The Duel

The Duel

"I will be testing you on turning thimbles into acorns after the holidays, so please ensure you practice before the next lesson. Class dismissed."

The first-year Hufflepuffs filed out and Minerva McGonagall breathed a sigh of relief: the last class before Christmas had finished. It had been a hectic term, but then the autumn one usually was, with the teething problems of a new set of Gryffindor students and the inevitable Quidditch trials - not to mention the induction and training of the new batch of Prefects, which was one of her primary responsibilities as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. With a flick of her wand, she straightened all the desks and chairs, then gathered up her books and walked along the corridor to her office.

Minerva's office, although quite spacious, always seemed much smaller than it actually was, as almost every bit of wall space was covered in mahogany bookshelves, all of which were full to overflowing. Shafts of bright, wintry white sunlight fell through the leaded windows onto her large, dark oak desk, casting shadows from the pile of books she deposited there over the neatly stacked rolls of parchment on the right-hand corner. Minerva sat down at the desk and started to sort through the books and parchments, filing them all away neatly as she did at the end of every term. It always felt better to start the holidays with a clear desk.

She had almost finished when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in," she called, peering towards the door over the rim of her square spectacles.

The door opened, and a tall, black-haired figure walked in, closing the door gently but firmly behind him.

"Good afternoon, Minerva."

"Ah, good afternoon Severus, do sit down. You're a bit earlier than I expected."

Minerva quickly put the last of the books onto the bookshelves as Severus Snape settled himself into a burgundy Regency armchair near the roaring fire.

"Can I get you a drink?" she asked, moving across to a small cabinet in the corner. "Your usual Firewhisky?"

"Mmm, yes, with a dash of water please," he answered casually, staring into the flames as they licked and devoured the edges of one of the logs, the firelight reflecting in his black eyes.

She poured a large measure of whisky into a cut crystal glass, added the water, and then poured a glass of sherry for herself. She handed him the whisky and sat down on the chaise longue opposite him, kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet up onto the seat next to her, covering them with her dark green robes.

"So," said Severus, raising his glass slightly in salute, "to the end of another term."

Minerva raised her glass in reply and they drank in silence, savouring the peacefulness of their surroundings and the warmth of the fire.

"You seem rather anxious to start our game today, Severus," she commented after a while, a small smile playing round the corners of her mouth. "We don't normally begin until sunset."

"No more than usual, Minerva," he replied matter-of-factly. "My classroom was quite clean after the last class today - remarkable for a class with Longbottom in it - so I didn't have too much to attend to. Anyway, it's not far off sunset now."

He lifted one pale, long finger that had been tracing the rim of his glass - amazingly delicate, unstained fingers for someone who spent most of his time handling potions ingredients, thought Minerva - and indicated towards the window. It had started snowing again outside, and already small ridges of snow were coming to rest on the windowsill and along the leading in the windowpane. The sharp, wintry light had now taken on a dark orange hue, signalling the approaching onset of night.

"Well, we'd better decide the details of the contest now, I suppose," said Minerva, straightening up in her seat. "Are we playing by the usual rules?"

"I see no reason to change a perfectly good tradition," Severus replied silkily, inclining his head a little to one side. "They've served me well in the past."

Minerva raised her eyebrows.

"Pure chance that you've won for the last couple of years," she said with a sharper note to her voice. "You won't find it so easy this time, I'm sure."

"Ah, I do like a challenge!" he murmured huskily, the corners of his mouth turning up into an uncharacteristic smile.

"The usual rules it is then," she replied, her eyes narrowing slightly. "The Head of House with the most house points on the last day of term chooses the challenge; there are three rounds; and the best of three wins." She paused. "I believe Gryffindor currently has 325 points to Slytherin's 280."

Severus shook his head. "I think you'll find, Minerva, that the scoring has changed since lunchtime. I - ah - had reason to deduct a few house points during this afternoon's lesson."

"My sixth-year Gryffindors. I might have known," she scowled. "So the scores are...?"

"Slytherin 290, Gryffindor 295."

