Lost Lamb Returning

"Severus?"

Snape looked up from his book. Professor McGonagall had poked her head around the door and was beckoning. "Dumbledore wants to speak with you. Something about the Ministry."

"Oh." Snape's stomach lurched. They want to put me back in Azkaban, was the first thing that flashed through his mind. He dismissed the thought a heartbeat later; Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen, not after all he went through to get Snape out. Still- an unsettling coldness wound its way around his stomach and his mouth felt dry. "Would you tell him that I'll be there in a minute?"

"Try not to tarry too long," McGonagall said as she withdrew and headed towards Dumbledore's office herself. "Ice Mouse."

For a moment, Snape was confused at her parting words. Then he realized it was the password to get into Dumbledore's office. Well, some things still remained the same after all those years, and it looked as if the Headmaster's fondness for sweets was one of those things.

Reluctantly, Snape put aside the book he'd been reading and rose, checking the mirror as he passed.

He had been expecting this to happen for days, actually. Almost a month had passed since his imprisonment and, knowing the Ministry, they weren't content to let things lie. Not unless they could bring it about so that it was a benefit to them as well. Snape knew they weren't finished with him, not by a long shot. He knew they still didn't trust him or Dumbledore; they wanted to be certain he wasn't going to go running back to Voldemort as soon as he learned something useful. Snape sneered as he faced himself in the mirror. Once a presumed liar, always presumed a liar. That's how the Ministry thought, at least.

Come now, if you were them, you wouldn't trust yourself either. Admit it, a voice in the back of his head whispered. You saw how the minds of the Death Eaters worked. Those that weren't loyal were to terrified to show it, and no one ever turned themselves in without using information as a bargaining chip. You are a highly unusual case, you know.

He cast aside the voice impatiently, smoothing his robes and tucking his long hair behind his ear. The last thing he needed was his own mind telling him he was being irrational. Satisfied that he looked presentable, he extinguished the candles with a wave and a word, and walked out into the corridor.

He did look better than he had just a month ago. At least he no longer put people into mind of a walking corpse. The bruises under his eyes had disappeared and he had filled out some, though he still remained lean. The only things that hadn't recovered under the care and hospitality of Pomfrey and Dumbledore were his hands. Even now they lay nestled in his pockets like twin spiders, long and skeletal. Too many times he caught himself clutching at the folds of his robes as if trying to fight off some unnatural chill, gripping the fabric in his white hands until the very bone ached. It was if they were no longer part of him, as if they were so changed by Azkaban that they were sucked dry of life and warmth. Dementors' hands.

"Ice Mouse," Severus snapped before that last thought could take hold. There were too many nights when he woke screaming, wrenching himself from the dementors' cold grip that found him even in sleep. He wasn't going to let that happen during waking hours as well. Instead, it was another memory that overtook him, one very similar to the present. Only it was a different password to a different door in a different lifetime.

* * *

"Salazar."

As the hidden door swung open, Severus stepped into the Slytherin common room. Bloody stupid password, he thought as he headed towards his new home for the next year. How much more obvious can you get? Then again, people are stupid. Always slow to figure out the obvious. Always looking for a catch when there never is one, then missing it when it's bloody well staring them in the face.

He sighed as he lay down on his bed and closed the curtains around him. He stared up at the dark ceiling, looking but not seeing. It was his third year back at Hogwarts, three years closer to up and outing out of this dreary school entirely. He wasn't certain what he was going to do after he graduated, but anything was better than this. He was so sick of his day in day out existence that he wanted to scream. Snape had long since given up the hope that he would find anything that would offer any sort challenge, but still, he wished for something that would at the least take his mind off the dull monotony that had permeated his life.

The sound of a door opening took his mind off things for a moment as he froze, trying to identify the student who had just entered. Or, as it turned out, students.

"Are you sure no one's in here?" a girl's voice breathed. Severus couldn't place the voice, though it seemed irritatingly familiar.

"No one that's going to care," was the reply. Severus grimaced at the sound of the voice. Ivan Lestrange. Surprise, surprise. And where there was Ivan, that usually meant Anita Falrith.

