Walls

Walls

By Tari Manveri

Snape crossed paths with McGonagall as she was returning to the castle from the direction of the Beauxbatons carriage. She was alone, striding forward determinedly through the dewy grass of the Hogwarts grounds, her face twisted and her eyebrows furrowed. She looked, in fact, about as distraught as she ever had at any time, and she nearly walked straight into Snape, who wore a matching expression of anxiety.

"Minerva."

"Severus."

There was a lengthy silence, until finally McGonagall spoke. "What a terrible night!" She sighed wearily.

"That," said Snape in the heavily sarcastic voice he used so often with his students, "is an understatement of truly spectacular proportions."

McGonagall took a very, deep breath, visibly gathering her courage. "I'd better go on and see what else Dumbledore can have me do. I suppose you'll be going now to..." Her words trailed off.

"Yes. I cannot delay it any longer."

"Do be careful. There has been enough... tonight." With this McGonagall turned away and sniffed hard. Snape took a step closer to her and unexpectedly put a hand on her shoulder. She sniffed again and looked furious with herself. "A terrible night," she repeated. "I have seen terrible things before now, but nothing could have prepared me for anything like that, nothing at all."

"I don't think," Snape said slowly "that you mean Voldemort's return, and what he did to Potter or even Diggory." An expression of alarm crossed his face as she gagged slightly.

"No," she whispered. He gripped her shoulder more tightly as she took a slow breath. "No, it was that dementor... vile... evil... I cannot believe that Fudge..."

"I'm sorry you had to see it." Snape said.

McGonagall straightened up, squaring her shoulders resolutely. "You saw it too, and you're all right. Anyhow, I daresay you'll have worse things to see before you come back to us," she said in a voice close to her normal brusque one.

"I daresay," agreed Snape without enthusiasm. "And I suppose I must be off to seek them."

"Look after yourself then, Severus," she said, reaching up and laying her hand on top of his momentarily.

"I'll do my best."

"When you come back, the kettle is always on in my office."

With a final clasp of McGonagall's shoulder, Snape was gone. His black cloak billowed out behind him as he disappeared into the night.

McGonagall turned and went up the stairs back into the castle, alone.

* * * * * * * *

"All right, what did they hit you with?" McGonagall asked as Snape staggered into her office very early the next morning. She was quickly at his side, supporting him with an arm around him and leading him toward her chair. He sagged against her. His black hair fell limply over his bowed head, but when she looked closely, his face under it was haggard and lined with pain.

"What didn't they hit me with?" he mumbled as she lowered him into the chair. He sank into it, groaning softly. "Immolum... Cruciatus..." He looked at his hands for a moment as though they still hurt then lay his head down in his arms on the desk in front of him.

"You certainly didn't waste time finding yourself in trouble," McGonagall admonished, but her tone was gentle. "I'll send for Dumbledore."

"He's coming," said Snape without lifting his head. "I already sent word with a house-elf."

"Tea, Severus?"

"Coffee, if you have it," replied Snape, this time raising his head wearily. With a quick flick of her wand, McGonagall transformed the tea she was pouring to coffee and handed it to him. He took it and wrapped his hands around the comforting warmth of the cup.

There was a soft knock at the door and Dumbledore swept into the room, taking in the scene in a moment: Snape slumped in the chair at the desk and McGonagall regarding him with concern from across the room. Before Dumbledore could speak, Snape raised his head and looked up at him. "I'll tell you what happened then?" he asked. He passed a hand across his face and ran it through his hair then continued: "I found Lucius Malfoy. He was with Avery. I thought it best not to seek out Voldemort himself until I could be sure of the way things were."

"Wise," said Dumbledore, nodding.

