The Emerald Mark

The Emerald Mark

Chapter Two

* * *

Minerva had scarcely touched her hand to the brass knocker when the headmaster's office door opened.

"Good evening Professor McGonagall, Severus," said Albus, who was indeed wearing his oldest grey woollen nightshirt, though not the violet cloak Minerva had seen in her dream. "Won't you come in?"

"Good evening, Headmaster," Minerva replied. Severus said nothing, but he looked as though he were going to be sick. Minerva stepped inside at once, grabbing Snape's elbow and tugging him along when he half-turned, as if he were considering fleeing back down the stairs. Albus appeared to notice neither Snape's appearance nor his attempted escape; he merely gestured towards the large, squishy red armchairs and matching davenport clustered about the hearth.

"Please, sit. Would you care for some tea? Coffee? Or perhaps cocoa? I was about to have a cup of cocoa, myself."

What with the three glasses of Ogden's and the tea (with more Ogden's), Minerva had quite had her fill of drinkables for the evening. Nevertheless, she smiled at Albus as she sat on the davenport, pulling Snape along with her in case he decided to run again. "Cocoa sounds lovely, thank you."

The headmaster beamed as he took a seat in one of the armchairs. "Very good! And Severus?"

Snape turned an even more alarming green, and he swallowed audibly before mumbling, "Nothing. ...Sir."

"Don't be ridiculous, Snape!" hissed Minerva. "It will settle your stomach."

Snape sighed softly, but he managed a grimace that might've been a half-hearted smile at the headmaster. "Cocoa would be fine, sir."

"Ah, excellent." Albus waved his wand, and three china cups and saucers appeared on the coffee table. Aromatic steam wafted from the cups, and Minerva found herself suddenly very glad she'd taken the headmaster up on his offer. She was even more grateful when she picked up her cup and took a sip--it was marvellous.

Albus drank, wiped a bit of chocolate off his otherwise spotless white moustaches, and beamed over at them. "Oh, that's lovely. Just what I wanted. Now, what can I do for you?"

Snape went a truly disgusting shade of greenish-white as he simply stared mutely into his cup, so Minerva cleared her throat and spoke. "I believe Mr Snape would like a word with you. About a matter of rather grave importance."

"I see." Albus nodded, drank again, and turned to Snape. "What is it, Severus?" he asked gently.

"I was...rather, I am a...I..." Snape clamped his lips shut, obviously at a loss for words, and set his cup down with hands that shook again. His face was stark white beneath the bruises, now, and tears glistened in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and rolled up his left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark to the headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore, I was a Death Eater," Snape whispered hoarsely. "I've come to surrender myself."

Albus set his cup and saucer down as well before reaching over and taking Snape's pale wrist between his two veined and wrinkled hands. "Oh, my dear child," murmured Albus, tears glistening on his cheeks. "My dear boy. Thank you."

Snape's jaw dropped. "You're thanking me for being a Death Eater?"

"No, for ceasing to be one. I'm thanking you for coming back."

"Coming back?" Snape's eyes widened, and he gaped even more unattractively than before. "You--you aren't going to send me to Azkaban?"

Minerva sighed as she rubbed the tears from her own eyes. "Of course not," she said tartly, replacing her spectacles. "I told you as much."

"Yes, but--"

Albus smiled. "Severus, Professor McGonagall is correct. I wouldn't dream of sending you to Azkaban. ...Not that I could, even if I wanted to. The Ministry possesses the unhappy power of sentencing people to Azkaban, not I. That said, of course, I won't be turning you in."

Snape shook his head, withdrawing his wrist from the headmaster's grasp in order to cross both arms in front of his chest. He raised an eyebrow. "But why? I've told you I was a Death Eater. I even have the Mark to prove it. Why wouldn't you turn me in?"

"Because you are a Death Eater no longer. You said so yourself." Albus picked up his cup, sat back, and drank cocoa contentedly.

"I said so, yes, but wouldn't you like me to take Veritaserum? You have no reason to trust me!"

"I have your word, and that is enough."

"But why?" Snape seemed lost; his eyes darted back and forth between Albus and Minerva, as if seeking some sort of trap.

Minerva exhaled sharply through her nose, impatient. "Are you a Death Eater?"

"No. Not anymore, but--"

Albus lifted a hand from his cup, stilling him. "No buts, Severus. I trust you."

Snape ran a hand through his hair, still obviously ruffled. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound emerged.

"Welcome home, laddie," Minerva murmured, squeezing his shoulder.