There was the sound of a robe clasp being undone and the metallic hiss as the curtains around the bed beside him were closed. The pair's breathing became heavier as low moans were interrupted now and then by a quiet giggle. Severus could hear the rustle of bedclothes and rolled over on his side, closing his eyes. When the sounds grew louder and he was no longer able to tune them out, he sat up and crept out quietly, knowing the consequences if Ivan were to find him there.

He slipped through the common room as quickly as he could without attracting notice and headed down the hall. He had half a mind to go and seek company in the Great Hall where he knew there would be a few students who were still finishing up dinner, but the thought of holding conversation with someone like Jake Morrowi depressed him nearly to the point of tears. Instead, he opted to go outside and get some air. The castle seemed stifling, all of a sudden.

As he walked, Severus saw a group of third years playing a pick up game of Quidditch. For a split second, he wished he could be over there, laughing with friends, playing ball without having to worry about what his father would say, or what people would think of him. To be accepted.

He shook his head, inexplicably angry at himself. He didn't need them, and they sure as hell didn't need him. He had always been a loner, why change now? He'd gotten along just fine without them. Yet...

Severus turned and threw himself down on the grass, right at the base of a huge oak tree. He closed his eyes, letting the coolness of the grass permeate his robes. The leafy branches spread so far that his entire body was engulfed by shadow. For a blessed moment, he allowed himself to close his eyes and clear his mind of all his usual worries as he slipped gratefully into a world of his own, away from his bleak life. It was only times like this that made him certain he still had a life. One worth living, at least.

As he lay, Severus found that he was more drowsy than he had first thought. The low droning of insects and soft lapping of the lake soon lulled him into a near sleep beneath the tree. It was good to be where he was. His mind felt clear for the first time in months. He sighed again, but this time it was without the bitterness that had accompanied the sound for so long. If only it could always be like this. It couldn't, and he knew it, but that didn't keep him from hoping. Hope came so seldom to him now.

Time passed swiftly, as it always does when one wishes it would stand still. All too soon Severus found himself chilled and stiff as the sun began to sink behind the castle. With a small groan, he got up and brushed himself off, planning on heading back towards the castle for supper. Before he had gone three steps, something hard, small and awkward hit him full in the small of his back.

"What the-" He spun on the startled first year that had run into him. "What in Merlin's name did you think you were doing?" he shouted at the terrified girl. A voice in back of his mind told him he was being foolish to act this way, but he didn't care. "You stupid girl. Watch where you're going next time. Stupid bloody-"

"Oh shut up!" An older girl strode up to the two of the, taking the young girl by the hand. "It wasn't her fault. You've got no right to be mad at her, you stupid git." She glared at him as the first year buried her head in the folds of her robes. "What's your problem?"

"I-" Severus stood, at a loss for words. Other than to make fun of him, this was the first time anyone had spoken to him in anything more than curt sentences. He was more accustomed to having to fight off malicious teasing or return insults shot at him from his house fellows, or snapping at younger children when they got in his way. Now, he wasn't quite sure how to proceed.

Lucky for him, he didn't have to. The girl spun around and stalked back towards the castle, the younger one in tow behind her, her black braid almost hitting Severus in the face as it whipped behind her. Severus watched them go.

Cursing to himself, he turned and headed back to the castle in a different direction. Stupid git indeed. Him of all people. Huh. He shook his head. He didn't have time to waste thought on a foolish little girl. As he entered the castle, his cloak caught on a protruding stone and he heard the distinct sound of ripping cloth. Cursing again, he tore his cloak free and slammed his hand into the wall in sheer frustration, hissing with pain as the rock scraped his knuckles. Severus glared in the direction the two girls had gone, fuming as he wrapped his bleeding hand in what was left of his cloak, his hopes for at least a decent day shattered on the stone at his feet.

"There. It'll be sore for a few days, but you'll be fine. And next time, come see me sooner." Madam Pomfrey looked sternly at Severus, who was examining his newly healed hand. "Honestly, Severus. For a such an intelligent boy you can be amazingly stubborn."

