as is possible! I've not entertained any outside visitors at all, much less after curfew. I've not visited the Maidenfair or any other Wizarding or Muggle accommodation. I've not left the castle at all except to chaperone the little ingrates once a bloody month. I don't take non-essential potions. I don't smoke illicit plants. You won't let me obtain my own potion ingredients and now you balk at me drinking? What next? Should I be totally abstinent? Will you have me take a vow to that effect?'

His voice had risen with every passing word and his face had flushed with high colour at the mention of the well-known, highly circumspect brothel on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. It wasn't until his last question that his voice cracked slightly. Nonetheless he stood to tower over her, glaring, the frustration plain on his face.

Minerva was aghast, but not for the reason he assumed.

Was he telling the truth? Had Albus proscribed him from any form of adult diversion, even disallowing him the comfort of his own colleagues when he needed to vent or to share a convivial drink to relax after a hard day? If true, it was little wonder he was drinking on the grounds near end of term. It was miraculous he hadn't cracked earlier.

Suddenly Minerva wondered if, perhaps, Albus had not been as forthcoming as he seemed when he first informed the staff of Snape's hiring. There had been more than one objection and he had waved the objections away, making them all assume his hand had been forced to it in some way, but now she wondered if he hadn't stacked the odds against Snape opting to stay.

There was more than one way to rid oneself of an undesirable element after being required to hire them. By forcing Severus into being utterly alone and without any means of coping with his isolation, maybe Albus had intended the young man to resign his post in disgust and despair.

She and the rest of the senior staff had not objected to his hiring, opting to wait and see and they had found little to fault with his knowledge or teaching, aside from the usual first year teacher overcompensation issues. Given the limitations imposed on him, it was a wonder he'd made it through his first year teaching.

She spoke earnestly now.

'I had no idea of any of this, Severus, and I assure you I will look into why such draconian rules seem to govern your hiring. I--'

'Don't bother.' He seemed to deflate, sitting once more and she wondered if he hadn't been caught in a lie. To her surprise, his deep, dark eyes grew bright, although his voice was steady, if small and rather sullen. 'It is of little import. The year is nearly over and I am lucky to have been hired at all.'

She thought back now to the fine Curriculum Vitae of a highly-skilled Northern lad she had perused along with the other staff after Dumbledore had informed them of his decision. Severus had not wasted his years after sitting his nine well-deserved and exemplary NEWTs. He had been sponsored by the Malfoy's and trained two years with a Potions Mistress in Belgium where he had attained his own mastery in the subject, registering with the Ministry on his return to England in order to obtain the right to brew potions for any Magical institution requiring a fully qualified brewer. If anything, Hogwarts was lucky to have hired someone with his expertise after Slughorn's unexpected departure. They could have hired any competent student who had earned an O in Potions to teach the younger forms and Albus himself could have supervised the Advanced Potions students, but thanks to Severus, no one had even been inconvenienced.

Except Severus, Minerva reflected now.

'That is not true. You have an exemplary record in your field, Severus. Scoff if you like, but I came here out of concern for you and I leave in the same way.' She bent and patted his hand, which made him scowl reflexively, but Minerva was a Northerner as much as he was, if anything, even stauncher in her refusal to give away any sensitive emotion to ridicule or chance.

'You might not want one, Severus Snape, and it might seem late in the showing, but you've a friend in your corner. Remember that.'

~

'I thought I'd made it clear he is my responsibility, Professor McGonagall.'

She lifted a brow at this. Albus Dumbledore was brilliant, but he was also a master manipulator and Minerva refused to be baited.

'I am your Deputy. Perhaps it would be best to share the burden,' she responded archly.

He lifted a brow at this, then popped a sour cherry bomb into his mouth and considered her offer as it fizzed and slowly expanded before bursting into an intense riot of sweet and sour flavour he thoughtfully sucked from his well-coated teeth.

'Your idea has merit,' he finally essayed. 'What do you propose?'

