Inside the headmaster’s office, it seemed to Minerva McGonagall that Severus Snape made himself blind to the surroundings to focus only on the three teachers in front of him. He did not throw a single glance at the portraits of the old headmasters, nor did he deign look at Albus’ collection of magical silver instruments, or the perch where Dumbledore’s Phoenix, Fawks, used to sit. But surely the callous traitor was merely indifferent to the significance of those objects? The cold-hearted assassin had no reason to be affected by the interior of this room that still bore the distinct mark of the late headmaster, the Gryffindor head of house thought bitterly.

The office had been shut and sealed since Dumbledore’s death, until the official announcement of Severus Snape’s appointment as headmaster only a few days ago. McGonagall realised that Snape had only had limited time since his arrival at Hogwarts to move his things from the dungeons and imprint his own mark on the office, but there still were surprisingly few changes since Albus’ time. She was sure that would change over the coming weeks, however. 

Minerva McGonagall wondered why Snape had brought them to his office - Dumbledore’s office, she corrected herself grimly - at all. He had not even invited them to sit down. It occurred to her that Snape could just as well have told them what he wanted to say at a corner of the Great Hall or in the teacher’s common room. McGonagall had longed to see Albus’ things one more time, though, and therefore she did not complain. There had been so many good moments in this office, so many lively and sophisticated discussions on Transfiguration and hairsplitting arguments on magical theory between Albus and herself, that she could hardly remember them all.

The familiar room soothed her feelings and caused her pain at the same time. It had all happened so fast, last spring. She had woken up to the fact that Albus Dumbledore was dead. She had run out of the castle as soon as she had been informed of the events and had been stunned by the sight of Harry Potter sitting by the corpse’s side, unaware of his surroundings, inconsolable and finally, when Hagrid managed to get through to him, so bravely struggling to accept the cruel reality, so precociously resigned and determined at the same time. 

The tightness in Minerva McGonagall’s chest threatened to make it explode. Harry had told her what had passed in this tower - he had told her, in a quiet voice almost devoid of emotion, but with the green eyes burning with hatred, who the slayer of her dearest friend had been. She had refused to believe it at first. Albus had so adamantly defended the young Potions master. It was beyond comprehension that the powerful wizard had let himself be duped. It was equally inconceivable that the traitor had the nerve to come back and usurp his victim’s position. But here she was, facing Albus’ assassin, bound to be his subordinate for the next term. Her hurt eyes darted between Snape and all the dear objects in the room that reminded her of Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of modern time.

In her agitated state of mind, she could hardly take in what Snape was saying. He was making an elaborate speech on the subject of disciplinary actions, lauding the Carrows for their zeal to maintain order. She could have cried out aloud. Her eyes fastened on a piece of cloth that draped a frame on the wall, slightly to the right behind the huge desk. It must be… Surely, it could only be…? She longed to pull that draping tissue away. If only she could speak to him again… 

She must have taken an unsteady step forward, because suddenly she was arrested by a strong hand that gripped her right elbow and prevented her from moving on. She tried to disengage but the fingers clawed into the tissue of her sleeve and did not let go. She felt slightly dizzy and drained of forces. It prevented her from fighting the grip, even if she wanted to, letting the hand, to her own dismay, support her instead.

”Professor McGonagall here,” said Snape unperturbed, ”who is one of our most experienced professors, will testify that the pupils, daft as they usually are, need their entire mental faculty intact to profit from classes. And we do expect outstanding results this year, in honour of our Dark Lord. Therefore, I must declare that the Cruciatus curse is not the punishment of choice in this school. In so young individuals, it might cause damage to the nervous system if used frequently. I must ask you to refrain from using…” said Snape before he was interrupted by a sardonic snort coming from Amycus Carrow. 

”Never heard of such rubbish! Pain is the best way to instigate fear and fear is the best incentive to obedience. If you even think of interfering with what I teach in my classes of Dark Arts and Defence, I will make sure to speak to our Lord,” the Death Eater said threateningly. 

”I will not meddle with your teaching, Amycus,” Snape said smoothly. ”But as to disciplinary actions, I must insist that you leave them to me. I am your headmaster. You will find that detention spent with our keeper in the Forbidden Forest inspire just as much fear and discipline as any amount of Cruciating that, as I said, will only weaken the pupils…” 

Snape’s voice faded out again as Minerva glanced back at the hidden portrait with longing. She felt confused. Did Snape really mean that he considered detention with Hagrid a serious punishment? In Albus’ days, they used it on first years already and she knew several pupils who considered the prospect of spending time in the forest under Hagrid’s guidance more an exciting adventure than a terrifying punishment. Her grieving eyes tinged with disconcertment were directed back at Snape.

”Do I make myself clear, Professor Carrow?” Snape’s voice came back into focus, sharper this time. ”I will not tolerate lengthy Cruciating on the pupils. Otherwise I will have a word with the Dark Lord about your perception of your own rang at this school.” Amycus Carrow looked slyly at him.

”No lengthy Cruciating,” he conceded and added with contempt. ”You are soft, Severus Snape. I cannot imagine what the Dark Lord sees in you.”

”Intellectual assets are, perhaps, beyond your comprehension, Amycus,” Snape retorted haughtily.

”The Dark Lord has a great mind of his own and it’s enough for us all. He needs strong wizards of action. You are not one of them, as I see it. Not once, since the Dark Lord returned have you participated in our raids. Not once have I seen you use an Avada Kedavra,” Carrow said accusingly. There was a flash in Snape’s eyes.

”I did, in this very room, use an Avada…” said Snape. 

There, Minerva McGonagall thought, going all faint, it is voiced, he has confessed, as if I ever doubted the fact. But the throbbing of her heart told her that she was still shocked by the crude truth coming from her former colleague’s mouth. Snape continued to speak to the Carrow brother in a waspish voice. 

”Ask our Lord if my Avada wasn’t of more use to him than all your raids put together. I choose my time for action, Amycus, carefully, but when I do decide to act, there is no indecision, no flaws in my plans and no waver in my wand.” It was Snape’s turn to sound threatening and the black figure was impressive. Finally, Amycus Carrow inclined his head in sign of acceptance of Snape’s words. The Carrow sister stepped forward and opened her mouth for the first time to offer a truce.

”We are, of course, loyal to our Dark Lord, my brother and I, as well as to his appointed lieutenants. We will obey your orders,” she said. 

No lengthy Crutiating, thought Minerva McGonagall. It was a meagre victory as it was a matter of subjective judgement which standard of time limit you should go by. Snape gestured at the door, exchanged a few more polite words with the Carrows before he saw them off.