"Mhmm." Severus was only half listening to the Mediwitch. He flexed his fingers a few times until he was satisfied with their condition. His hand was still sore, as Madam Pomfrey had said, but he could live with that. It wasn't as if it was his work hand. At least, it didn't have to be.

After taking his frustrations out on the castle wall, Severus had gone inside to the Great Hall. While supper consisted of its usual delicious fare, he barely ate. A hard knot had settled into the pit of his stomach and his throat was tight, making it hard to swallow. Eventually, he just gave up and headed off to the Slytherin common room.

He knew what the problem was, of course. He was angry, but this time he was angry at himself. Angry for having let loose even that one small show of emotion in public. Angry at himself for having been weak.

For someone as picked on and as physically lacking as Severus, keeping a tight hold on his emotions was one of the few defenses he had. He could keep the upper hand as long as he controlled what face he showed the world and when. As long as the mask was up, as long as he could make it seem as though nothing could touch him he could at least lessen the amount which his school mates tormented him. Any slip of the mask, any display of emotion would do nothing but serve to give them more ammunition to use against him. And what a display he had given them today! If anyone had seen him, how he acted- he would never hear the end of it. Imagine. Severus Snape in a rage over what a girl had said to him!

He had been so angry that he hadn't even gone up to the Hospital Wing. Instead, he had simply wrapped his hand in a shred of cloth and continued on as though nothing had happened. It hurt, but it wasn't anything he was unused to by this time. He'd gone around like that for weeks, and it wasn't until Professor Settra accidentally brushed up against his hand during Defense Against the Dark Arts that anyone found out. By that time, the scrapes on his hand were red and swollen and infection was setting in. Settra had made Severus go see Madam Pomfrey immediately, threatening to haul him there bodily if he refused.

Pomfrey had fixed him up right quick like, but she could do nothing about the stinging of his pride. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to go and punch the wall again, so in the end Severus carefully kept his thoughts curved away from that train. Still, he was fuming as he left the Hospital Wing.

"You're Severus, right?"

Snape spun at the sound of a voice behind him, hissing as he brushed his bruised knuckles against the wall. "Who are you and what the bugger do you want?" he snapped.

"A simple yes or no would have sufficed." A girl nearly a head shorter stood behind him, her heavy black braid falling over her shoulder. "You always this nasty?"

"If I am, that's my own business," Severus said icily. "Come to tell me off again for yelling at that stupid brat?"

The girl's face darkened momentarily, and she shrugged. "Maybe. Wasn't planning on it, but if that's what you want-"

"Look, what do you want from me? I have things I need to do. If you're that eager to reprimand me further, send me an owl." Snape turned to go, but a hand on his sleeve held him back.

"Fine, I'm sorry, okay?" The girl scowled at him. "I came to see how you were doing. You looked pretty angry the other day, and then I saw Settra threaten to drag you to the Hospital Wing if you didn't go yourself." She glanced at the fading bruises on his hand. "I wanted to apologize if it was because of what I said to you yesterday."

"I beg your pardon?" Severus looked down at her in astonishment. "You want to- apologize?"

"Yeah, I guess I was a little hard on you yesterday. I mean, you were really being a jerk to that poor little girl, but I didn't mean for you to start trying to knock down the castle bare handed." She snickered, but the sound was not unkind. "What ticked you off so much, anyway? It couldn't just have been me."

Severus said nothing. How could he tell her that she and that little first year ruined the first decent day he'd had in weeks? How could he even begin to explain how his frustration completely overran any traces of content he might have felt? He knew she would never be able to understand, so he simply shrugged. "It's who I am."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever," she said. "Anyway, I'm Julia Johnson." She held out her hand. "It's been nice talking with you."

"I'm afraid the feeling is rather less than mutual," Severus muttered, but took her hand anyway. "Let me guess, Hufflepuff."

"Nope."

"Surely not Gryffindor," he said in mock horror. "They'd know better than to let you in."