"Thirty points deducted in one lesson! What were they doing, burning down your classroom?" But seeing the obvious amusement on the Potions Master's face, she recovered her composure and continued acerbically, "But despite your best efforts, Severus, Gryffindor is still in the lead. I choose the challenge today."

"I look forward to it, Minerva. Have you already decided?"

"I have. A Transfiguration Duel. We each start with the same object, and using transfiguration only - no charms or hexes - we duel those objects until one has destroyed the other."

Severus stroked his chin with his hand, nodding slowly as he thought.

"That would seem to put you at a distinct advantage, wouldn't it?" he said, glancing across at her.

"Not particularly," she replied. "Even as a student here you were quite adept at it, I seem to remember - top of your house's class - and I'm quite sure you've added to your skills since then."

Severus smirked. "Yes, I suppose I have. A Transfiguration Duel it is then."

They set their empty glasses down on the mantelpiece and stood up. Severus wandered over to the window and watched the snow falling in the twilight, while Minerva prepared the room for the duel.

Funny, she mused as she moved the chaise longue and the armchair against the bookshelves and drew a large white circle on the floor, how these long-held house rivalries had spilled over into their private lives. This annual tradition of theirs, this battle of skills, had begun some seven years before as settlement of a trivial argument in the staff room. But somehow it had moved from that into being their own personal wager in the years that followed. And Minerva always liked a good competition, especially when she had such a worthy adversary.

The circle drawn, she took two quills from her desk and laid them parallel to each other in the middle of it. Severus turned from the window and walked over to the edge of the circle, gazing down at its contents.

"Ah, the quill is mightier than the sword, or so they say," he commented dryly.

He drew his wand from under his robes and began to pace round the edge of the circle, regarding the quills thoughtfully. Minerva rolled up the sleeves of her robes and likewise circled round the opposite edge, the two of them looking for all the world like wrestlers about to do combat.

"Are you ready, Severus?" she asked.

He nodded curtly.

"Three...two...one..."

In a flash of blue light from Severus' wand, one quill disappeared to be replaced by a snake, while the yellow flash from Minerva's simultaneously produced a metal rod. The snake slithered across and began to wind itself round the rod.

"Are you playing it safe, Minerva?" Severus murmured, but even as he was speaking, Minerva waved her wand again.

In place of the metal rod, a large dark brown bird with grey-blue spots on its wings appeared. It spied the serpent winding itself round its legs and with one deft movement seized the creature with its beak. It battered the snake's head against the floor three or four times and then proceeded to gulp it down whole. Severus frowned deeply with displeasure and took a step back.

"Finite Incantatem."

One rather large quill dropped into the centre of the circle. Minerva smiled a satisfied, thin-lipped smile.

"One-nil to me, I think."

"That kookaburra was a stroke of genius," he conceded grudgingly, "but the game is far from over yet, Minerva. My choice of object next, I believe."

He walked over to the desk and looked around. He picked up the pot full of thimbles that Minerva had bought back from her last lesson, took a couple out of it and turned back to the circle.

"Are you still using these for your first years?" he asked. She nodded, and his lips twisted into a small, wry smile. "Some things never change."

He sighed and added, as he put the thimbles in the centre of the circle, "A memory of much more innocent times."

They took up their positions on opposite edges of the circle once more, wands at the ready, and Severus counted down.

"Three...two...one..."

A flash of green light and a muttered incantation, and Minerva's thimble turned into an acorn. She gasped, realising her mistake, but before she could transfigure the object again, Severus' thimble had turned into a hammer, which crashed down, shattering the acorn into pieces.

"Finite Incantatem."

"Sometimes it takes a sledgehammer to crack a nut, wouldn't you say, Minerva," said Severus coolly.

"You - you put that thought about my first-year class into my head on purpose!" she spluttered indignantly.

Severus smiled superciliously, his teeth bared slightly, and Minerva felt she'd had a glimpse of how his students might view him: devious and cold. She had to remind herself it was just his public façade and didn't bear too much resemblance to the man she had got to know over the years.