She was rewarded with his second smile of the evening, though this one trembled as his tears spilt over at last. "Thank you."

After a moment, Albus turned to Snape, peering over his half-moon spectacles at the boy. "Severus, I must tell you something," he began, setting his cocoa aside again in order to steeple his fingers together. "My pleasure at your returning to us is twofold. Of course, I am overjoyed that you have decided to cease being on the side of evil. However, there is another reason entirely. A...rather Slytherin reason, I daresay."

Snape took a hasty sip of his drink and swallowed audibly, a look of apprehension creeping over his features. "Indeed?"

Albus nodded, causing his beard to waggle upon his chest. "As you are well aware, of course, we are at war. In times of war, it is most useful to know what the other side is planning. And the most effective means of getting such information is to hear it from the enemy himself..."

"You want me to be a double agent." Snape's tone was flat. "To go back to him."

"It would be a great help to our cause, yes."

"The Dark Lord will have me killed!"

Albus nodded again, and Minerva noticed his fingertips were shaking, ever so slightly, despite his obvious attempt to maintain a calm façade. She knew how much it cost him to ask a student--any student--to risk so very much.

"I'm afraid that is a possibility, my boy," said the headmaster at last. "But I can assure you I will do everything in my power to prevent it."

Snape opened his mouth again, probably to protest, but Minerva forestalled him.

"You said you wanted a chance to redeem yourself, Snape." She arched an eyebrow. "Surely your life is worth no more than those of the Muggles you killed and tortured? And is the chance of saving countless lives not worth the risk to your own?"

Snape's long, pale hands tightened around his cup, and his face turned greenish-white again, in stark and hideous contrast to the livid purple bruising. He swallowed audibly. "I'll do it."

Albus smiled, but Minerva looked at Snape sceptically over her spectacles. "Will you? Or will you go back to him at the first opportunity, confess all, and beg for mercy?"

"Minerva!" Albus' shouted admonishment was punctuated by the sound of Snape's cup shattering when he flung it against the nearest wall.

"I will not go back to him!" Snape's black eyes shone with anger and pain as he glared at her. "I may not possess your vaulted Gryffindor courage, and no, I'm not exactly overjoyed at the prospect of risking my life as a spy. I'm a Slytherin--we look after our own skins!"

Cocoa dripped slowly down the wall, and the portrait of Armando Dippet sighed loudly as pale brown streaks trickled over his canvas.

Snape sighed and clenched his fists in his lap before continuing, more quietly. "That said, do you honestly think I'd be so imbecilic as to come here, confess I was a Death Eater, and then go running back to the Dark Lord the second I was asked to do something distasteful? I may not be particularly brave, but I'm not stupid." He sighed again and then stared down at his robes sullenly, lank black hair falling forward to obscure his features. "And I thought you trusted me," he added in a near-whisper.

Minerva's heart wrenched in her chest as she looked at him. "Oh, laddie, we do," she murmured, feeling wretched. "But you're going to have to convince more than just the two of us, eventually. I had hoped to prepare you. You'll hear worse than that, I'm afraid."

Snape looked at her, stricken. "You...you didn't mean it?"

She shook her head and reached up, almost unthinkingly, to brush a limp lock of hair from his forehead.

"Dear me," said Albus, sounding somewhere between amused and disappointed, "then all that lovely cocoa was wasted for naught."

Snape's face went completely blank for a moment before he buried his head in his hands and began to laugh--or sob--hysterically.

Minerva frowned, concerned, but Albus simply banished the spilt cocoa and shards of china with a wave of his wand. He then turned to Snape and set a gentle hand on the boy's still-shaking shoulders. "Time for bed, I think. You've been through far too much tonight."

Snape's suddenly went still, and he looked up at the headmaster incredulously. "Bed? Won't I need to report back to the Dark Lord?"

Minerva looked over at Albus curiously, wondering the same thing.

"Not immediately," he replied. "You need rest more than anything--I daresay we all do. We can make plans later."

"But--" Snape looked dumbfounded, as though the headmaster's kindness was beyond his comprehension.

Albus raised a hand for silence once more. "Trust me, Severus."

"I do."

"Good!" Albus nodded, satisfied. "Now, I would offer you a bed in the hospital wing, but unfortunately, your presence here at Hogwarts must remain a secret for the time being. I assume you know the way to Professor McGonagall's apartments?"

"Yes..." Snape replied warily.

Minerva raised an eyebrow at Albus, wondering if his cocoa had been laced with some sort of alcohol.

"I find myself in need of a word with Professor McGonagall," continued Albus. He turned to her. "If you'd be willing, of course."