'If you do not trust him off the grounds, at least let him enjoy the company of the other staff from time to time during term. He's far too isolated down there in the dungeons and it's not healthy for such a young man. He's done well this first year on staff, Poppy has found great benefit in his expertise, and it would be a pity to lose him. Surely he's passed any probationary period you've set to assess him.'

His eyes narrowed. 'And you, Minerva--would mind him at such times?'

She sat straighter, annoyed at his continued lack of answers as well as his admittedly clever redistribution of responsibility.

'Of course. It would be no trouble to share the company of a colleague over the occasional dinner... or mayhap a wee tot at Rosmerta's.'

Dumbledore nodded slowly. 'I suppose Rosmerta's is safe enough.'

She tutted. 'Honestly, Albus, if he were of a mind to do a runner, he would be long gone, whatever limits you had set. He won't even go to the Forbidden Forest to forage for ingredients, out of respect for your edict. He's been shut up all term without a single complaint.'

The Headmaster considered this, and then sighed. 'Perhaps you are right. Voldemort is gone and his influence is diminished.'

Minerva sat straighter. Her tone was canny. 'We were all given your word, Headmaster, that Snape was not in thrall to You Know Who whilst the villain still existed.'

Dumbledore stared at her sharply. She smiled thinly at him. He looked rather sour and his voice reflected his irritation.

'My word still holds, Professor McGonagall.'

'I never meant to imply otherwise, Headmaster.'

He sat back and sighed. 'Very well. There's not much left to this year, but starting next term--see to it, would you, Minerva?'

'Of course, Headmaster.'

Her expression did not change, but then Minerva McGonagall knew when it was best not to gloat.

~

Her staunch allegiance provided Severus the confidence to adjust his footing around his new colleagues and by his third year he was no longer looked at as the odd man out, but a valued member of the staff. Still a bit taciturn, still a bit reserved, he nonetheless attended staff gatherings and festivities and even presented individual colleagues with presents for their birthdays. It was always a set of common potions for personal use, but still a thoughtful gift.

It was to her that Severus allowed his little seen puckish side to be revealed. The year he presented her with a set of vials for her birthday, half Sober-up Solution and half Hangover-Halt, she had laughed heartily and surprised them both with a brief, but tight, hug. It was the first time she had embraced him in the four years they had thus-far taught together. His reaction had been telling--stiffening with surprise, then subsiding into a shivering uncertainty.

She did not spare a moment for reflection; she invited him to her quarters to share the magnificent bottle of Scotch whisky she had received from her niece.

~

'I really must thank you for giving me an excuse to uncork this fine vintage, Severus. Not that I wouldn't have on my own, but it's ever so much better to share a wee tot with a friend.'

'Or a glass or two,' he amended.

She smiled. 'Well, when it's this good, it seems a pity for it to go unappreciated.'

His dark eyes watched as she sipped appreciatively before he murmured, 'There is much that sentiment applies to.'

Minerva swallowed before looking over at him. His deep, rich voice was as expressive as his face was not. Except this time his face seemed to betray him, and she wondered at it.

She was not the sort of witch that wizards flocked to, although her lack of classic good looks never bothered her. She'd never had time for vanity. She'd had her share of lovers, but it was rare enough for interest to be expressed that she did not dismiss it out of hand. In this case, however, she wondered at what engendered it.

Was it her kindness? A case of mere gratitude taken too far? Or was there something else? He still did not, she knew, have visitors after curfew, nor did he frequent any facility that dealt with gentlemen's needs. With the tether Albus still kept him on, even though he had increased its length, there was little in the way of female companionship available to him and honesty demanded she concede it was possible this was merely a case of convenience and availability.

Severus had yet to make any new acquaintances in Hogsmeade and her female colleagues regarded him as passable, but too young and far too much effort for what they felt would be little return. That left her and while she had no qualms about her ability to conduct a discreet relationship of convenience with a colleague, she wondered if he had thought this through. Clearly her age did not give him pause, which was to his credit and spoke well of his maturity.