She took a deep, calming breath and then cleared the thimbles away with a wave of her wand.

"One-all and everything to play for," she said, as her eyes roved around the room, looking for suitable objects for the third round. "Ah, these should do."

She went across to the mantelpiece, picked up the empty glasses and took them to the circle.

They took their time this time, pacing round the edge of the circle, their brows furrowed in concentration as each considered their opponent and the material they had to work with.

Eventually Minerva cleared her throat and said, "Well, I suppose we'd better get on with it. Unless you need more time, Severus?"

"No, no, I'm prepared," he replied and raised his wand in readiness.

"Three...two...one..."

There was flash upon flash of light as the battle began in earnest. The transfigurations were taking place at breakneck speed: knife - cauldron - hammer - rock - burning coals - metal pail. And so it went on. It became a matter of gut reaction rather than logical thought as the pace quickened still further. Animate objects could be killed, inanimate objects could be broken; success or failure would be determined by choosing the correct one for the moment.

"Ha!"

Minerva let out a small shout of triumph as her Guillemot began to peck holes in Severus' latest offering, a dragon-hide glove. But the glove had already changed into some rope that wrapped itself round the bird's beak. Quick as a flash Minerva transfigured the Guillemot into a small snake, which promptly slithered out of the coils of rope. Another flurry of spells ensued: letter-opener - gold platter - chessboard - scissors - urn - hammer again - anvil - mace. At a wave of Severus' wand, the anvil turned into a Bludger, which hurtled straight at the mace and smashed it to pieces. The Bludger rebounded upwards, hit the ceiling and plunged downward again directly at Minerva. Her eyes widened in fright as she stepped back to try and avoid it.

"Finite Incantatem."

At Severus' words, the Bludger resumed its original state in mid-air, and the whisky glass hit the floor, shattering into hundreds of pieces.

"Thank you!" she breathed shakily.

"I believe that's a clear win for me, Minerva ... yet again," he said in a calm, but clearly self-satisfied voice, his black eyes gleaming with triumph. "I choose the forfeit this time - close your eyes please."

She did so, somewhat hesitantly, and could hear him approaching, picking his way carefully across the glass-strewn floor.

"What have you chosen, Severus?" she asked, her eyes still shut tightly.

He didn't reply, which unnerved her a bit, but came to a stop silently in front of her. He was so close she could feel his body heat and his hot breath on her cheek, and she trembled slightly despite herself.

"Well?" she enquired, trying to sound calm and collected, with just a trace of irritation thrown in for good measure.

Still without a word, he stepped even closer. She held her breath as she felt one hand brush gently against her cheek and chin, while the other removed the pins holding her bun in place. She shook her head gently and felt her mane of sleek, black hair break loose and fall down over her shoulders and back. He ran his hands slowly through her hair from the roots to the very ends, which sent shivers down her spine, and then traced round the edge of her parted lips with one long, thin finger.

Her eyes still shut, she turned her face upward slightly towards his in anticipation. His hands cupped her neck and drew her gently in. His lips met hers, kissing her softly at first, then deeper and more hungrily as she responded, and he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tightly into him. She could feel herself melting into his arms, her face flushed with desire, all her other senses heightened by the lack of sight.

"Oh yes," she gasped breathlessly, pulling away slightly and opening her eyes to look at him. He smiled down at her, his normally expressionless black eyes alive with pleasure, and his pale cheeks tinged with colour. She smiled back at him, and then again all the more when she saw the large ball of mistletoe hovering in mid-air over them.

Still with one arm round her narrow waist, Severus turned and pointed his wand at the chaise longue, transforming it into a feather bed, covered in black, silk sheets. Then, having pocketed his wand, he scooped Minerva up into his arms and carried her over to it.

"Oh Severus," she giggled, as he laid her down on the bed, "I do so like it when you win!"

He sat beside her on the edge of the bed and ran one hand languidly down her body, from shoulder to thigh, nudging her robes aside to savour the feel of her skin against his.

"To the victor the spoils, Minerva," he murmured, leaning in closer over her. "To the victor the spoils."