"So I went to Lucius," Snape continued, "and I told him that I was willing to return to loyal service to Voldemort. I was not terribly creative in my excuses for seemingly leaving the death eaters, but I thought my story of how I had feared the retribution of the rest of the wizarding world should Voldemort ever be defeated resonated deeply with him. He told me what Voldemort said to the Death Eaters about the ones who didn't return to the circle. Of course, he couldn't know which of the ones who didn't return I was, and he believed me when I told him that it would have been too risky for me to leave Hogwarts in the middle of the Triwizard Tournament. For all he knew, I was the most loyal servant Voldemort spoke of." He made a deep sound of disgust, and finally continued, bitterly: "So to prove my loyalty, he tried to place me under the Immolum curse."

He raised his hand against McGonagall's sudden, furious sound of protest. "Of course, if I were truly loyal to Voldemort I would have welcomed the curse, but I am not and I could not stand the thought of having all my few attachments to others severed." His eyes rested on McGonagall as he went on: "I knew that once under the curse there would be nothing to stop me from bringing Harry Potter to Voldemort, in order to buy favour for myself and Lucius."

"A terrible curse, the Immolum curse," agreed Dumbledore. "How disturbing that they should call it the sacrificial curse when it is used to forcibly destroy all the victim's loyalties save their loyalty to Voldemort [1]. Indeed it is a sacrifice of all that is good. I presume you resisted it?"

"I could not bear the thought of the tool I would become under that curse, so I didn't even try to resist it. I outright blocked it, foolishly destroying my cover and my usefulness as a spy." Snape was unable to continue for a moment, his voice choked with some powerful emotion. Finally, he said "I am sorry."

"Continue, if you please, Severus," said Dumbledore, waving his hand vaguely.

"Of course, Lucius was fully aware that I had blocked his spell, and he was angry. That was when he put me under the Cruciatus curse."

"How did you escape?" gasped McGonagall.

"Oh, he let me go, when he grew tired of holding the curse on me, which, I must say," said Snape in an exhaustedly sarcastic way "was longer than I would have thought it might be. After he was done he overrode Avery's wishes to send me straight to Voldemort and said he'd let me go for the sake of old friendship."

"Oh indeed. More likely a little blackmail on his part and some nasty double dealing," put in McGonagall indignantly.

"No," Snape retorted "He's loyal to Voldemort. Be sure, Minerva, I'm no more use to anyone as a spy among the Death Eaters."

"As unfortunate as that may be, Severus," said Dumbledore with just a hint of a twinkle in his eye, "at least you are safely back with us now, and you can do as noble, although perhaps less heroic work here as our potions master. We have other ways of monitoring Voldemort's movements and plots."

Snape shook his head but said nothing.

"Well then, Severus," Dumbledore continued, smiling now, "I think perhaps it would be best if Minerva were to help you back to your room so you can rest after what I am sure, no matter how hard you may try to disguise the fact, was a terrible ordeal for you."

This time Snape opened his mouth as if to argue, but seemed to decide he didn't have the energy.

"Good morning to you both then," said Dumbledore and strode out of the room.

McGonagall waited as Snape finished his coffee. When he was done and was staring vacantly into the empty cup, she touched him softly on the shoulder. "Shall I help you back then, Severus?" she asked.

Snape braced his hands on the table in front of him as though he was going to try to get up, then seemed to think better of it. "If you would, Minerva."

"All right then." McGonagall put an arm around Snape to help him out of the chair, then steered him toward the door. "Is there anything you need to do first?"

"No," mumbled Snape. He suddenly looked old, and not merely tired to McGonagall, who reminded herself that he was not so very much younger than she was, before returning her concentration to supporting him. Although she was nearly as tall as Snape and he was thin, she was finding him hard to guide. He seemed unable to coordinate his limbs, and his head drooped against her shoulder as they walked.

They took some time at the door to Snape's rooms: he had to pause a moment to summon the energy to remove the complicated wards he had placed on them. Finally they were inside, though. Despite her concern for Snape, McGonagall looked around with interest. In all her years of acquaintance with him, she had never seen what she had taken to calling his inner sanctum.

But her attention was quickly drawn back to Snape. He was fumbling with the fastenings of his heavy, high necked robe. It fell to the floor around him in black folds. Underneath, he was wearing a plain white shirt and black trousers, and he seemed to be looking around helplessly for something.