"Ravenclaw," she said, sticking her tongue out at him. "Stupid snake."

"Huh. Well, you could have fooled me." Severus barely ducked the blow aimed towards his head. "Hey! It's not my fault the Sorting Hat's getting senile!" This time, her fist caught his ear quite solidly.

"Oops! Sorry." Julia grinned as he shook his head vigorously, trying to clear the ringing from inside his head. "Thought you were quicker than that." She looked at her watch. "Oh no! I'm gonna be late for my tutoring session! I'll see you 'round. Watch out that no one steps on you." She turned and ran down the hall towards the dungeons.

Severus rolled his eyes as he headed back towards the Slytherin common room. "Stupid snake indeed," he muttered. "Watch out that no one steps on you," he mimicked as he walked. "Daft birds, all of them. Don't know how she made it in when I got stuck in Slytherin." But as the door leading to the common room swung open, he realized that for the first time in months, he actually enjoyed a conversation with someone other than himself. That came as a bit of a relief, actually, because more often than not it was dangerous for a wizard to be conversing with himself. Either way, he was surprised to find that the constant tension in his posture had eased, and the cold knot that had taken up permanent residence in his stomach had begun to loosen.

Once in the privacy of his curtained bed, Severus allowed himself to smile. Perhaps the day he lost all those weeks ago could be made up after all.

* * *

Now, standing at the entrance to Dumbledore's office, Snape felt his guts twist again. The feeling was all too familiar; either something bad was going to happen or it already had.

"Professor?" Snape pushed the door opened and stepped inside. "You said you wanted to see me-?" His words trailed off. Sitting there with Dumbledore were three men Snape never expected- or wanted- to see again in his lifetime.

"Severus." Dumbledore nodded curtly, clearly agitated by the presence of his visitors. "You know Bartemius Crouch, Cornelius Fudge and Alastor Moody, I trust?"

Snape nodded. His mouth was so dry he couldn't have spoken if he wanted to. They're going to take me back-

"Severus, before anything else, I just want you to know I was against this from the start," McGonagall said from where she was seated beside Cornelius. She obviously found the presence of the three men extremely distasteful. "I don't approve of this nonsense."

"Hardly nonsense, Minerva," Crouch said. McGonagall scowled, clearly distraught at having him address her by her first name. "I'd rather like to look upon it as a necessity. Unpleasant, perhaps, but crucial to the well-being of countless numbers of our people."

"Would-" Snape's voice came out as a harsh croak. He coughed and tried again. "Would someone care to inform me as to what is going on," he managed to whisper. Fear made his voice shake, he clamped down as solidly on his emotions as he had back in his school days. Still, his death-like hands trembled in his pockets.

"Have a seat, Severus," Dumbledore told him. He gestured and a chair appeared where a small table had been. "The Ministry would like to have a word with you." His normally bright eyes were clouded and troubled. Snape shuddered.

Cornelius cleared his throat. "Severus Snape," he began, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. "The Ministry believes that your ti- your past ties," he amended, "with Voldemort and his Death Eaters could be of use to us." He looked at Dumbledore uneasily. The Headmaster stared back at him, his blue eyes telling nothing. "And there are some of us who don't believe you have- ah- shall we say severed yourself completely from their company."

Snape felt his insides go cold as he simultaneously glared and trembled at the implications. This couldn't lead to anything good.

"As a result, we the Ministry would like you to act as an undercover liaison with the Death Eaters." Cornelius finished hurriedly, as if he couldn't get the words out and be done with them quickly enough.

For a heartbeat, it seemed to Snape that everything had just stopped. They were all looking at him, some expectantly, some disapprovingly and some, like Moody, smugly. "I-" He stopped, gathering his thoughts together even as he felt his heart grow cold in his chest. "I-" They couldn't be asking what he thought they were, he must have misheard. They had to know what they were asking was impossible. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen," he said hoarsely, "I think I need to step outside for a moment." He turned and walked back out onto the stairway.