Most older wizards or witches were not bothered by age differences, but she knew younger ones, especially Muggle-borns, often did not have the maturity to consider that when one could live at least a century and a half, then age meant very little. Clearly Severus had either the maturity or the Wizarding mindset. Perhaps he had learnt it from Eileen, she thought now, remembering his mother, from whom he had inherited his height and lanky frame.

She eyed him now and noted he waited, watching her with avidity and not a little apprehension. She realised that he was worried how she might respond.

She reached a hand out and placed it over his against the armrest.

'Indeed.' She squeezed it warmly, and then slowly began to rub a gentle circle on the back of his hand with the tips of her fingers. She could hear his indrawn breath; feel the tremor that ran through him.

'Minerva.'

He almost never used her given name, although she'd been using his own for two years. His voice had dropped even lower as he'd spoken, making her name a tremulous entreaty.

She clutched at his hand now, sitting up and pulling him closer.

His deep, dark eyes were lambent, their expression one of yearning and fear and she stroked his angular face.

'Yes, Severus.' She smiled agreeably and stroked fingers through his long, black hair. 'Yes.'

~

Minerva McGonagall had been fully expecting him to be harsh and flinty and would have accepted it as fitting to the brash young man and his circumstances.

What she discovered was that Severus Snape was like moss-covered stone. When they came together, he had revealed an unexpected layer of tenderness and reverence toward her, like the lush carpet of vibrant green that softened the sharpness, the cruel edges, of clearly jagged rock.

He had been untouched, and as with any new and striking vista she had never seen before, Minerva McGonagall explored him thoroughly, until she knew every hidden place, every secret grotto.

He had nearly broken under her benevolent onslaught, but never disclosed any of the uncertainties his eyes reflected, and he uttered no complaint. It had troubled her to realise he not only had never experienced love-making, but also had never experienced anything done solely for his pleasure.

It made her feel a deep sense of responsibility, and in the aftermath of Alastor, she questioned her capability. The last time she held a man's happiness and dignity in her hands had been a sobering lesson, indeed.

She hoped if ever someone held her happiness and dignity in their hands, they would show at least the same level of care.

~

When the newly appointed Headmaster stepped into his office, Minerva McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt were waiting within, standing before the desk, and he was hard-pressed to cover his surprise, presenting instead a look of irritation he did not have to feign.

'So far as I am aware, neither of you have a scheduled appointment. Seeing as how I have a great deal of work to do, I would ask that you leave my office at once, and in fu--.'

'It's not your office yet, Severus,' Kingsley Shacklebolt said implacably.

'The new minister, as well as the school board, approved my installation. Now if you will excuse m--'

'Severus, you may have the position, but you cannot actually work without the approval of the Heads of House,' Minerva clarified. 'The school itself will stand against you if it does not sense you have the backing of all four Heads of House.'

'What nonsense is this?'

'It's not nonsense. As the last duly designated Deputy Headmistress, I have been authorised by the other Heads of House to speak on their behalf.'

'Afraid of facing me directly, are they?'

'They are currently on holiday, as you well know.'

'And what is it you have to say?'

'It was decided not to impede your succession to office... if you accede to a gesture of good faith.'

Kingsley nodded. 'The Order also must insist.'

'And you speak for the Order now?'

Kingsley was even and calm. 'I've been chosen as the de facto head of the Order. I am also beholden only to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and again I must insist on a gesture of good faith.'

'What is this gesture?'

'A bonding. Symbolic and literal, ensuring your loyalty or, at least, signifying your... cooperation and a mutual accord of non-interference.'

'I see.' He considered it, frowning. 'With who?'

'It has to be someone in the Order, as well as someone the other teachers have faith in,' Minerva responded, and his frown deepened. 'I am the only logical option. I am a Pure-blood. We are not ignorant of the need in your remaining in good standing with your newfound colleagues, should the bond be discovered.'