She nodded her assent.

"Then Severus, why don't you go ahead to her apartments; I'm sure she won't mind if you sleep in her parlour."

Snape rose and looked at Minerva questioningly, and she nodded again, though the idea of having a former student sleep in her private apartments was disconcerting, to say the least. "Tea things are in the kitchen, and the lavatory is next to the bedroom. You may sleep on the davenport."

"Thank you," Snape said quietly, his words obviously addressed to both of them.

"No thanks are necessary," replied Albus as he stood. He patted Snape on the shoulder and then escorted him to the door. "Sleep well."

The door had scarcely closed behind Snape when Minerva gave the headmaster a severe look. "What are you playing at, Albus, having him sleep in my apartments? Surely there is somewhere else we could've put him?"

He chuckled as he took the now-vacant seat beside Minerva. "There are other places, yes...but I thought this would be the most suitable arrangement."

She stared. "Why?"

"Because he has need of you, Minerva." Albus smiled softly and reached up to tuck an errant curl behind her ear.

Blushing, she took a deep breath and turned to face him. "I kissed him, earlier."

Any other man would have reacted with jealousy or anger. Not Albus Dumbledore. He merely nodded, setting his beard to waggling again. "I thought as much, from the way he looked at you. Why?"

Minerva laid her head on his shoulder and inhaled, breathing in the familiar and intensely comforting scent of chocolate, lemon drops, and old books that always hung about him. "I don't know," she said at last, frowning. "It seemed the thing to do, at the time. Perhaps because of too much whisky."

He chuckled again. "As good a reason as any."

Her frown deepened as she tilted her head to look at him. "You're not upset?"

Albus bent to press his lips briefly to her forehead. "Of course not, Kitten." He smiled mischievously. "He is, after all, of a much more suitable age than I."

She glared. "That isn't funny. Besides, I didn't say I loved Snape. I just kissed him."

"I know." He began stroking her hair gently, and Minerva was strongly tempted to arch her back and purr. She didn't, however, and contented herself with putting an arm over his chest and nestling close.

After a moment, Albus spoke again. "I think you ought to try."

Minerva arched a brow in confusion. "Try what?"

"To love Severus."

Gasping, she moved away and looked at him in astonishment. "But I love you!"

To her surprise and extreme vexation, he laughed aloud and pulled her to him. "Oh, Kitten, I love you, too. But love is a strange thing; it is inexhaustible. And there are dozens upon dozens of different kinds."

He lifted a wrinkled hand to her cheek and traced the line of her jaw and the curves of her lips with his thumb. "I'm not suggesting you love Severus the same way you love me. To do so would be quite foolish, as I know you would never do such a thing. And, I must confess, I would be devastated if you did."

Minerva smiled. "You know I couldn't."

"Indeed." His pale blue eyes sparkled with emotion behind glass lenses. "But I believe Severus needs you."

Her brows knit. "What, exactly, do you think Snape needs?"

"A mother. A lover. A woman." Albus smiled warmly. "Every man needs one, you know. Well, some men," he clarified hastily. "Some, of course, need another man. ...And a select few find themselves in need of a goat. But everyone needs someone."

Sometimes it was best just to trust Albus without asking too many questions, Minerva thought with a sigh. "Very well." She raised an eyebrow. "But what about you?"

He smiled yet again. "Well, if you're going to be mother to him, that makes me his father, now doesn't it?"

"And if I'm his lover, instead?"

Albus shrugged slightly. "He needs to be loved, Minerva. It is the greatest power--and the greatest healer--we fragile humans possess."

"I see," she murmured, though the words were cut off when he bent his head and captured her lips with his own.

"Good luck, and good night," he said quietly as she rose a moment later and headed for the door.

Minerva turned and smiled at her husband over her shoulder. "Good night."

She walked quickly--if a bit unsteadily--back to her apartments. The sky was beginning to lighten, she noted with a wince as she passed a window. So much for sleep, then. Her first class, fifth-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, commenced at nine o'clock, and it had to be nearing five now. She opened the heavy wooden door carefully, for fear of waking Snape, but saw upon entering she needn't have worried. He was sitting on her davenport, fully clothed and apparently wide awake, staring into the near-dead embers of her fire.

Minerva closed the door less quietly than she'd opened it, and Snape jumped. He turned toward her and shrugged a bony shoulder. "I couldn't sleep."

She crossed the room and perched beside him. "Did you try?"

He looked back at the hearth. "No," he muttered sullenly.

"Well, then how did you know you couldn't?" she asked, reaching up to stroke his hair in what she hoped was a sufficiently motherly manner.