Once out of sight, Snape broke into a run down the stairs, bursting out from behind the gargoyle and sending Professor Flitwick flying.

"Terribly sorry, Severus," Flitwick said, picking himself up and dusting off his robes. "Didn't expect you to come hurtling out- what's this? Oh dear..." The rest of his words were lost as Snape had already disappeared down the hallway.

They can't, they can't ask me to do that, don't they know, how can they, they don't understand, they can't ask that of me, I'd rather die, I can't.

The endless litany of denial ran through his mind as he ran through the corridors. Each echoing footstep brought back memories of the death, the pain, the terror he had witnessed. And caused. How could they ask him to go back to something like that?

He barely felt the cold of the walls through his robe as he leaned back and slowly slid to the ground, cradling his head in his hands. I'll die before I go back. I swear.

"Severus?"

Snape didn't look up. "I thought I told you to leave me be," he snarled, fear hardening his voice even as it twisted his stomach.

"Actually, you said 'If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I think I need to step outside for a moment,'" the curt voice replied. "And I don't believe I could ever be mistaken for a gentleman, either in manner or any way else."

Wearily, Snape lifted his head from his arms and glared but was met by a familiar cool stare in return. "Minerva, what do you want?"

As soon as the door shut behind Snape and his running footsteps faded down the stairwell, all five of them sat in stunned silence. Cornelius was the first to recover, clearing his throat and causing them all to jump.

"Well," he said uncomfortably, "I think that went rather well."

McGonagall glared at him. "You," she said coldly, "are a brainless prat. Was there really no other way to tell him? Did you even stop to think about what you were doing, how he might react to something like that? No, Albus," she said, holding out her hand as Dumbledore rose out of his seat. "Let me."

"You, Minerva?" Dumbledore raised a white eyebrow. "I hardly think-"

"Yes, me. He needs something you can't give him, Albus. He needs sympathy, but not coddling, which is what he'd get from you." She rose and went to the door, turning half way onto the landing to glare one final time at a rather sheepish Cornelius. "Then again, thanks to you we'll be lucky if I can find him at all, let alone talk to him." She turned and left, slamming the door shut behind her.

As she hurried down the halls, McGonagall cursed the name of the Ministry in every way possible, stretching the limits of her rather extensive vocabulary. For Cornelius, she came up with some rather imaginative ones.

"Of all the brainless, bloody, unthinking fools," she muttered as she rushed down the hallway, ignoring the looks she got from her fellow teachers. "Bloody well throw it in his face, watch him writhe while you more or less accuse him of still following Vold- idiot!" She wanted to take her anger out physically. Preferably on something alive and looking something like a certain Head of Ministry that was currently seated in Dumbledore's office.

"Oh! Filius, I'm sorry!" McGonagall halted as she ran into Professor Flitwick, sending the poor man to the floor for the second time in an hour. "Forgive me, I-"

"Quite all right," the little man said, rather resignedly. "Happens all the time. Don't worry about a thing. Oh, Minerva," he called, as McGonagall resumed her hurried search for Snape. "I believe you'll find Severus down that corridor," he said, pointing.

Without even stopping to thank him, McGonagall raced down the narrow hallway. Please, please, please let me find him, she thought frantically. Merlin knows what he might do in the state he's in. Cornelius, you stupid, stupid man. Do you want to undo all the work Albus has put into reshaping Severus into something that even resembled a man? It had taken days after that first incident in the Hospital Wing before Snape would even talk to anyone. Every time it seemed as though Albus had drawn him out of his desperate silence there was always something that would send him back, worse than before. First was when Madam Pomfrey removed the bandages from the gouges in his arm and he'd seen the Dark Mark, clear as ever, on his skin. Next had been the pair of Aurors who had come at the Ministry's request. Snape wouldn't speak to anyone during that time. And then some careless nitwit had left a copy of the Daily Prophet where Snape could get his hands on it. The front page was splashed with reports of Death Eater activity, including one about a young girl who had been found dead, killed by a hybrid hemlock potion. The article seemed to send Snape into a world of his own, he wouldn't speak to anyone, not even Dumbledore, and he barely ate or drank for days. He simply lay huddled on his bed in the Hospital Wing, sleeping fitfully, often disturbed by dreams that wrenched him screaming from his sleep. Most of them were brought about by his imprisonment in Azkaban, McGonagall was quite certain. But there was something he wasn't telling them, something he kept hidden that worried at him far more than even the dementors.

