Cantus Dimindium Argenteum by Mogu2mochi

It’s almost the end of the week, and for the hundredth time, Minerva tries to pick up the quill and write her future lesson plans to no avail, the 4-foot-long parchment still painfully blank, its edges wrinkled between her fingers. The metal tip of the Deputy Headmistress’s favorite deep red quill almost stabbed into her palm, but she can’t put her mind to it, even as the pitch-black liquid continues to trail down towards her already stained sleeve.

Fed up to the back teeth of her lack of productivity, she hastily toss the tartan blanket across her shoulders onto the bed. She slowly massages her temples, attempting to ease her turbulent thoughts. After days of nerve-wracking waits, and pacing along the empty Hogwarts Halls, she feels her age is finally catching up. Oh, make no mistake, she can still death-stare students into paying attention, and make sure Albus Dumbledore’s ears ring for days. But things are wearing the woman down more than she’d like to admit. Yes, the headmaster did insist on You-Know-Who’s return even before the actual return, but her heart didn’t lurch as much before Potter’s rescue.

Minerva walks over to the cabinet next to the scrolls and pulls out the half-filled crystal decanter along with a rock glass. Pouring herself a good cup of Scotch instead of using her wand, she savors the increasing coolness at her palms as the amber liquid glints like the horizon at sunrise. She can’t help but let out a satisfied sigh at the spicy finish, appreciating the mild taste of citrus rolling on her tongue.

Looking at the shimmering surface, the woman recalls the day she receives this bottle, and the same dream she has in brief moments of deep sleep — it was a snowy night, she was reading a book next to the hearth in the small cottage in Hogsmeade, Elphin setting down a tray at the coffee table, “Prove it to me, Scot.” he said, his nose up despite sitting on the carpet next to her chair. Minerva McGonagall, the Hogwarts head girl, the talented transfiguration student, one of the best in Gryffindor Quidditch team history, naturally starts downing the alcohol, ignoring the protest of her throat, and the reddened but horrified face of her husband at the 10th shot. At least he didn’t challenge her in that regard anymore. Ironically, she was only a social drinker back then, but soon she grew fond of the acquired taste, and the memories that came with it. Each anniversary, small and big accomplishments of her own family.

It was after decades when she re-acquired a drinking partner, after the first one can no longer babble drunken words of love to her.

Minerva puts down the glass and stares into the unlit fireplace, there is slight anticipation in her mind, that the man would come through and pick up the other cup and continue the weekly bickering that came to a halt when summer approached.

Oh, the shame! Getting hazy after one pint! She takes off her glasses and rubs her eyes.

She stares into the half-charred logs, and with some careful consideration, she transfiguration the bottles and cups into pieces of folded parchment with a swish of the wand, swiftly lighting up the fire as well.

“Hogwarts Infirmary, Poppy’s office!” she throws the powder and steps into the green flames, stuffing the parchment into her pocket.

The aromatic smell of dittany and something sour hit her nose as soon as she steps into the dim-lit area. The usually occupied chair is empty, with documents on the desk uncharacteristically neatly sorted. She gently pushes the wooden door open and heads toward the screened bed, but a cold voice almost sends her back behind the wooden frame.

“I could just finish you. Right here.”

“Indeed”

Minerva raises her wand, barely stopping herself from dashing into the scene.

“I trusted you, they both trusted you.” Narcissa Malfoy says, icicles threatening to pierce through the man. “I don’t care if you save the boy or not, but what about us? What about Draco?”

“You are safe here.”

“No, we’re not!” She hisses “Draco will never be! If they caught wind of Lucius, they will have his life! Our lives! And now that– bastard wants something from us, what will that do to our son?”

“Then hide.”

“Unlike you, Malfoys do not run away.” There was a sudden draw-in of breath from both women. “You and that muggle-lover are well aware how a life debt works, what would Draco think when his own godfather’s rash decisions lead his life to ruin?”

“You rather have the Dark lord ask for your son?”