Snape flinched and then turned, glaring. "Don't do that."

She withdrew her hand at once.

He sighed. "I always give myself the Draught of Living Death before bed. I've been doing that for two years, and I highly doubt I could sleep without its aid, now."

"Would you like to try?"

"I'd like to sleep."

Minerva smiled as she stood. "Come along, then, laddie."

He eyed her warily. "Where?"

"Bed," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"With you?" Snape sounded scandalised.

Minerva frowned, mentally cursing Albus for giving her this task. Did Snape need a woman, or not? He certainly seemed unresponsive to her efforts.

"Yes, with me."

He opened his mouth as if to protest but then nodded and stood, looking resigned. "It was the Dark Lord's prerogative," he muttered. "Why would it be any different with you?"

"Oh, my goodness, no, Snape!" she gasped. Her heart froze in her chest as she realised what he must have thought. "I would never do such a thing!"

He raised an eyebrow, disbelief writ plainly upon his face. "Then what, pray tell, did you mean?"

"Only that I've had many years of experience keeping nightmares at bay," Minerva answered softly, squeezing his shoulder. To her surprise, he didn't flinch this time, but instead looked up at her with an unreadable expression.

"I suppose you have, at that." Snape rose, sighing. "I won't sleep."

"Don't be ridiculous," she snapped for the second time, leading the way to the bedroom. "You can't know for certain until you try."

He snorted loudly but followed, nevertheless. His footsteps ceased, however, when they entered her bedchamber. Minerva turned to see him staring at the bed with an expression of mingled horror and amusement. She frowned. The tartan curtains, canopy, and coverlet were admittedly a bit overwhelming, but certainly they were no laughing matter!

"Don't say a word, Snape," she cautioned.

He made a rather strangled sound but thankfully did not comment as he went to the bed and sat gingerly on the edge to remove his boots. Minerva followed, pausing only to step out of her slippers before she climbed into bed. She was still arranging the bedclothes about her when he spoke.

"Should I sleep atop the coverlet?"

"Not unless you enjoy being cold."

He shook his head and joined her beneath the blankets. Minerva slid over a bit to give him more room and then removed her spectacles and set them on the bedside table. Snape inhaled sharply, and she turned her head on the pillow, perplexed.

"Is something amiss?"

Even though Snape looked slightly blurry, Minerva saw his face turn red as he muttered very quickly, "Yoofbeuflieswowfspeckles."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

He went purple, clashing horribly with the crimson of the tartan bedclothes. "You have beautiful eyes, without your spectacles," Snape said softly. He cleared his throat. "I'd never noticed."

Minerva smiled, touched. She was suddenly reminded, yet again, of how very young he was. "I don't suppose you would have. But...thank you."

Something within her softened, then, and on impulse, she rolled onto her side and laid her arm lightly over his chest. He stiffened.

"What are you doing?"

She smiled again. "Holding you."

"Why?"

"Because you need it."

Snape sighed. "I do not. Please let go."

Minerva arched an eyebrow. "Do you want to sleep?"

"Yes, but--"

She shook her head slightly and tried to pull him closer. "Then kindly hush, laddie, and come here."

"Fine!" he snapped, rolling onto his side so that he was a hairsbreadth away from her. "Is this better, Professor?" his voice dripped sarcasm.

An amused smile tugged at Minerva's lips once again as she replied. "Almost."

She curled her arm around his back and moved his head so it was nestled in the hollow between her shoulder and her bosom. Snape remained stiff and unresponsive but allowed it, nevertheless. Once he was arranged to her liking, she began gently to rub his back.

After a long moment, he exhaled, and she felt his muscles begin to relax beneath her touch. "Thank you," he whispered.

She kissed the top of his head and then nodded, resting her cheek against his hair. "Think nothing of it, child."

Snape only yawned in reply. Encouraged, Minerva continued stroking his shoulders, touching him softly and murmuring words of comfort, as though he were a small and frightened child and she the mother she hadn't known until now she wanted to be.

He yawned again a short while later, and she knew it would only be a matter of time before sleep claimed him, Draught of Living Death or no.

She knew also that sleep was completely out of the question for her, regardless of her exhaustion. For as she touched him in the chill half-light of dawn, the grey shadows blurred his face into a pale copy of another, leaving unaltered only the black of his hair and one long and slender white hand resting on the tartan coverlet.

And so Minerva remained awake, stroking his soft, black hair and holding his name on her tongue, as silver light, the colour of a pensieve, slowly filled the room.