So lost in thought was she that McGonagall nearly tripped over Snape's huddled form before she saw him. When she did, she cursed Cornelius and the Ministry ten times over.

He sat huddled on the floor, head buried in his arms. Even from where she stood, Minerva could see his thin shoulders shaking with every breath. He hadn't noticed her yet, and she had a feeling that even if he did, he wouldn't have been able to support himself enough to stand and flee. Her heart went out to him.

No, she thought firmly to herself as she organized her thoughts in preparation for the confrontation she knew would follow. He doesn't need pity right now. He needs understanding, but if Albus keeps up with the way he's going, Severus is going to come to depend on him too much. It's not healthy, not in his state. Not with him as vulnerable as he is.

"Severus?" She said it hesitantly, not certain as to the best way of getting his attention.

The response was more or less as expected, and Snape's hostility made it easier for her to get into what she knew her students and fellow teachers referred to as "battle mode." Still, it was another few tense moments before she could get him to look up, even with a voice sharp enough to silence a room full of rowdy first years. Even then his response was hardly welcoming.

"Minerva, what do you want?"

"Severus-" She paused, transfixed by the stricken look in his eyes. Those black eyes that had once shone with clear intelligence were now vacant orbs, dull and lifeless. The emptiness she saw there cut Minerva to the quick. This was not the Severus Snape they used to know, and she knew that if they didn't get him back soon, he never would be again.

Kneeling by his side, McGonagall wrapped her arms around his bony shoulders and held him close. "I won't say I understand," she whispered as she rocked him as if he were a babe, "because I don't. But please, tell me. Help me understand so we can make them understand. Talk to me, Severus."

For a moment, she thought he hadn't heard her, was ignoring her. Then he looked up, unguarded for one of the few times she'd seen, mouth open as if about to speak. She held her breath.

"What makes you think you could ever understand?" he asked her, voice as cold as McGonagall ever remembered it. Her heart sank as he pulled away and half stood against the stone wall.

"I don't think anyone could understand, not if they weren't there," Snape continued, staring at his long hands. His voice was low, monotonous, as though the story he was recounting was not his. "It can't be explained. How can you tell someone what death feels like? It's not as if they even care, not them. They don't want to understand." The bitterness in his voice was almost tangible. "They just want someone they can use with a clear conscience so they don't have to lie awake at night, having sent someone innocent to something that amounts to death as sure as a knife on the vein. So they want me." Snape laughed, a hard, biting sound with no mirth in it. "You heard him up there, you heard Cornelius. They don't even believe I'm not with him anymore. What do they want, for me to tear my own bloody arm off? I nearly did just months ago. I told Dumbledore-" his voice shook as he spoke, "I told Dumbledore I didn't want them to think he was wrong about me, and they do. What do they want me to do about this?" he near shouted, tearing the sleeve of his robe, revealing the pale skin bearing the damning Mark. "What do they want me to do?"

In spite of herself, McGonagall flinched at the sight of the grinning skull and turned away surreptitiously. Snape, damn his eyes, noticed.

"Even you," he said softly, almost sadly. "Even you can't stand to look at me. I said it then and I'll say it now: maybe I should have died."

McGonagall flushed with both anger and shame at the memory of having spoken almost those exact same words to Dumbledore the night Severus had returned. The heat found its way into her voice as well, surprising them both with its vehemence.

"So then Albus is just wasting his time on you, is that it?" she snapped, standing and glaring down at Snape. "Fine. I'll let him know and we'll just let the Ministry have you. If there's no hope of you pulling your life back together here, then I don't know why we should waste our time. They can throw you right to the Death Eaters for all I care, and good riddance." McGonagall turned and began to walk away, holding her breath in prayer as she went. If she had read him wrong, if she had miscalculated a single instant-

"Wait."