"Night clothes?" he asked faintly.

"Go to bed like that," McGonagall ordered. "It won't hurt for once. Shall I send for anything from Poppy? A sleeping draft, perhaps, if you are still in pain?"

"No," he snapped. "I make my own."

"Of course."

He stumbled over to his bed, and reached for a bottle on his nightstand. The contents sloshed wildly as he tried without success to open it.

"Let me," said McGonagall, swooping over to take the bottle from his trembling hands. She poured a draft for him. He swallowed it at a gulp and lay down. His eyes closed and he was asleep almost immediately.

McGonagall's immediate instinct was to cover Snape warmly, which she did, carefully, so as not to disturb him. Her next instinct was to turn and leave him to sleep, but upon further consideration she decided to wait and make sure he was really all right. She seated herself across from the bed on a stiff leather chair and allowed herself to survey the room. Two walls were lined with books, and these were arranged alphabetically by subject and author, she noted with approval. They were housed in handsome dark bookcases, some with glass doors, some without. There was one high window in the middle of the wall across from the door, and Snape's bed was set under it.

Having examined the room and the bed, McGonagall's regard returned to Snape. He appeared to be sleeping peacefully, and the lines of pain and tension in his face had partially eased. His black hair spilled across the pillow in stark contrast to the white linen. As McGonagall watched, he mumbled something in his sleep, sighed, grasped at his blankets, and burrowed down among them. Seeing this, McGonagall felt suddenly intrusive, and after another few seconds crept out quietly to leave him in peace.

* * * * * * * *

Snape woke up early that evening, every muscle in his body stiff from the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse. He was making his painful way along the first-floor corridor toward the great hall when he met McGonagall again. This time she was the one staggering, out of sheer exhaustion, Snape strongly suspected, looking at her pale face and the dark circles under her eyes.

"Minerva, you look..."

"Thank you," she replied acidly.

"Have you had any sleep at all?"

"Thank you again for your concern, but I do not sleep in the day, especially in the middle of a crisis when I might be needed," she snapped venomously.

Snape bit back an equally short-tempered reply concerning the grossly unfair implications of McGonagall's statement and reminded himself that she had probably just had a very stressful day. Instead he asked, "Is there anything in particular you're needed for at the moment?"

"No."

"Then I think maybe you should turn in for the night. How long exactly have you been awake now?

"Thirty-eight hours, I think," was McGonagall's faint reply as she rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead.

"I'll walk you back to your rooms then."

"I'm perfectly able to get there on my own," she bristled.

Snape looked McGonagall up and down skeptically. "You think so, do you?"

"Yes."

"Well, maybe with some of my own special extra-strength Pepper-up potion..."

"I don't have that much of a death wish."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence."

"Any time. Now if you'll excuse me..." McGonagall made as if to leave.

"I'm repaying your favour from last night. I'll walk with you, at least," said Snape, stiffly.

"Fine then." They moved off in the direction of McGonagall's rooms together, Snape with a limp from his sore muscles, and McGonagall unsteadily enough that her shoulder bumped against his every few steps.

"Has anything happened while I've been asleep?" Snape asked as they walked down the third-floor corridor. "Is there any news?"

"Harry's all right; he's gone back to Gryffindor Tower with his friends now."

"Ah. Potter agus [2] Weasley agus Granger," said Snape with an odd twist to his mouth. "The trio together again, against the odds, I must say."

"You needn't rub in your superior knowledge of Gaelic, Severus. Anyhow, I know what agus means," said McGonagall testily as she opened the door to her rather austere office with a large silver key and the password "mellon" [3]. "We've also arranged for Diggory's parents to take his body back to his home. The service will be two days from now. And Crouch..." She paused. Her hold on herself was visibly weakening, but she managed to continue. "What's left of Crouch... under my guard... he and Diggory both... how could I have failed them so badly?"

For the second time in two days, Snape witnessed McGonagall completely lose control of herself. She turned away from him, putting her hands over her face, glasses and all, but not fast enough for Snape to miss a ghastly glimpse of her expression. She began to cry, with harsh, choking sounds, shoulders shaking. Snape cautiously put a comforting arm out toward her but she pushed it away.

