Over Tea
Author's Notes: Inspired by Serenity's drabble 'Evening Tea' which can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/After_Class/message/708 - concept used with permission.
Minerva McGonagall had never seen such a miserable huddled wretch of a wizard. In her teaching career she'd seen miserable First Years, crying with their first bouts of homesickness. She'd seen Quidditch players huddled in pain after falling from their brooms. She'd seen a lot of human misery in her seventy-odd years. But she'd never seen anyone quite as miserable on this most miserable of nights, as Severus Snape, huddled on the hearth of Albus Dumbledore's study.
He sniffed loudly when he caught sight of her, though she was certain he hadn't been crying. The Scotswoman hadn't known the Slytherin well when he'd been a student here a few years ago, but the defensive look in his dark eyes precluded fits of tears.
He was already unfolding from the huddle he'd been in. She sensed that he was at least grateful for the surprise that she couldn't hide at the fact that the one she was supposed to meet on this miserable night in Albus' study was this slowly unfurling Slytherin. His robes, his ugly white robes, were dirty and torn. There were smudges on his face and hands, shadows under the piercing black eyes. He looked much older than the proud 18 year old boy who had gone out of here scant years ago.
"There's work yet to be done this night, Mr. Snape," she said, proud of her no-nonsense tones. Some things, even in crisis, could be counted on.
He nodded once, then frowned. "You trust me?"
His voice was deeper, honey like, cultured from the teenage one that had chanted spells in her classroom. "Albus Dumbledore trusts you," she said. "That's good enough for me."
He nodded again, and she found that she believed her own words. "I've a spy," Albus had told her, "the most unlikely of heroes." A Slytherin turned against Voldemort. Unlikely indeed.
She eyed him critically. "You can’t go out like that." He looked down as though only just realizing what he was wearing, if not how odd it was to be in such unlikely garb in the Headmaster's study.
"I've nothing else," he said quietly, then looked up again, a ghost of a smile hovering around his expressive mouth. "I left home rather suddenly."
She couldn’t return his amusement, and it died swiftly. "I'll fetch you something then. Those robes won't be welcome many places tonight."
"I know a few."
"Not where we have to go tonight." She suddenly remembered that his hair had always been about that length, had always been a bit untidy as though he'd forgotten to brush it. "Make us some tea, won't you?" she said, indicating the set up along the side wall. Another of those silent nods.
There were always spare robes in the castle laundry; there were always a few students who managed to either forget or ruin their school robes. The tall Slytherin would have to make do with the plain student robes, but after the ones he'd been wearing the last few years she didn't think he'd mind. When she got back up to the study her charge was seated again on the cold hearth, despite the plethora of squashy armchairs and cozy settees Albus favored.
"Made tea," he said, glancing up briefly before lowering his gaze back into his lap, and the hands knotted there.
"Then why aren't you drinking it?" she asked, draping the spare robes over the back of the closest armchair. "Come now boy, you'll need your strength for this night's work."
"I don't know if my stomach will--" he began, but something about the idea made his black gaze skitter away. She could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"Go into the bedroom and change," she commanded, surprised then dismayed by how swiftly he moved to obey the order. While he was out, she started the fire back up and requested toast from the kitchens. An assortment bread and rolls had arrived by the time the young man emerged, carrying the torn thing he'd been wearing. Without a moment's hesitation he threw his ugly white bundle onto the fire.
"Eat, or you'll be no use to me," she said, making it plain she would watch until he had done just that. Chewing on a hard roll he automatically fixed two cups of tea, gravely offering her the first one before adding a large amount of sugar to his own.
She'd taken a seat in one of the armchairs close to the fire, and Snape took the one angled beside it. "Do you still have your wand?" Silently he nodded, still chewing the roll. She got a picture of him as a student again, always too serious.
"We're to set the wards on a Muggle house where the child will be taken," she explained, unwilling to let either of them to be wooed by the soft popping of the fire.
"Muggle?" A frown creased the already haggard brow. Despite changing robes Mr. Snape hadn't bothered to wash his face or hands.
"The boy's relations are Muggles," she explained, but he made a dismissive gesture, unconsciously, she was sure, using the half eaten roll for emphasis.
"Lily mentioned them," he said, and McGonagall remembered then that this young man and the Potters had been in the same year.