She did not add that they had been in a relationship before, but the knowledge lay heavy between them. They had not, however, been involved since the last year's holidays when they had crossed paths well after curfew the night of Horace Slughorn's party. He had looked so drawn and weary that she had quietly urged him to Floo to her quarters after his rounds; Minerva being of the opinion that a bit of bedding often cheered one or at least allowed one a good night's sleep. Their ensuing encounter had been so stark and he had been so taciturn she nearly regretted it, although his post-coital kiss had seemed so full of gratitude that she had forgiven him at the time. Now, it was clear they both recalled this unfavourable moment.

Severus scowled, turning away and, oddly, studied the portrait of Dumbledore by the desk. It was likely he had surmised that she had shared this information with the Order, or at least with Shacklebolt, and she wondered how he felt. Snape had always valued his privacy, but in return he had always been most circumspect on her behalf. She wondered if this would change and braced herself for his response.

'Symbolic and literal.' He turned then to stare at her accusingly and she held up her chin. 'So you would allow yourself to be used for the sake of others' interests?'

So that was how it was to be. Still, he had not refused and this knowledge allowed her to smile knowingly. 'No more so than you. Headmaster.'

~

It was awkward as arse and she half-expected a snide comment at her expense, but Snape was surprisingly circumspect. He was also clearly reluctant, saying nothing as they had stepped into the sumptuous Headmaster's bedchamber after Shacklebolt had effected the bond and Flooed back to the Ministry.

He had offered her the use of the en suite, which she had declined, and then stalked into the bathroom, leaving her to remove her undergarments and transform her robes into a comfortable nightgown. He reappeared after a few moments, dressed only in a bathrobe, and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

She moved to stand before the bed and he joined her, but seemed unable to commit to action. He merely studied her expressionlessly, a slight tic occasionally twitching high on one cheek.

'I find it difficult to believe that you have not carried out distasteful tasks before, perhaps even similar ones, in service to your "master," Severus,' she finally admitted.

This seemed to rouse him and he quipped, 'Threat of death is a strong motivation.'

'Ach! Had I but known we could have changed the conditions of the bond,' she retorted, and his eyes narrowed, making her swallow. She did not fear him, not truly, but did not wish for the already awkward situation to grow unbearable.

His voice was deep and dark. 'Careful, Minerva. You might have me start to believe your wishes have little to do with the Order and more to do with, shall we say, personal motivations?'

She ignored his sarcasm and stepped closer, placing a warm hand against his chest. She could feel his heartbeat rapidly increase beneath her fingers.

'You will never know, Severus Snape.'

Then she pulled him down with her other hand and kissed him.

It was a hard kiss and a dry one, but it had been the catalyst and he had swiftly divested them both of clothing and, using a charm to facilitate their arousal, rapidly met the demands of their bonding.

He had not been tender, but neither had he hurt her, and afterwards she could not tell if he had even found pleasure in it--the bond requiring penetrative sex to seal itself, but not a climax from either bond-mate.

Still, she told herself, it was not as if she had found any pleasure in it, either.

~

She followed him that year whenever she could.

One bonus to the bond was that it allowed each to focus on the other and know their general location on the grounds. She could not tell where he went when he left, but she was aware of his comings and goings.

In her Animagus form, she was lithe and quick and silent, as well as relatively safe from his compatriots. She could also allow herself rest in the thicket by the school gates on those rare times he left the grounds, secure in the knowledge her sharp ears would inform her of his return. This worked well until Winter's first snowstorms began. Fur was warm, but would not keep her from freezing in the snow that blanketed the grounds.

One fiercely cold night in late February, she felt him leave the grounds and after she finished grading some student essays, she made her way downstairs. She cast a Warming Charm, and then Disillusioned herself to wait near a shadowed juncture by the stairs on the ground floor.

Not long after, she heard him trudging up the main steps. He had stood in the entry, stomping the snow from his boots, and then he headed for the stairs. She moved to the edge of the shadows, intending to follow, but as he rounded the corner, he paused near the shadows where she waited.

