Post by ravenhaired on May 27, 2006 5:14:40 GMT -5
Ignavus
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.
Summary: Minerva confronts Severus.
"Severus..." Minerva's hand half-reached for him, half-brushed the velvet - deep, dark, smooth, liquid velvet - of his robes, before he stiffened and pulled away, gazing at her in abject horror, as if repulsed by the contact, the feel of her hand warm upon his arm.
She looked stunned, lips slightly parted.
"Professor," Was all he could muster.
Her wand hung limp by her side, as she merely looked at him, eyes taking in every weary line and every tiredness, so very clearly etched on his face. "You've grown old," She finally murmured, seemingly dazed.
Severus could think of nothing to say, nothing to do, merely look at her, waiting for the inevitable, when she would raise her wand in fury.
"But then," Minerva raised her wand and brushed back a lank tendril of hair from over his eyes, which would have been a tender gesture if it had not been so menacing. "You always were,"
Severus' breath caught when she pressed her wand hard against his temple and did not release the pressure. She had followed him here, here to end it all, to extract some kind of payment.
"You do realise its over?" This was said with impeccable mildness. Severus' fingers twitched, almost unconsciously towards his wand, which lay only a few paces away in the grass. But Minerva - this battle-hardened harpy of a woman, not the Minerva that flitted through his memories - would see him dead before he raised it.
Women were, he thought dryly, such complicated creatures after all.
"Is it?" He forced himself to be oily, to earn the end Minerva would give him.
"Yes," She whispered it, and Severus risked a glance at her, saw her mouth twitch as though she was trying to suppress a sob - or a scream.
"Minerva-”
"Don't!" Her voice was suddenly harsh, trembling with grief.
"Narcissa-"
"Do not try to blame Narcissa Malfoy!" Minerva was shrill.
"The Unbreakable -"
"You should have refused to swear!" Minerva's wand hand was trembling violently now. "Died rather than sacrifice ...sacrifice..."
"Albus?" Severus said mildly.
Minerva let out her breath explosively. "Albus," She agreed finally.
Severus waited, waited for the words to come to her lips and then to rest in shadow, but she remained silent, mouth opening and closing in a strange parody of words, as if she couldn't bring herself to say them.
"I have seen many people turn to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, out of fear or greed," She said finally, softly. "But you always shocked me the most,"
He wanted to ask why. But Severus Snape's voice failed him just like his nerve.
"Because Albus trusted you and I always assumed he had an iron clad reason for it,"
Severus opened his mouth and Minerva touched her wand to his lips. "No, I don't want to know with what lie you ensnared him. I am afraid that is one lie you will take to your grave with you,"
Oh. So she was going to kill him. How terribly, eerily calm he felt. Today wasn't a terribly bad day to die, he thought vaguely, and the tempting nature of impending peace and quiet was altogether quite...pleasant.
And she kissed him. It wasn't powerful or passionate and it didn't hide secret lust...it was merely a kiss. A soft, brushing kiss across his lips that lingered for a second and then was gone. His tongue darted out and his lips tasted like her, a residue of affection long dead.
He wondered what Minerva had been like in her youth - he imagined her a girl who could ensnare a boy from merely talking, who could bewitch the senses by flicking tawny hair over her shoulder and she would wear perfume that whispered of sunlight and rain.
He wondered if Albus had loved her, had held her, had smelt the perfume in her hair and had they argued, had they screamed and had Minerva thrown a goblet of wine at his head? And then had they made love on his desk afterwards?
Or had she loved him from a distance, never coming closer than a deputy could come to her superior? Had she wished for him secretly, ached for him at night and entertained illicit fantasies of the life she could have had?
What had he destroyed when he killed Albus? Had he destroyed Minerva as well, or merely destroyed her fantasies?
He would have asked, but Severus was inherently a coward, someone who be sardonic but nothing more, could be forced to do rash things when cajoled into rage, but could not bring himself to ask Minerva McGonagall what exactly Albus Dumbledore had been to her.
He felt his cowardice keenly and wept for lost things. Minerva had no pity, just stared with those dead eyes that belied loss and a hardened resolve.