"Do you remember the 'Sanctus' charm?” she went on, trying to remember if there had been any gossip of a romantic nature about this young man and the young woman who had died tonight. She remembered her own Gryffindors far better and could only remember that Lily Evans had been in love with James Potter nearly from the moment she laid eyes on him.
"It's fairly simple," Snape returned, the dead voice sounding faintly curious.
She gathered their tea cups. "We're going to modify it and add a 'no trespassing' potion." Interest sparked in the cold eyes. Definite interest now. "Think you can manage it?"
"With my eyes closed."
~~**~~**~~**~~
"The hat has got to go!"
Minerva adjusted the chapeau in question. "It's a perfectly fine hat," she defended sharply to her colleague.
"It's a perfectly fine *witch's* hat," Snape said. "You said that Figg woman said we should try to look like Muggles. Hence my own outlandish attire."
He was leaning on the edge of her desk, arms crossed, looking perfectly dashing so she said so. He had on black pants, but in the years since he'd come to Hogwarts to teach she'd rarely seen him in any other color. The pants were topped by a high necked gray jumper. Though it was spring they'd be outside for most of the day, so his jacket, a thick black one, was lying across one of the student's tables.
"I feel naked without my robes," he confessed, so petulantly that she laughed and took off the pointed witch hat and patted her hair back into place.
"What do you suggest then?" She pointed her wand at the hat and turned it into a poke bonnet. As she'd intended, he snorted with amusement. Contrary to the student rumor mill Snape did laugh, and though it was usually with dark amusement or at the foibles of others, Minerva liked when he did.
"How about something in a beret?" he suggested, so she dutifully transformed the hat again into a serviceable red beret and settled it on her head.
He snorted again. "You look like a French tart," the Slytherin commented dryly.
"That settles it," she said, sweeping the beret off her head. "I'm going as a cat." She tucked her wand into her sleeve.
"Not with me you're not," Snape said, picking up her oversize handbag, and hefting it onto his own shoulder as if that settled it.
Minerva hesitated. "I can keep up with you as a cat, if that's what you're worried about," she said finally. "You won't have to carry me."
He put the oversize bag back onto the desk, rolling his eyes. "A man sitting alone on a park bench with a cat is either a child molester or a sad old queen." She could tell by his expression that her eyes had gone very round. "Neither impression conducive to our excursion."
Very deliberately she picked up the beret.
After apparating to Surrey they made their way leisurely to the park. Snape offered his arm as they walked among the Muggles making use of the park. It was a fine spring day, if still a bit chilly, but the sun was doing its best, and the witch thought they might even be able to shrink their coats later if the afternoon got warm.
"That's the one," she said, nodding towards the bench that had a good view of the playpark. She knew that the tall Slytherin had tempered his usual stride to accommodate her, and she pretended it was because of the impression they were trying to create, of a grandmother perhaps and her thoughtful grandson out for a stroll.
Once they were seated her companion stretched out his long legs, leaning back against the bench. She sat beside him, legs crossed primly at her ankles before reaching into her handbag, and after a surreptitious pass with her wand, drew out a tall tartan-colored thermos.
"Tea?"
"Ah, you think of everything," he said, as she unscrewed the lid and filled it, passing it over. The long nose passed over the red plastic cup reverently.
"Arabella suggested it," she confessed, then lowered her voice, although there was no one really near enough to hear. "Also showed me where the, er, facilities are."
"A resourceful woman."
They drank in companionable silence for awhile. Her former student was not the chatty sort, she knew. She contented herself with watching the children making use of the playpark, and after a while, she noticed Snape watching them too.
Then, "That's them,” she said quietly. Snape acknowledged the comment with the merest flicker of his dark eyes. Together, silently they watched the tall woman pushing the pram walking toward the playpark. The pram, though easily wide enough for two, held an enormous child, obviously too old from the pram.
"Are you sure?" Snape said doubtfully.
"Look behind her." She took her own advice, watching the thin nearly six year old child, eyes wide, skipping behind the woman. Every now and then he would lean down to examine something, kneeling unselfconsciously in the dirt and scratchy grass.
"Harry!"
With a bolt, the boy dashed to the thin bird-like woman, eyes downcast.