'I won't be leaving the grounds again, so you needn't follow me and sleep in the entrance to the office. I imagine that's hard on your back.'

His words, while snide, had been so softly uttered it was a wonder she had heard him at all, despite his proximity.

She cancelled the Disillusion spell, but before she could speak, he stiffened and abruptly stepped into the shadows with her, standing before her as the sound of voices could be heard down the corridor.

'...those bloody vermin.'

'The Dark Lord will teach them soon enough that Pure-bloods are superior.' There was a pause, then, 'Lumos! Ah. Nox.'

'You should do it non-verbally. More of a surprise.'

'Less sporting, that. Lumos! Bugger. Nox.'

They could both see the strobe of white light from the spell down the hall and Snape turned then to her, a look of hesitation on his face.

'You mean you're pants at non-verbal magic.'

'Shut it you. I don't see you doing any better.'

There was no response, but a bright white light of a spell from down the hallway briefly limned their silhouettes in the small hollow they shared. She knew what his expression portended; it was too late for them to step out. It would seem as if there had been something illicit happening.

'Hah!'

'Lucky shot, sis.'

'You wish.' The sound of steps got louder and they could both see long shadows as the brother and sister approached. She relaxed. If they intended to go up the stairs, they would not even pass near their hiding place. 'Besides, what you said before about our Lord, I wouldn't be so sure.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, Snape's no Pure-blood, and he's the cat's whiskers to our Lord.'

'Yeah? Well, he's no Mudblood, either.' Suddenly the voices passed right by the stairs and before she could do anything, Snape had lunged, pulling her to him, and she was being snogged within an inch of her life, held tight in his arms.

'Lumos!'

There was a gasp and Snape pulled free of her lips to glare at the unwelcome intruders.

'What is this?'

'Oh, uh, well--'

'Explain yourselves!'

'Sorry, Headmaster,' Alecto said sincerely, casting an interested look at Minerva, but kowtowing as she felt was required. She yanked on Amycus's arm and he nodded.

'Yeah, sorry, we didn't know you were here, sir.'

'Clearly.' Snape's expression and tone were both frosty. 'Be on your way. I was merely having a... chat... with our Transfiguration Master.'

Alecto giggled and Minerva felt herself flush, unaccountably embarrassed as well as revolted. Amycus leered.

'Of course, Headmaster.'

He looked at her for a moment and Minerva swallowed at the expression in his eyes. Then he looked back to the Carrows.

'Please note that I won't look kindly on being interrupted during such chats in future.'

Alecto frowned, but Amycus' leer increased and he nodded.

'Right.'

'But, Mick, how will we--'

'We'll figure something else out, Lekky.' Amycus assured her, and then smiled toothily at the still connected pair. 'We'll leave you to your chat. Nox!'

Neither Snape nor she spoke as they listened to the Carrows head up the stairs, although he let her go.

To her surprise, he merely turned from her once the sounds had receded and headed for the stairs himself.

It was a long time before she stepped from the shadows, in her Animagus form, and made her swift and silent way to her quarters, still puzzling over the events of the night.

~

Barely a month later, she felt Severus returning to the school from one of his sudden outings, but she also felt something else. Something wrong.

Without thought, Minerva hurried out of her quarters and down the stairs, bounding in her alternate form.

She loosed her Animagus form as she approached the staggering figure on the lawns and, ignoring any possible witnesses, rushed up to slip his arm around her shoulders and help him manoeuvre the steps of the castle. Snape panted.

'Not... wise... He... might... still come.'

'I don't care if the Kraken itself rises from the Black Lake, Severus. Magic lives in me as much as him and I'll not leave a person that needs aid if I can at all help it.'

He gasped for breath for several steps, but once they stood at the entrance, he attempted to pull free and stand on his own. He finally leant against the heavy door for support.

'Foolish... Gryffindor.'

'Foolhardy Slytherin.'

They stared at one another and she realised there was no animosity, no ill will or harsh feeling. In that moment, she trusted him. She wondered if he trusted her.