"Go away!" she sobbed.

Snape didn't. Instead he took a step closer to her.

"Go away, I said!" she repeated angrily. "You've no right to see me like this." Sobbing even harder, she turned farther away from Snape and shrank back from him.

At this Snape decided to take action, so he took McGonagall by the shoulders and guided her into her chair at her desk, then pulled her hands away from her face and grasped them gently.

"Minerva," he said, kneeling down so he could talk to her on a level, "Listen to me. There was nothing whatsoever you could have done. Fudge was a bloody damned fool to have brought the dementor with him, but it was not your fault that he did."

"But Diggory..."

"There was nothing you could have done," repeated Snape. "Don't waste your strength dwelling on something you could not have prevented. Save it for fighting back the storm that is coming now that Voldemort has returned." He shuddered suddenly.

McGonagall took a deep breath. "I know. You're right. But..." she trailed off and looked at him suspiciously. "You sounded just like Dumbledore for a moment."

"Spending too much time with the batty old lunatic," Snape said wryly. "I suppose it's started to rub off onto me."

"I must say you make a rather unlikely distributor of wisdom, Severus, but a surprisingly effective one. If you were to take this approach more often with students rather than your usual unorthodox instructional reign of terror, you would be much more popular."

"It would completely ruin my image."

"I think the fact that you are kneeling before Minerva McGonagall holding her hands would be far more damaging to your image at the moment, should any student see you." McGonagall pointed out archly.

Snape dropped McGonagall's hands instantly, and for a moment his normally sallow face was quite pink. There was a lengthy silence. McGonagall finally broke it with a deep sigh. Before she could speak, though, Snape cut in. "I most definitely did not mean it like that..."

"No?" McGonagall asked with a sudden lift of her eyebrow.

Snape sputtered something incoherent.

"You dig yourself in ever deeper, Severus," said McGonagall, but her voice was now wry. She sighed again, taking off her smudged and tear-spattered glasses at the same time, and looking blearily at them. "I keep forgetting for a moment, and then it all comes back to me... with Voldemort back it's all so much like it was before he fell at all. The last time, the Potters... it might all have been in vain. I... I should have been in Hufflepuff, that's how brave I am." She rubbed her eyes and looked up at him.

For an astonishing instant Snape saw McGonagall's clear grey eyes without their customary layer of blurring glass. It was as though a wall had suddenly vanished. He looked intently into them. "Your courage will come back once you've slept, Minerva," he said. "You are, after all, a Gryffindor."

"You're right of course," said McGonagall after a moment, smiling faintly. "And I'm sure you are ready to sleep again, so sleep well. Goodnight, Severus."

McGonagall rose wearily from her chair and went to the door to her rooms.

"Good night, Minerva," said Snape as she passed through the door. When she was gone, he lingered for a moment, looking at the door before he turned stiffly and made his way back toward his own rooms in the dungeon.

* * * * * * * *

Early the next morning, McGonagall knocked on the door of Snape's laboratory.

"Who is it?" came Snape's voice.

"Minerva."

"Just a moment please. The door is locked, barred, and warded. I'll let you in when I reach a stopping point."

McGonagall was pacing up and down the damp stone corridor just outside the door when Snape finally opened it, almost a quarter-hour later.

"Come in."

McGonagall came in briskly, wrinkling her nose slightly at the foul-smelling miasma wafting from an odd looking, liquid-filled device in the corner. "I wanted to talk to you," she said briskly.

"All right then, talk, but my potion will soon reach a crucial stage, and I will have to attend to it."

"By all means. But I meant to come to apologize."

"For what?" Snape was momentarily shaken out of his detachment.

"For, well, for being so... female... last night." McGonagall said the word as though it was somehow bitter. "I was overtired."

"You're apologizing for being female?" Snape repeated.

"For acting female, yes. I should have been in better control of myself."