"Don't dawdle. We don't want to cut into Dudley's play time."
"Yes, Ma'am."
When they reached the outskirts of the playpark the woman, Lily’s sister surely, bent down and began fiddling with the straps holding the large child in the too-small conveyance. Harry, dancing with impatience skipped toward the swings.
"Wait for your cousin!" came the sharp bark, and Harry stopped quickly, one of the swings hitting him harmlessly in the back.
"Don't wanna play with Harry, Mummy," the other boy said, a scowl looking quite comfortable on the pudgy face.
"Don't you want him to push you on the swing, Duddums Dearest?"
Minerva watched while the overweight child was all but loaded into the wooden swing. She heard a sound beside her like the grinding of teeth.
"This is monstrous," Snape said very, very softly. They both saw the young boy struggling to push his bloated cousin, then nearly falling over as swing and cousin hit him on the return. Valiantly young Harry tried again while Petunia Dursley parked the pram.
"Gryffindor," Snape said, almost under his breath.
Then somehow the swing got tilted, and Dudley pitched out of it, screaming into the soft sand below.
"Slytherin," Minerva countered. They watched Petunia run over to comfort the screaming blond boy while Harry pushed up hills in the sand with his hands.
It was the same pattern after that. Harry would be all but commanded to help Dudley, either by pushing him onto something like a teeter totter or whirly gig or to all but break his fall on the sliding board. Fortunately, the boy seemed lithe enough to avoid injury. Minerva wondered, not for the first time, how he had learned those darting skills.
They'd finished the tea before her colleague stood up, stretching and cast her an enquiring look. "Gents?"
She pointed, and he strode off, away from the playpark. The boys were back to the swings she noticed, though the Muggle boy was only listlessly moving his legs, kicking sand, usually in his more active cousin's direction.
Suddenly Harry started to swing forward, though by the amazed look on his face, not aware of his own movement. Then back in a long slow arc as though propelled by strong unseen hands. Then forward again to an almost dizzy height. The Boy Who Lived's face split into a huge grin.
"Lookit me!" he pealed in childish glee. Sullen, the boy on the next swing tried to move, but it seemed his swing was frozen as his pudgy legs pushed fruitlessly against the sand.
Up and back again, all that untidy black hair flying with each eager pass, tiny hands gripping the side chains fearlessly.
"Make him stop, Mummy," the fat child wailed, but for once Lily's sister could only stare in a kind of horrified fascination as though frozen herself.
Then the swing slowed and halted, and the tiny boy darted off, hugging himself in shivering joy. "Didja see? Didja see? I can go higher than anyone!" he was saying as the frozen tableau was broken. Hastily Petunia gathered up her charges and was tugging the Muggle child in one hand, recklessly wheeling the pram in the other.
"Wanna ride, Mummy." But Petunia didn’t stop.
Minerva saw the dark shadow out of the corner of her eye as her Slytherin colleague rounded the bench, a bland expression on his usually expressive face.
"Did I miss anything?"
~~**~~**~~**~~
"I think the boy could go either way," she said, easing down into one of the mismatched chairs of the staff room. Something amused flickered through Snape's dark eyes, but he looked up from his comfy chair attentively.
"Are we quite certain he can't be nudged into Hufflepuff?" the dark-haired wizard said almost dreamily. Minerva allowed herself to share the happy thought momentarily. Young Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts in a few weeks time.
"No reckless death defying adventures," she said, catching the spirit of the fantasy, trying very hard to picture it.
"No learning dark spells by wand light in the boy's dorm,” Snape countered languidly.
"No parent's reputation to live up to," she sighed.
"No Dark Lord's reputation to live down," he replied.
"And best of all," she began, to have him pick up her train of thought exactly.
"He'll be Sprout’s problem."
They shared a conspiratorial glance before letting the fantasy drift away. Minerva shook herself out of the pleasant reverie. "So we're agreed then?" she asked, shifting in the enfolding armchair with an eye toward making tea.
"I'll get it."
Gratefully she watched the tall form cross the room, pulling out his wand to set the staff room kettle warming with smooth efficiency. He'd filled out over the years, but was, to her eyes. entirely too thin despite the copious amounts of sugar he always put in his tea.