'What happened?'

'Potter was captured... but the Malfoy's...let him escape,' he wheezed. 'Bellatrix sent the summons... precipitously... the boy had fled... and...'

'...your Lord was not best pleased,' she finished, grimly delighted in the news, if not with the obvious fact that even Snape, the very cat's whiskers to Voldemort, had clearly been Crucio'd as a sign of his extreme displeasure over the day's events.

Snape nodded wearily and her expression softened.

'To bath and bed with you. Come on.'

He did not argue when she hefted his arm over her shoulder, nor did he argue when she led him to her quarters, which were closer, rather than his.

~

'He was mad because I left the school,' he admitted some time later, after a no-nonsense bath and a less than no-nonsense bedding which she initiated and enacted with little assistance from his willing, but still aching form.

'Then you'd best remain.'

'I had thought my help might be needed.'

'It sounds like Harry is leading them all a merry chase.'

'It sounds like he escaped by sheer luck.'

'Don't discount it. The boy has more than his fair share and it's been to the good of us all.'

He sighed, and to her surprise, stated, 'Would that he would share.'

She said nothing and he shifted, groaning and subsided tiredly.

'I have yet to experience one single moment of luck in my life.'

She smiled and rested her head against his lightly-haired chest.

'Then, perhaps, you are overdue.'

The silence stretched on for so long she thought he'd fallen asleep, but then he softly spoke.

'Whatever is to come, this must not happen again, Minerva.'

She said nothing and he proclaimed, 'I know you're awake.'

'Be silent, man. You're not saying anything I've not told myself already.'

'Then add this to your silent remonstrations: in public, from here on, you must treat me as you would the Carrows. Always. No one must ever suspect, and if we are caught together, you must make them believe you are with me unwillingly.'

'Fine. But for all you know, I'm merely bedding you for information.'

He snorted. 'In that case, more fool you. I was too tired to do much of anything, and I would give you what information I was able without bedding.'

She lifted her head to gaze into his deep, dark and weary eyes and smiled.

'More fool you to believe that information is all I'd be interested in, Severus Snape.'

~

Once the last of the patients in the Great Hall had been transported to St Mungo's and once all families had been informed of their loved ones injuries or demise, the Acting Headmistress made her way out of the castle.

Young Longbottom stood straighter as she passed the front entrance, which he monitored alongside a currently sleeping Seamus Finnegan. Her boys, she thought, now young men, already blooded and tested in battle... She felt her eyes sting.

'Do you need someone to go with you, Professor?' Neville's voice was quiet.

She shook her head, gesturing at Finnegan. 'Let him sleep.'

She picked her way through the deeply rutted and furrowed grounds, evidence of the battle they had fought and won. She sighed, following the pull of the bond.

She still sensed him and that was odd, but likely something that would ease over time. Harry had declared him dead and Voldemort had acknowledged killing him. She accepted intellectually that Severus was gone, but some part of her must continue to cling to hope, which was folly.

She was about to retrieve his body, to bring him back to the castle so he could lie among the honoured dead. It was the very least she owed him.

Her footsteps were steady if her spirit reluctant. She paused before the crumbling edifice and drew in a deep breath. She deliberately shut herself off from the bond she still sensed; it would ease, she remonstrated herself, once she saw to him.

Minerva McGonagall entered the Shrieking Shack for the second time in her life.

~

'Nothing but blood.'

'That amount, you know he died.'

'Besides, we saw it,' Harry said thickly, clearly saddened.

Hermione also looked sad, and Minerva felt gratitude for her courageous, but also compassionate ex-students.

'Clearly he sent one of his minions to ensure Snape's death,' the young woman said. 'Probably used a variant of an Evanesco spell.'

'Probably just used Inflammare,' Ron Weasley muttered, more interested in peeling a banana and eating it than the conversation. 'No sense in making up some fancy spell for that.'

Hermione and Harry both rolled their eyes.

'Ronald. An incendiary spell would have left ashes. There was nothing but blood.'