There is a pregnant pause in the air.

Outside the screen, Minerva lowers her wand, transforming into the feline form she’s always proud of, biting the parchment, she silently treks and walks closer, stopping under the bed next to the partition. Looking up from the gaps, she sees the manicured fingers clutching the stained calloused hand, shaking slightly.

Suddenly a low buzzing sound rings in her ears, she raises her paw to scratch them, Silencing charm. So the cat edged closer until she is in the bubble.

“J'ai un chalet en Ploumoguer, personne ne le sait.” the deep raspy voice breaks the silence.

Minerva inwardly chastises herself for not taking up the french class and acting like a gossiping teenager.

Narcissa scoffs “Et alors ? Nous en avons plus d'un avec le charme de Fidelus dessus, ils peuvent toujours nous trouver d'une manière ou d'une autre.” her well-controlled voice wavers at the end.

“Il y a une île à quelques kilomètres de la côte, mais elle n'apparaît sur aucune carte ni aucun signal de localisation.” he retracts his hand suddenly, and his body jolts, Narcissa immediately stands to check, but sits back down at the gesture.

“Comment ?” She replies dejectedly.

“Une incitation, et vieille magie.”

“De qui?”

“Un de mes associés, fais-moi confiance sur ce point, Narcissa.”

The buzzing becomes so loud in their silence that Minerva has to curl up and bury into her legs to protect her eardrums.

“...What about you?”

“I can handle myself, Cissy.” He lets out a short chuckle, and immediately grunts in pain.

“You have no right to call me that after all this, Sev.”

“How are they?”

“Lucius is…on edge, and Draco ambivalent, he’s worried for you.”

“Je négocierai avec Dumbledore, s'il ne bouge pas, le badge d'argent dans la boîte en cèdre sur mon étagère, à côté du cintre.”

“The access?”

“Accordé à vous et à Lucius.”

“How long have you planned this?”

“The very beginning.”

The cat slightly pokes out from below the bed, she sees something indecipherable in the eyes of the usually stoic Malfoy.

“Time’s up.” Nymphadora’s boots click loudly against the stone floor as the buzzing stops.

“Take care, Severus.”

The wait for her two ex-students to be out of that door feels like an eternity, and the soaked parchment in her mouth is starting to feel unpleasant, she carefully walks out of the shadow, and silently jumps onto the nightstand next to the hidden bed, and almost falling off when she’s met with a glowing wand tip.

Severus, through his hazy eyes, stares intently into slitted pupils, his brows slightly creases in confusion, or fighting exhaustion.

“Why is a cat in the infirmary…”

Minerva is slightly perplexed that the observant man fails to notice the unique lines of fur that resembles her glasses.

Her colleague, with much effort, shifts his body and frees out a little gap, lifting the slightly blood-stained blankets as he winces at the movement “Come here.” Severus says, in the softest tone that the woman can never fathom to be out of the man’s mouth, despite all the questions that she has in her head, she gracefully lands on the mattress.

“Where do you come from?” Minerva rests her head at the edge of the pillow, the smell of alcohol attacking the cat’s nose.

“Has Poppy been keeping you?”Severus asks, looking at the cat next to him, he wasn’t aware that the matron has been keeping a pet in the school, let alone allowing one into the infirmary. He hesitantly raises his hand to brush the grey and black fur, but he feels the cat shivering against the touch.

The cat looks at him, tilting its head to the side like it’s looking at a puzzle.

“Are you cold?” Once again he gently pats the back of the cat, they will always be an enigma to the spy, cats are unpredictable, elegant, mysterious, and sometimes perceptive. And when they look at you it feels like being in that special chair within the Ministry’s courtroom. Severus Snape will never admit he’s fond of animals, outside of respect towards those that provide ingredients, but there’s always this part of himself whose heart twinges in grief when he sees one, buried deep within.