"Are you certain you can do it?" he asked, inspecting a teacup before waving his wand over it, murmuring a soft cleaning spell. The crockery in the staff room was not subjected to the rigorous standards imposed in the kitchens. "Keeping an eye on him? Looking for trouble? Taking House points when he transgresses?" That slight smirk had not changed over the years. "And he will transgress."
"I expect you to do the same," she replied primly.
"He'll hate you," Snape went on, his back very straight as he poured out the tea.
"Or you," she put in, accepting the steaming cup with an appreciative smile. "But he'll toughen up. And he'll need to be tough." Snape reclaimed his seat, and they shared a determined look. Staring into the steaming tea Minerva studied her colleague's profile in the slanting rays of the late summer sun.
"Have you given any thought to the uh, other matter we discussed?"
The dark eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What other matter? Isn't being a bastard to the Boy Who Lived enough?"
"All the more reason to meet my cousin before term starts." She saw the thundercloud forming on the Slytherin's brow. "Look, I've shown him your picture, and he said he'd love to meet you."
"How could you?" His voice had dropped to a cool hiss. "What picture?"
Minerva swallowed the last of her tea and stood up quickly. "Never mind," she said hastily, presenting her back as she put away her tea cup.
"I'm perfectly capable of looking after my own social life," Snape said, voice still low.
Minerva whirled around. "What social life?" She glared at him, then forced herself to calm down. "Really Severus, won't you just meet with him? He's--a confirmed bachelor like yourself."
Snape stood up abruptly. "We are not discussing this." And in a swirl of black robes he left the staff room. Minerva stared after him, then with a sigh collected his cup.
~~**~~**~~**~~
As her feet clattered down the stairs Minerva had to suppress the urge to transform into a cat. Though it felt like she could move faster on four legs she knew from experience she could cover more ground this way.
Arriving at her destination she pounded on the dungeon office door. It only took a moment before Snape, perfectly groomed, opened the door, frowning. "What--?" he began.
"Mr. Potter is not on the train," she said a bit more breathlessly than she'd intended, but the tall man was already closing the door behind them. She explained as they walked. "We just heard. No one has seen Harry or Ron Weasley since Kings Cross."
"The Weasley’s--" Snape began.
"Albus has them in his office now. They said they went in first to be with their youngest, little Ginny."
"And left two twelve year old boys to their own devices?" Snape said, aghast.
"That's the other thing," she said, pausing on the landing as one of the staircases shifted. "We think they've taken a flying car."
Beside her Snape looked grim. "What would possess them to try such a thing when there's a perfectly serviceable train available?"
The stair finished shifting, and they began to climb. "You know boys and flying cars. The temptation must have been irresistible."
"That wasn't my fault," Snape protested. "Malfoy swore that House Elf could drive."
They reached the Headmaster's office where they all heard the story again although Minerva noticed the Potion Master clenched his wand hand over and over as though itching to hex the distraught pair of Weasley's.
They separated to take to their brooms, Snape going off wordlessly in the afternoon sun. From the air, an hour later she saw the train pulling into the station and knew she had to go back down. There'd been no sign of a car, flying or otherwise.
There was one thing she could do before going down to greet the First Years. She landed, then after a brief errand, took to her broom again. She spotted Snape edging the border of the Forbidden Forest. She pulled alongside him as he slowed.
"Have they arrived?" he asked, eyes still searching the grounds.
"Not yet, but they've been seen." She handed him the Evening Prophet. He quickly reached the same conclusion she had from the sightings.
"At least they're headed this way." He looked tired; his hair was even worse than usual after hours on a broom.
She pulled out the second item she had grabbed on her errand, the slightly battered tartan thermos.
"You've developed mind reading skills, Minerva." It had taken him years to unbend enough to call her 'Minerva'. Even then, he used the liberty sparingly.
"Drink up. They can't be far off now." She'd heavily sugared the tea and saw his eyelids droop in appreciation. "I've got to get to the First Years."
They both heard it at the same time, the distant whir of an engine. Far in the distance she could see tiny lights that might be headlights.
"Our adventurous travelers, it seems," the Slytherin said, handing her back the thermos. She didn't like the look she saw on his face but didn't chastise him. They'd settled on their roles the moment the boy had been sorted into Gryffindor. She knew if sometimes Severus took the role of bastard a bit far, she was always there to see that no real harm came to the boy.