The ginger-haired boy rolled his own eyes at her and Minerva turned from the room where the trio and the Interim Minister, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Filius Flitwick, long time member of the Board of Wizarding Education, sat in discussion of one Severus Snape.

She had said what she needed to.

She did not wish to hear anymore speculation regarding the former Headmaster.

~

She oversaw the school's reconstruction, hired the necessary replacements, finalised the teaching assignments and approved the curriculum, then one month before term, she calmly appointed Slughorn her deputy and then stepped aside.

Minerva explained to the astounded and uncertain man that it was only for a few years, after which he would step down (or she would know why) and allow Flitwick the opportunity, as the Charms Professor was approaching retirement and should be given the chance to be Headmaster in his turn.

She explained to the Heads of House that Slughorn's appointment was necessary. The anti-Slytherin sentiment was running high, despite Snape's grand sacrifice, and the only way the community at large would begin to trust again and quit their unreasoning prejudice would be if a well-known public institution, like Hogwarts, demonstrated its own trust by appointing a Slytherin to a high office.

Slughorn was recognised throughout the Wizarding community, and either well-thought of or detested, but no one distrusted him. All well knew how he operated in his endless attempts to curry favour, but even those who found his modus operandi reprehensible did not mistrust him. Plus, he had been at the final battle. He had run interference whilst rounding up those willing to do battle and he was able to deflect the anger of those who felt Slytherin had made a poor showing at the battle itself, whenever the argument was put to him.

How could anyone, he would state reproachfully, ask that a child ally himself against his parents, possibly putting them in the position of having to duel them to the death? It was unconscionable.

The Board had been less than enthusiastic, but in light of her refusal to remain--bolstered by her claim of depression following the battle and fatigue from the rebuilding--they could do little but concede.

She had done her part and it was time to return home.

She felt she had done well. She certainly had done all that she could. She had informed those necessary of her findings without embellishment.

There had been an alarmingly large pool of blood on the floor of one of the rooms in the Shrieking Shack. There had been no sign of a body or bloody footprints. The Interim Minister himself had confirmed this, as had Filius Flitwick.

What she had not informed them was that in the middle of the pool of congealed blood had been two empty vials of Blood-Replenishment Solution, as well as a single scrap of fabric, torn from a once pristine white linen shirt. In the horrid brownish-red colour of dry blood was written 'Don't look for me.'

She had learnt from Kingsley, who oversaw Snape's estate as he had left no will that they could find, that Snape's home was to be sold. There was nothing there, but a few books and a bunch of disreputable furniture, Shacklebolt had informed her. Minerva had suggested he set up a scholarship with the proceeds of the sale for underprivileged Slytherin students, and he had concurred, liking the idea.

From time to time over that summer, when she was alone and contemplative, she would retrieve the scrap of fabric from her pocket and gaze at it, wondering where he had gone. The vials she had vanished in the Shack.

The fabric she would eventually transfigure into a bookmark, which she used to the exclusion of all others.

Minerva McGonagall knew how to keep a secret as well as any Slytherin.

~

She had arrived home in time to enjoy the beauty of a Scottish summer.

She had tidied her cottage and put away her school robes, tucking them into a trunk that she Levitated to the attic.

She walked the fields of heather every day, ranging far afield and listening to the rocks crunch beneath her stout-booted feet.

She wore skirts as had her mother before her, proper Tartans. Her jacket was warm and tweedy and full of clever pockets. One held her wand and the others various items she might need. Sometimes she tucked away sandwiches and a flask of tea with brandy, or a wedge of cheese and some apples, so that she could enjoy the sunshine as long as possible. As Fall approached, the chance for enjoying sun would be less.

~

Nearly two weeks after the Autumnal equinox, Minerva woke to the sound of her window being scratched.

An owl demanded entrance and she used her wand to unlock and open the window, allowing the bird to set its burden down on her bed. It was a bundle from the school and she recognised Flitwick's distinctive writing. Once she touched the paper the bundle was wrapped in, it slithered off her presents and a chorus of voices sounded--a clever charm she knew Filius had fashioned.