The cat leans towards his arm, purring, its tail brushing curling around his wrist, seemingly cajoling him to come closer to be encompassed by his body warmth, in which Severus Snape of all people does just that. He feels somewhat honored to be the fireplace of some cat, against his better judgment in his fatigue.

“It’ll be better.” Severus breathes, palm remaining on top of the fuzzy fur, and closes his eyes.

Minerva silently looks at the resting colleague’s peaceful, but pained expression, his breath has evened out, yet cold sweat still glistening on his face. There are times after meetings with You-Know-Who before this mess, where she sits in the infirmary with him as Poppy fuss over the man for not taking better care of himself, and they both argue about who’s quidditch team will come out on top next year.

“What the students in my house achieve is no concern of mine as long as they behave, and not steal anything from my storage, unlike certain lions.” he gave her a pointed look.

She never misses the fondness that makes its way through the two empty voids at the topic of Slytherins though.

Her attention jumps back to Severus immediately at the small noise he makes, his eyes rolling frantically under his eyelids, and his chest rises and falling frantically. The cat spats the half-melted parchment onto the floor before leaning in closer to the pillow, and curling up against the man’s face.

She only hopes he can feel some comfort from whatever nightmare that haunts him.

She shivers again and snuggles even closer against the body, hoping to provide some heat.

So, so cold.

Severus hears two familiar voices chatting outside the screen as he becomes more aware of the surroundings. A quick look across the framed ceiling, he relaxes the occlumency shields, recognizing he is true, safe.

“Poppy?”

Quick steps come closer from the corner of the room, and the matron’s red dress comes into view, parting the blue partition.

“Good to see you awake Severus,” She wastes no time scanning across his body with her wand, parchment rolling out by her side, “how are you feeling?”

Severus hesitates, “Surprisingly well?”

No way is Poppy Pomfrey believing it.

“Less pain at the abdomen.” He hastily adds.

“And exactly how much is your ‘less’ Severus?”

Minerva, who steps in at his right, smirks at him.

Poppy lets out an exasperated sigh and looks at the parchment, “Well, the bleeding stopped, however since there’s already at least 5 large doses of blood replenisher in your system, I can’t give you more painkillers nor internal repairers.” she drags out the last word, “Your energy is still depleted, but it should return to normal levels once the replenisher finishes its job, it’ll take quite the amount of time for the inner wounds to mend itself, it will be painful.”

“I will be fine Poppy, what about-”

“I’ve brewed the potion with Albus’ help for Mr. Potter already, though I must ask, what type of antidote is that?”

“Antidote?” Minerva chimed in.

Severus takes a moment to formulate the best answer, “The Dark Lord used a Grade X potion on him, least to say, it was banned decades ago, and my formula is crafted under an hour, I am certain it stops the poison, but there is no guarantee for possible side-effects.”

“He only has minor headaches for now.”

“I didn’t think Albus can brew as proficient as you Poppy.” the Deputy playfully elbows her friend.

“Rest assured Minnie, a man who has a whole stash of sugary lemon drops will never beat me in brewing medicine,” Poppy scoffs, “he was there for the alchemy.”

“Combine and transmute, Golpalott’s third law.” Severus answers the query in Minerva’s eyes.

“Do you need it then?” Minerva’s gaze tenses upon the bandages around the man’s waist.

“It would not have worked for me nor do I need it.” Well, it’s not a complete lie, but necessary. “Give the boy a stronger energy replenisher, have Albus check him through Legilimency more thoroughly, when did he start drinking it?”

“Evening on the day before yesterday.”

“I gave him the recipe yesterday night,” Severus states, confused.

“I had spelled you to sleep for an entire day, just to make sure your body is stable enough to take more potions.”

Minerva looks away, finding the view beyond the infirmary windows interesting.

“What time is it?”

“Half-past three in the afternoon.”

“Check on the boy immediately, the antidote itself consists of volatile ingredients and allergens.”

Poppy nods and turns to leave, “Minerva, order some soup and watch him eat it, and make sure he rests properly, you still owe me your draughts and chocolates, Severus Snape .” she shouts across the infirmary just as she walks out of the door.