"Don't be too harsh with him," she said, but he was already turning toward the distant sound of a laboring engine.
~~**~~**~~**~~
"Oh!" The dark head popped up from beside the bed when Minerva entered the
Infirmary. The young face of Harry Potter flushed almost guiltily as he started
to stand, but she waved him back.
"How is he?" she asked quietly, crossing to the bed.
Harry looked down at the still form on the narrow Infirmary bed. "Sleeping." Minerva studied her charge, frankly not sure what to make of the young man's presence.
For a long moment they watched over the bed sheet covered frame of Severus Snape. In sleep the harsh lines of his face smoothed out, though he would always look a decade older than his actual years. His hair had been pushed away from his face, and if possible the Potion Master looked peaceful. She wanted to fuss over him this way, smooth the hair back, pat his hand--things she'd never consider if he were conscious.
Instead she went to the alcove where Poppy kept the tea things. There was comfort in the simple act of casting a heating spell on the kettle, setting out two of the Infirmary's mismatched cups and saucers.
She heard a slight noise behind her, saw Harry come up beside her. His height still surprised her. He'd been so tiny as a child, and here he was, able to meet her eyes. Offering him a cup, she watched without comment as he sugared it exactly like her usual tea companion. By unspoken mutual consent they faced the slumbering patient.
"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked gently.
The slender shoulders shrugged. "Not sure exactly." Still staring at the bed, he took a distracted sip of tea, then dragged his eyes back to his head of house. "Smoke started coming out of Hermione's cauldron."
"Miss Granger?"
Harry smiled. "Yeah, I know. I think she'll be spending the night in the library trying to work out what went wrong." He took another sip of tea, eyes sliding unobtrusively back to the bed. "Anyway I reckon that's why it took us all a bit longer to realize anything was wrong," he went on. Very carefully he set the china cup onto the saucer. "The professor started yelling at all of us to get out. The classroom was all smoky." Harry cleared his throat.
"I heard something," he went on. "Must have been the cauldron going up. I saw him through the smoke just before--"
"And why were you still in the classroom, Mr. Potter?"
The flush that touched the young man's cheeks was very interesting. She sipped her own tea. "I don't listen too well," he admitted. "He--" The guileless green eyes slid as if drawn back to the bed. "He pushed me down. Took the brunt of it." His voice had quieted. "He's always doing that, always--" He cleared his throat again. "There."
"You should get back to your dorm. It's getting late." She nodded her head toward the bed. "I'll tell him you were here."
The young man's face changed then, torn between obviously conflicting emotions. "I don't reckon he'd be pleased to know I saw him like this, if it's all the same, Ma'am."
She nodded. "As you wish, Mr. Potter."
~~**~~**~~**~~
She spotted him in one of the alcoves by the Christmas trees lining the transformed Great Hall. Still bundled up from his rounds through the various trysting spots around the school, Snape's fingers were wrapped around a steaming mug, his expression as blissful as it ever got.
"Should I even ask how many house points I've lost tonight?" she asked, joining him in the dimly lit alcove.
He smiled his thin smile, blowing softly on the steaming mug. "Believe it or not Hufflepuff is at the top of the tally." He moved slightly, but not before she caught a glimpse of what he'd been staring at. Or rather, whom.
The Yule Ball was in full swing, music blaring from the stand set up where the Head Table usually sat. Couples in full dress robes moved in various stages of awkwardness to the music. After four years of Yule Balls many students were acquiring a bit of polish at this new Hogwarts tradition.
But Minerva had been watching Harry Potter too. For the second year in a row young Potter was politely taking a turn with, not just Gryffindor girls, but with nearly every girl who attended. He wasn't obvious about it and seemed to enjoy each dance. He also, Minerva noted, avoided the slow dances, the ones where couples danced quite close together while the chaperones kept close watch. He also, as far as his Head of House knew, had never been caught snogging in the rose bushes.
Her eyes flickered over the crowd, but Potter was easily visible. He seemed to radiate an aura of magic and power. "He's become quite an attractive young man," she murmured.
"And well aware of it," Snape replied. At least the Slytherin hadn't denied looking at the boy, though no doubt he'd balk if she'd used the word she'd been thinking, entranced. No doubt he'd say watching Potter had become something of a habit.