Snape stared at McGonagall in disbelief for a moment, before she continued, "So I was hoping that perhaps you wouldn't mention it to anyone?"

Snape, still apparently speechless, went over to the device in the corner and tapped the side of it it, before extinguishing the burner beneath it and bringing it over to the table where McGonagall was seated. He then proceeded to gather a funnel, some tubing, several small phials and a glass dish.

Finally, he said darkly, "I suppose I might refrain from spreading gossip about it, yes. I'll be careful not to reveal to anyone that you're female... Of course, you would have to promise me something in return."

"Yes?" said McGonagall, looking uncomfortable.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't mention to Dumbledore or anyone else, but especially to Dumbledore, that you all but had to carry me to bed yesterday morning. It's no one's business..."

McGonagall cut in angrily. "It's no one's business what? That you were tortured so badly you could hardly stand? That you were clearly furious with yourself for failing to return to Voldemort as an undercover agent? That you'd just been faced with the Immolum curse? For Merlin's sake, Severus, there are times when it's all right for you to ask for help."

"Likewise, Minerva. Likewise," said Snape, smoothly.

This time it was McGonagall's turn to sputter in indignation.

"I won't mention it if you won't," said Snape calmly before McGonagall recovered her powers of speech.

"Thank you." There was a long silence, in which McGonagall examined the strange device on the table before Snape. "What is this?" she asked finally, breaking the silence and reaching out toward it.

"It is an insspissator, Muggle-made, but useful. I use it for thickening certain volatile potions. Don't touch it. It happens to be a very delicate process."

There was another silence, until McGonagall spoke again. "What are you making?"

Snape didn't answer immediately, as he was now transferring some of the evil-smelling potion into a phial, measuring it carefully. This done, he poured it into the dish, where it formed a small pool in the bottom. Then he pointed his wand at it, and whispered "globulum fac." [4] There was a spark of yellow light, and the potion in the dish formed into a small, hard ball.

Snape held it up. "Poison," he replied to McGonagall's earlier question. "Not as quick as Avada Kedavra, of course, but just as effective."

"Indeed. And why, pray, do you need a poison as effective as Avada Kedavra?"

"Reasons of my own."

"What reasons?"

"I have borrowed an idea from the Muggle Resistance during the Second World War. Rather than risk betraying their fellows under torture, they carried lethal poison with them at all times, to be used in an emergency."

"You wouldn't!" McGonagall said, quickly and firmly.

"If Voldemort were to capture me, yes I would. So would you," replied Snape evenly. "It is infinitely better than dying under his torture after spilling everything you know to his minions."

McGonagall watched him in awe as he measured the next phial of potion with steady hands. His absorption in his work was complete. She was glad that he couldn't see her own not quite steady hands in her lap. "You are right," she conceded. "I would take it, if I had to." She paused, then asked "Will you make it available to the members of the order?"

"I had considered that, yes. Voldemort is unlikely to allow any member of the order to escape alive, once captured."

"Tell me about this poison, then."

"Once swallowed, it kills within minutes. It also combines with Veritaserum in the bloodstream to create a more powerful secondary poison which kills instantly. There is no antidote and its traces are extremely difficult to analyze or even to detect."

"I must say I admire both your scientific detachment and your courage, Severus, not to mention your way with a poison."

Snape suddenly flashed McGonagall one of his very infrequent smiles. "If I had thought," he said, "when you were my teacher, that I would live to hear you admire my way with a poison, I would have..."

There was a beat of silence.

"I would have... well..."

"I see. By the way, that little spell is a neat bit of transfiguration. Globulum fac, is that correct? I'll have to remember it. Apparently I didn't entirely fail with your class."

"It was a close thing. You were not altogether experienced as a teacher. You were what, five years older than us?"

"Nearly nine years older than you, I was, you ingrate."

"That is no way to talk to a colleague - a colleague of nearly fifteen years, might I add."

Their eyes met. Snape put down his ladle.

"Has it really been that long?" McGonagall said softly, taking a step toward him.