'Happy Birthday, Minerva!' The sound of her colleagues made her smile, and her smile increased as she heard them swing into a chorus of 'For she's a jolly good fellow.'

The gifts themselves were kind and fitting to each. Pomona had sent her a packet of seeds for her garden. Poppy had sent her a small home remedy kit, something which made her throat catch as she recalled Severus's gifts so long ago.

Filius had sent her a cask of whisky, minimised with a charm; tapping it twice would re-enlarge it. Horace had sent a book of commonly used potions for the home, which she already owned. She transfigured his book into a vase; she had wanted one for her dining table. Hagrid had sent a small tin of treacle tarts, which, once spelled to a chewable consistency were quite formidable; Minerva approved of black molasses. The other teachers and she were on convivial terms, but not friendly enough to exchange gifts.

Another owl arrived at breakfast, this one from Hermione Granger, who sent a card with a short letter wishing her well in her retirement and catching her up on minor gossip. She was a thoughtful young witch and Minerva knew she would go far.

Another owl, a large and beautiful Tawny, arrived as she was about to step out the door. When she took the envelope it carried, she recognised Harry's writing.

His message, written inside a Muggle-type card with a lovely picture of a Marigold, her birth-month flower, was simple:

Happy Birthday, Professor McGonagall.

I hope Leo, my new owl, found you okay. This is his first long trip. Hermione told me she was sending you birthday greetings and I figured I should, too.

I hope you enjoyed summer at home. I never used to, but then I never really knew a home until Hogwarts. It's not the same without you there, but I'm glad you're doing what you want. Everyone should be able to enjoy their life.

He had signed it simply 'Harry.'

She smiled reminiscently, stroked Leo's head, and urged him to drink and eat from the small owl perch she kept in a corner of the room, complete with small ledge that held owl treats and a water dish. Then she went for her walk.

* * *

She decided to rest in a cove where she watched the waves roll in and breathed deep of the bracing salt air.

She thought of Rolanda and Alastor. She tried not to think of Severus. It was still too new, but she wished him well, wherever he was. She steadfastly did not focus on the bond which would have told her of his general direction and state of well-being.

The crunch of rock alerted her, before she saw the lone figure slowly approaching from the jagged, rocky area East of her. She slipped her hand deep into her pocket to grasp the handle of her wand.

There were few strangers in the area and this was one. He wore neither kilt nor tartans.

Instead, he wore heavy denim breeks and Wellies. His hair was covered by a wool-lined leather cap and his body's outline was disguised by a bulky leather jacket, also lined with wool, another indication of his foreignness. The locals did not yet require such heavy garments against the weather.

His hands were deeply thrust into the pockets, much as hers were, but she thought in his case, it might be due to the weather. He paused on sight of her. He stared for so long she felt distinctly uncomfortable, and then a warm, churning sensation filled her gut.

She stood, dropping her half-eaten apple and swallowed.

He drew nearer then, and she could see the pale, sallow skin, the craggy features, the deep dark eyes... and the merest hint of raw, red scar tissue beneath the edge of the scarf he wore.

'Might a friend share a wee tot in honour of the day?'

His voice was rough, and she wondered if it hinted of injury or emotion. His eyes merely gazed at her, as if she was a fascinating vista.

She stepped up and the warm sensation grew, although the churning in her belly stopped. She smiled, suddenly finding his dear face more beloved than anything she had ever known.

'That and more.'

It was all she said as she stepped up to embrace him.

He pulled his hands from his pockets then to hold her tightly to him and her smile widened as she took in his wonderfully familiar scent, overlaid with warm leather.

Then she shifted, turning them both on the spot and they vanished with a loud popping sound as Minerva McGonagall brought Severus Snape home.

~ finite ~

A/N: Azalea's are the chinese symbol of womanhood. In flower parlance, they can signify romance, a fragile passion or can mean "take care"

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