"I wouldn't--" she started to say, then noticed the object of their mutual regard approaching.
"Happy Christmas, Professor," Harry said, smiling his still slightly shy smile. "Good evening, sir." At least Severus afforded the boy a polite nod.
"Would you like to dance?"
For an insane instant she thought he was still addressing her colleague, and she had the image of them whirling arm in arm on the dance floor, each striving to hide the peculiar hunger neither would admit to.
Sanity returned, and she found herself being led onto the floor. This was something new, a break from his pattern, but she didn't mind. And he was a good dancer.
She wondered if Severus was watching, or if he'd gone back to his rounds outside. A skillful turn by Potter and she saw that yes, indeed, Severus was watching.
~~**~~**~~**~~
He was at least gratifyingly disheveled. The Scotswoman balanced the tea tray and fixed the Slytherin scowling at her with her best 'neat as a pin' expression.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Snape asked, leaning blearily on the doorjamb, all but heedless of the nearly open dressing gown thrown over hastily selected pajama bottoms.
"Inviting myself for tea," she said, proffering the heavily laden tray. She'd picked the savories out herself from the kitchen, and if the tray hadn't been charmed to hover beside her, she'd never have made it all the way to the dungeons with it.
Remembering himself, the tall man straightened, gathering the two halves of the green silk robe, the one she'd given him two Christmases ago, and, still blocking the door, eyed her loftily.
"What time is it?"
"Gone 11, dear boy. Invite me in." She tilted her head slightly, allowing a slight smile to soften the command.
A quick glance over his shoulder, dislodging enough thick black hair around his neck for her to see the reddish blotch on his neck. McGonagall modified her expression to 'steady on'.
"This isn't really a good time," Snape began.
"Nonsense," she said. "This will only take a few moments." She shifted the tray so it edged the door slightly. "You missed breakfast."
Snape pursed his lips, and not without another furtive glance at the firmly closed bedroom door, admitted her. "Do you take lessons?" he grumbled, throwing himself in the well- worn armchair. McGonagall sat herself primly on the equally worn couch, guiding the tray to the table with her wand.
"Lessons?"
"From our esteemed Headmaster. In disturbing my privacy." The long legs crossed, as he drew the sides of his robe closed again and folded his arms over his chest, glaring at her. "I've missed breakfast before."
"Yes, but not on the day after term ends. You're usually so happy, well, pleased anyway, to see the children departing." There was a shoe by the fireplace, wedged between the andirons, McGonagall noted, just one, and definitely not Snape's. "I was worried."
"Yes, well, I appreciate the concern," he said in a voice that clearly didn't appreciate it, "but as you can see I'm fine." He mustered a thin smile, leaning forward as if to dismiss her.
McGonagall very deliberately leaned further back into the cushions of the couch. Snape sighed and leaned back again himself, one bare foot tapping the air impatiently.
"I thought you'd be up early this morning dispersing hangover remedies," she said.
Snape cleared his throat, very deliberately not looking at the closed bedroom door. "That is still nominally Poppy's job."
"Of course," she agreed. "Just, usually your Slytherins come to you first." One corner of Snape's expressive mouth quirked up, and he looked comfortable for the first time since she'd entered the quarters. "Or make their own. I confess they were unusually well behaved last night. Yours?"
McGonagall, if she'd been in cat form, would have been preening herself. "Unusually well behaved, as you said." She eyed the softly simmering tea on the tray. She felt the dark eyes following hers, as if just taking in the presence of food and hot tea.
"Oh, except of course young Harry," McGonagall said, still admiring the biscuits on the plate. There were stacks of shaped sandwiches and several kinds of tarts. "He didn't make it back to his bed last night." She did look up then. Snape had gone very pale. Even the distinctive oval shaped red mark on his neck looked paler.
"If I see him," he said carefully, "I'll tell him you're worried about him."
Her eyes softened. "Oh, I'm not worried." She stood up, not quite cruel enough to leave him gaping long. "I'll leave you to your tea."
His gaze dropped, head shaking slightly. "There's--two cups."
She resisted the urge, as she always did, to ruffle his hair fondly. She doubted even Albus could get away with that one, even on as fine a morning as this.
"I know."
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