"Yes, in spite of the recent spate of déjà vu over Voldemort, it has been that long..."

There was a loud knock at the door, and Dumbledore stepped in without waiting to be invited.

"Ah! Severus, Minerva. Just the pair I was looking for."

* * * * * * * *

Several long, errand-and-message filled days later, the student body of Hogwarts and the teachers were gathered in the Great Hall for the leaving feast. After Dumbledore's speech, McGonagall and Snape sat side by side, not saying anything, each lost in their own dark thoughts. Snape fidgeted with a goblet, his long thin fingers tracing the rim and the base absently. McGonagall watched his hands, equally absently. Finally, as the students and teachers began to rise from the meal, McGonagall said, "Would you like to come to my office for tea, Severus?"

"What has prompted this sudden invitation, then?"

"I thought you could do with some tea, from the amount you ate - or rather, didn't. Heaven knows I could use some myself."

"Don't you have to send your brats off?"

"Well, don't you? Or are the Slytherins planning to stay for the summer?" McGonagall asked, looking at him over the rims of her glasses.

"All right, there's time for tea, I'll admit. I suppose I'll join you."

"Any preference as to what kind?" McGonagall asked Snape once he was seated in the one of the two extra chairs in her office. "I have Lapsang..."

"Contrary to popular belief, the fact that I have a somewhat abrasive personality does not automatically cause me to favour Lapsang Souchong, which in my opinion, tastes rather like gunpowder," said Snape disdainfully. "I prefer a fine Darjeeling."

"Aren't we the tea connoisseur then? Pity. Sybill Trelawney claims her inner eye allows her to see this sort of thing. I believe she has a running bet with Flitwick as to what you drink, given a choice."

"Oh?" replied Snape, looking down his nose eloquently.

"Yes. I imagine she will be out at least fifteen Sickles when I tell her... So, I have Empress Afternoon Blend or Silver Tip Darjeeling. Which would you prefer?"

"Empress Afternoon Blend sounds rather obscure."

"Served during afternoon tea at the Empress Hotel in Victoria, British Columbia. I suppose from our perspective it is rather obscure. It's a delightful blend, though. My third-cousin once removed sends it to me from time to time."

"I shall have the Silver Tip Darjeeling, however. A blend is just that, a blend."

"I shall refrain from reading anything into that highly suggestive statement."

"Suggestive?" Snape looked up darkly.

"Pure tea, pure blood..."

"And since when are the McGonagalls no longer one of the oldest and most aristocratic wizarding families of the British Isles? I prefer a pure Darjeeling. Is there something wrong with that viewpoint?"

"All right." McGonagall poured out the tea, brought it across the room from the small sink, counter, and cupboard in the corner, and sat down at her desk across from Snape. "So has Dumbledore managed to appropriate your services so far?"

"Well, he wants me to brew certain complex potions for the ministry."

"He's had me running errands to Arthur Weasley at the ministry ever since he walked in on us. I swear I haven't apparated so much since I got my license. And I get the strong impression I'm high on his list of candidates for possible reconnaissance missions."

"Now that he's lost me as a spy he's recruiting you? Why you?" Snape asked, managing to look at once self-recriminating, disbelieving, and disapproving.

"I can pass... unnoticed, when I have to, as you well know, Severus," snapped McGonagall, massaging her temples, then carefully taking a sip of tea.

"Pardon me for living," said Snape vaguely, in the direction of his cup of tea.

"I have developed a headache, if you must know. All the apparition must have finally caught up with me."

"Well, for goodness sake, woman, go to Pomfrey and get a headache potion."

"And I have had an overwhelmingly large number of opportunities to do that in the last five minutes, have I not? Besides, I prefer not to take potions unless I absolutely cannot avoid it."

"You prefer to suffer? How utterly impractical and absolutely Gryffindor of you."

"By your own gross overgeneralization of Gryffindor traits and blatant house stereotyping, your martyr complex is large enough to make you Godric Gryffindor himself, Severus," snapped McGonagall, who then winced from the effort and rubbed her forehead again.