“Yes, Poppy.” Minerva shouts, who doesn’t even bother to hold back the mirth in her eyes, in which Severus scowls in response.

“Mipsy.”

“Mistress!” An elf with large blue eyes in the Hogwarts elf uniform pops right next to Minerva, large ears flapping, shrieking in joy at the summon, which Severus grimaces at the volume.

“Get us some soup if you would please.”

The elf disappears in the blink of an eye, popping back with two bowls of steaming soup on the nightstand, and pops out again.

The man slowly sits up, bracing the pain barely holding back a hiss.

“Careful Severus.” Minerva gently pushes him back against the headboard and lifts the bowl and spoon towards him once he’s settled.

“As much as you wish it, Minerva, I’m still fully capable of feeding myself.” He drawls.

She put the bowl onto the younger professor’s hands, ignoring how it is shaking.

“Well,” pulling a damp parchment out of her green robes, Minerva continues to smirk, “I have a nice beverage with me, though it will do no good to your recovery, I must apologize for your lack of luck in this regard young man.” She transfigures them back to the set next to the other bowl and pours herself a cup of scotch.

“Touché.” Severus bites out, glaring at his colleague as the woman swings the scotch-filled glass in front of him. They both take a sip from their drink.

“Are you sure you don’t want a taste?”

“Unlike you Minerva, Slytherins have a sense of self-preservation, I have no desire to face the ire of Poppy Pomfrey.”

“You’re missing out on the good stuff then.”

Severus ignores her amused voice, gripping the injured side as he swallows, grimaces as he almost dropped the bowl at the stabbing pain.

Minerva silently waits for the stubborn trying to recompose himself, while pretending to busy herself with the liquor.

“If it weren’t that glare of yours, I would have stunned you for your worries about Mr. Potter’s state of health.”

Severus chokes at that, and the damaged muscles spasmed at his sudden movement.

“Potter,” He slowly places the bowl back onto the nightstand, “is not my concern.”

The Gryffindor hums, lips involuntarily lifting at the man’s growl.

“I was doing what I was ordered to.”

“I am not disputing that.”

They stay in the companionable silence for a moment.

“There’s a cat in the infirmary.”

Thankfully Severus isn’t able to pierce through the animagus’ concealed panic.

“No?” Minerva takes a long sip from the rock glass, Poppy would not risk animals into the infirmary, let alone one that can cause allergic reactions.”

Severus makes a noncommittal sound.

“You were dreaming, perhaps.”

“Why would I be dreaming of a cat?” Severus asks incredulously.

“Memories, visions. Or perhaps Sybill’s droning finally got to your subconsciousness.”

Severus makes a face at the mention of the divination professor. “Sybill did predict dreaming of the dead when she saw my cup at the leaving feast.”

“Feeling Macabre today are you, Severus,” she puts the empty cup down next to the half-finished bowl, “Same for me.”

“Oh? You and ‘the most imprecise branch of magic’?”

“I drank with Elphin last night.” Minerva’s gaze settles on a line of glass refracted light.

Diving into some of his memories, Severus vaguely recalls a conversation about the older professor’s early days in teaching and subsequent marriage.

“My apologies.”

Minerva waves it away, “Be honest Severus,” she pulls the stool closer, “I can tell you are hiding something, what did he do to you?”

“Other than the usual, a spell to my side.” Severus replies, his half-opened eyes hardening in frustration. “If you are afraid to lose 20 galleons for the cup this year, now is the perfect chance to surrender.”

“Pish posh.” She crosses her arms in front of her chest, “I am offended that you think so lowly of me good sir, a true Gryffindor never backs down. My lions shall topple your snakes this year.”

Severus’ smugness on his face is suddenly killed by the radiating pain, “You should go… back to work…” he grits out, doing his best to not bend over.