Then she raised her wand, just a touch, and spoke.
The End
Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.
Summary: Minerva confronts Severus.
"Severus..." Minerva's hand half-reached for him, half-brushed the velvet - deep, dark, smooth, liquid velvet - of his robes, before he stiffened and pulled away, gazing at her in abject horror, as if repulsed by the contact, the feel of her hand warm upon his arm.
She looked stunned, lips slightly parted.
"Professor," Was all he could muster.
Her wand hung limp by her side, as she merely looked at him, eyes taking in every weary line and every tiredness, so very clearly etched on his face. "You've grown old," She finally murmured, seemingly dazed.
Severus could think of nothing to say, nothing to do, merely look at her, waiting for the inevitable, when she would raise her wand in fury.
"But then," Minerva raised her wand and brushed back a lank tendril of hair from over his eyes, which would have been a tender gesture if it had not been so menacing. "You always were,"
Severus' breath caught when she pressed her wand hard against his temple and did not release the pressure. She had followed him here, here to end it all, to extract some kind of payment.
"You do realise its over?" This was said with impeccable mildness. Severus' fingers twitched, almost unconsciously towards his wand, which lay only a few paces away in the grass. But Minerva - this battle-hardened harpy of a woman, not the Minerva that flitted through his memories - would see him dead before he raised it.
Women were, he thought dryly, such complicated creatures after all.
"Is it?" He forced himself to be oily, to earn the end Minerva would give him.
"Yes," She whispered it, and Severus risked a glance at her, saw her mouth twitch as though she was trying to suppress a sob - or a scream.
"Minerva-”
"Don't!" Her voice was suddenly harsh, trembling with grief.
"Narcissa-"
"Do not try to blame Narcissa Malfoy!" Minerva was shrill.
"The Unbreakable -"
"You should have refused to swear!" Minerva's wand hand was trembling violently now. "Died rather than sacrifice ...sacrifice..."
"Albus?" Severus said mildly.
Minerva let out her breath explosively. "Albus," She agreed finally.
Severus waited, waited for the words to come to her lips and then to rest in shadow, but she remained silent, mouth opening and closing in a strange parody of words, as if she couldn't bring herself to say them.
"I have seen many people turn to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, out of fear or greed," She said finally, softly. "But you always shocked me the most,"
He wanted to ask why. But Severus Snape's voice failed him just like his nerve.
"Because Albus trusted you and I always assumed he had an iron clad reason for it,"
Severus opened his mouth and Minerva touched her wand to his lips. "No, I don't want to know with what lie you ensnared him. I am afraid that is one lie you will take to your grave with you,"
Oh. So she was going to kill him. How terribly, eerily calm he felt. Today wasn't a terribly bad day to die, he thought vaguely, and the tempting nature of impending peace and quiet was altogether quite...pleasant.
And she kissed him. It wasn't powerful or passionate and it didn't hide secret lust...it was merely a kiss. A soft, brushing kiss across his lips that lingered for a second and then was gone. His tongue darted out and his lips tasted like her, a residue of affection long dead.
He wondered what Minerva had been like in her youth - he imagined her a girl who could ensnare a boy from merely talking, who could bewitch the senses by flicking tawny hair over her shoulder and she would wear perfume that whispered of sunlight and rain.
He wondered if Albus had loved her, had held her, had smelt the perfume in her hair and had they argued, had they screamed and had Minerva thrown a goblet of wine at his head? And then had they made love on his desk afterwards?
Or had she loved him from a distance, never coming closer than a deputy could come to her superior? Had she wished for him secretly, ached for him at night and entertained illicit fantasies of the life she could have had?
What had he destroyed when he killed Albus? Had he destroyed Minerva as well, or merely destroyed her fantasies?
He would have asked, but Severus was inherently a coward, someone who be sardonic but nothing more, could be forced to do rash things when cajoled into rage, but could not bring himself to ask Minerva McGonagall what exactly Albus Dumbledore had been to her.
He felt his cowardice keenly and wept for lost things. Minerva had no pity, just stared with those dead eyes that belied loss and a hardened resolve.
Then she raised her wand, just a touch, and spoke.
The End
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