McGonagall let out an inaudible sigh of relief. She turned back to Snape, one eyebrow raised inquiringly.

"Please," he whispered, half rising from his place on the ground. "Wait. Don't-" His voice caught as if though he were choking back sobs. "Please don't go." He shook his head in confusion. "I don't know what to do anymore, what to think. They want to send me back because they think I'm still one of them, and if Voldemort kills me, so much the better. But-" McGonagall watched as he searched out the words. He looked so young at that moment, so vulnerable.

"But I'd rather die than go back," he half sobbed. "If I go back- I did things while I was a Death Eater," he told her, staring at the ground. "Things I wouldn't even forgive myself for. If I go back- I don't want to end up doing those things again! I'll die before I do. I killed people, Minerva, and now they want to throw me right back into temptation. Then they'll have their reason to prove Dumbledore wrong. I'd kill myself before I'd do those things again."

"But will you go back to Azkaban?" McGonagall asked softly. She saw the brief flash of terror in Snape's eyes as he glanced up at her and knew she had struck a nerve. She pressed on, praying that what she was going to say was the right thing.

"I don't think Cornelius cares whether you live or die," she said bluntly. "But Bartemius and Alastor are going to want you straight back in Azkaban if you refuse. You're willing to die, but are you willing to sacrifice the rest of your life to prison? Think it through, Severus. Don't be hasty to make foolish choices."

Silence hung between the two for a brief moment as McGonagall watched and waited. She was treading a very thin wire; one wrong step could send Snape off the brink into madness, or worse. And he might very possibly take her with him.

"I don't know what to do!" Snape cried. "Gods help me, I don't know. I can't-" He collapsed suddenly, burying his head in his arms as his entire body was wracked with sobs. "It's too much," he whispered, "too hard."

McGonagall swooped down on the young man and wrapped him in her arms, holding him close in the folds of her robe. She didn't say anything- there was nothing to say. She simply held him, hoping that would be enough. For a long time, neither of them said anything, the silence broken only by Snape's strangled sobs. Shortly, they grew softer and less violent until they ceased altogether. Even then, Snape made no move to rise and McGonagall continued to hold him. No one save terrified first years would recognize this side of Hogwarts' strict Transfigurations Professor, the side reserved for a homesick youngster or traumatized older student who needed a sympathetic ear and a comforting hand.

Or for an ex-Death Eater who had to make the most important choice of his entire life in a matter of moments.

She held him long after the sobs had receded and even the shaking of his thin frame had stopped. She held him, feeling his warm tears rapidly cooling on the fabric of her robe, until she felt him take a deep breath and released him when he straightened.

"I'm sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I didn't mean to- just fall apart like that."

"Go upstairs, Severus," McGonagall said rising to her feet and helping him to stand. "Go back to your room, let me deal with the Ministry." She gave him a Look and pointed, becoming once more the strict, no-nonsense teacher Hogwarts knew best. "Go. Up. Now," she commanded, fixing him with a stern gaze. "I have a few bones to pick with Cornelius myself," she added. "That man- honestly!" She suggested that Fudge do something that would require a great deal of physical exertion, outside help, and even then might well prove to be a physical impossibility. She was relieved to see Snape manage a weak laugh, despite the worry that still creased his brow and darkened his eyes.

"I think that's considered cruelty to sheep, Minerva," he said, straightening his robes. "You might want to suggest it, though."

"I just may," she said. "Until then, just leave the worrying to me. Merlin knows I've had enough practice at it. I'll take care of Fudge and the rest of them, you go up to the Hospital Wing and have Pomfrey give you something to help you sleep. You look like you need rest." She watched him as he left, concern in her normally clear eyes. There was still something bothering him, something he was keeping from everyone, possibly even himself. No amount of pressing would get him to reveal it, of that she was certain. They would have to trust that he would let them know soon, before it ate him up inside. McGonagall prayed that the time would not be soon in coming.