Minerva McGonagall realised that the headmaster still held her by the elbow and disengaged herself with a jerk. She viewed Snape with weary apprehension. Had he always been so thin? And so ghastly pale in his face? Maybe it was merely his length and his predilection for black clothing that made such a ghostly impression. What did he want from her?

”A word of caution, Minerva. I’ve always admired your skills and powers and you were always a suitably strict head of house,” he began. McGonagall narrowed her eyes.

He will get nowhere with flattery, she thought, waiting silently for him to continue. 

”You did, however, always have a foible for bravery and foolish actions under pretext of what you perceived as a righteous cause. Now, my advice to you, after having met our new teachers and understood their conception of teaching, is to keep your Griffindors at close hand. No attempts of resistance. No rule-breaking. In particular, keep an eye on Miss Weasley and Mr Longbottom - they have the spirit to try something and I’ll tell you, Minerva, it’s not worth it,” said Snape. There was a slight note of pleading to his warning, McGonagall noticed. 

Some of us will never give up the fight against Voldemort, thought McGonagall, we’ll rather die. Aloud, she said stiffly:

”I’d prefer if you addressed me by my surname, Headmaster.”

Snape flinched and pressed his thin lips together. 

”I’m speaking for the sake of the pupils,” he emphasised.

”I’m sure we have a common goal in keeping the damage to a minimum,” she conceded. ”I’ll do my best.”

”And you must exert more self-control, Mi… Professor McGonagall. Your behaviour tonight for instance, makes you vulnerable, exposes you… I understand that you’re under the impact of grief, but, please do try…” Snape was not allowed to finish his sentence as Minerva McGonagall had sorted her wand in a fit of fury.

”Do. Not. Speak to me. About my grief. You… You…” she whispered hoarsely pointing the tip of her  wand at his still impassive face. Snape made no attempt to reach for his wand.

Minerva McGonagall possessed enough hatred to kill Severus Snape at that very moment, but the short interview she had overheard earlier with Amycus Carrow made her realise that Snape, despite everything, would be the less evil alternative on the post as headmaster under the prevailing circumstances. Snape’s sixteen year long history at Hogwarts seemed somehow to play to their advantage, she thought. He was apparently not entirely indifferent to the pupils’ safety. She lowered her wand.

”Traitor,” she said. Snape battered his eyelids. The tall, thin man was swaying slightly, McGonagall realised.

”Assassin!” she hissed and he inclined his head so that a curtain of lifeless black hair hid his face.

”It is time for you to go now, Professor McGonagall,” Snape articulated in a perfectly neutral voice.