Snape assumed a harassed expression, and said: "At least let your hair out of that infernal bun, then, if you won't do anything else. Then I recommend you go and lie down.

McGonagall sighed. "All right. Not that you ever take your own advice, and only because I actually am in pain." She reached up and slowly pulled several pins out of the bun, then untwisted the knot of hair and let it fall.

Snape's eyes widened fractionally. "You have... rather nice hair," he said in a choked voice, looking at the curtain of dark hair that now fell halfway down McGonagall's back.

McGonagall closed her eyes. "Thank you."

Snape took a hasty gulp of his tea. McGonagall did the same to hers.

"You really think so?" asked McGonagall warily.

Snape reached across the desk and covered her hand with one of his. McGonagall stiffened, then slowly raised her other hand and laid it on top of his.

"... Yes," said Snape. Their eyes met and locked for one long second, before Snape closed his eyes and looked away and McGonagall snatched her hands from around his and folded her arms protectively.

Snape stood up abruptly. "I always did hope I'd find an excuse to make you let your hair down one day," he said with a languidness that was in complete contrast with his hasty movements, an expression somewhere between a sneer, a leer, and a grimace playing on his face.

McGonagall pushed back her chair with a clatter, walked across the room, and wrenched open the door. "You are an utter bastard, you ugly, freakish... little man," she spat with considerable venom. "I'm sure you've been plotting that for weeks."

Snape stalked over to the door. "It was rather more spur-of-the moment," he said frostily.

McGonagall took a step back, seemingly suddenly realizing that he was standing very close to her. "Exploiting weakness has always been a specialty of yours."

"So it has."

"Goodnight, Severus." McGonagall gestured toward the corridor outside the door.

"Goodnight, Minerva," said Snape, sweeping past. McGonagall watched him stride down the corridor until he turned a corner, then closed the door and sat down heavily at her desk.

"Like a bat out of hell," she said in exasperation, as she sent the teacups over to the counter with a careless wave of her wand. "Damn him. And I suppose I'll have to apologize in the morning."

* * * * * * * *

Morning found the castle empty of students, and McGonagall again making her way down the dungeon corridor. She knocked softly on the door to Snape's laboratory. "Severus?" she called softly.

"Who is it?" A muffled voice came from within.

"Minerva," she called back.

"I'm busy. I'm brewing veritaserum for the ministry and it's at a critical stage. Go away."

At this McGonagall pushed the heavy door open and forced her way into the room. Snape was standing behind a huge cauldron, and his features were underlit by the glow from the potion.

"I apologize for what I said last night," said McGonagall stiffly.

"Likewise," said Snape, pointedly consulting a large book which lay on the table next to him.

"You, Severus, like your bitter and tyrannical namesake, are building walls, not bridges," McGonagall informed him in her best professional voice.

"So you've read A History of the Kings of Britain? [5] I suppose I shouldn't be surprised."

"Of course I've read it, you fool," rejoined McGonagall, although her voice was less hard than her words.

"Well, as they say in the Muggle world, good fences make good neighbours." [6]

"The implication being that I am not a good neighbour?" said McGonagall, taking a step closer to the cauldron.

"Well," said Snape, suddenly paying much more attention to McGonagall, "considering the fact that you are here, in the dungeon, of your own volition after my little, uncalled-for... display last night, I rather think you are. In fact," he continued, coming around the cauldron, which even with his long legs took him several strides, "I suspect you are the kind of neighbour who has slipped into the back alley for a secret assignation."

"Indeed. And why the back alley, pray?" McGonagall looked intently into Snape's dark eyes.

Snape lifted one side of his mouth in a rakish half-smile, looked back at her just as intently, and said: "Well obviously the fences in the backyard are now too high to do this over."

Snape reached for McGonagall at the same time she reached for him, and suddenly they were pressed together, enveloped in each other's robes and arms. They simply clung to each other for a moment before falling into a long-inevitable, long-fought-off kiss.

Behind them, unheeded, the giant cauldron silently and thoroughly collapsed in upon itself.