“So eager for me to leave, I’m wounded.” Minerva summons another pillow, sliding it under as she gently pushes the man back down, “I shall leave once I’ve stunned you.”

“Minerva-”

“No, Severus. I’ve seen you like this more times than I’d like to admit.” She pins her hand down at the man’s shoulder. “And we haven’t talked like this since… his revival.”

Knowing the insufferable woman is not going to leave anytime soon, he buries his head into the pillow, eyes closed, anticipating whatever question she’s going to bomb him.

“Stubborn man, is it such a hard blow to your ego to admit you need help?”

“If you’re here just to mock me,” Severus glares, or he tries to, “you may take your leave.”

Minerva harrumphs, crossing her arms up to her chest, and faces the other way, a little longer than intended.

Severus' breath suddenly picks up its pace, as the older woman picks it up in her ears she turns back to the man, cold sweat plastering all over the weakened form, and too tired to conceal his weakness.

“No!” He rasps, cutting off the incantation before she can summon the cat Patronus. “I am fine, I just— need some rest.”

Professor McGonagall, despite knowing how unreasonable the man is being, Minerva still settles back onto the chair. “As you should have moments ago, I might as well keep watch to make sure this isn’t some ploy of yours to slip back to the dungeons.”

“Ah, I have falsely presumed that the sternest witch in Hogwarts would be the most responsible in lesson plans.”

“No need to lecture me, young lad, I’ve finished them,” she lies.

No snarky retort, no glare either.

Minerva relaxes into the chair, looking at the man’s fluttering eyelids, he looks younger when there’s no scowl to mar his face. While he holds himself like a man in his 50s, she will never forget how Severus the many times where he calls her “Professor McGonagall” when he first returns to Hogwarts, and the fact he’s currently in his 30s, or as Pomona phrases it “An infant amongst the faculty”, out of his ears of course.

“Severus.”

The prone figure jolts awake, his black snaps back at her, like a student hearing his name being called as they’re about to doze off in class.

“You’re still here.” he whispers, surprised.

“Is my company that undesirable?”

The man frowns, and squints his eyes to focus, silently looking at her, after a moment he responds.

“No.”

“So, how was Sybill’s prediction?” a poor attempt to continue an ended conversation really, but Minerva’s heart is yearning for some accompany after months of unbearable silence, and she really should transfigure her scotch back.

Severus’ brows furrow, looking slightly confused, before returning to the usual blank expression.

“That does not concern you, why haven’t you met your demise with your insatiable curiosity?”

“Hmph, indulge me.”

The man shifts his gaze beyond the view of the infirmary window, beyond the horizon, beyond this world.

“I had a cat.”

Oh, Pomona is going to love this.

“Says the man who makes first years cry solely with his presence.”

“I found it when I was a mere imprudent brat,” he sighs, a hint of disgust at the mention of the younger child, as if describing one of the miscreants in class, “she was in a sewer pipe under a bridge, I somehow managed to gain its trust after a couple of night visits.”

It is hard to imagine the most formidable professor in Hogwarts as a boy who runs around with strays.

“We named her after you” Minerva’s eyes widen at that, “ after seeing your animagus form in the first year, she had a rectangular-shaped scar above her nose, we thought it looked like your spectacles.”

Minerva feels a little bit flattered by that. “We?”

Severus glared at her, but she has a rather accurate guess.

“What other little adventures did young Severus have with another me then?”

The man’s face remains emotionless at the tease, and continues, “She didn't last for long.”

“Strays have weaker immune systems.” Minerva hums.

He rolls his head to the other side, facing away, and clutches his side tighter.

“My father found out about it.”

The air is suffocating, and the birds chirp incessantly under the scorching sun, the smell of alcohol punctures her nose.

“I failed all of them, Minerva.”

Severus' eyes are unfocused but pained, seemingly looking nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

The sun is shining awfully bright today.

Minerva leans forward, and pulls the covers up a bit more. She looks at the relaxed features of the man, and the bandaged side under the white covers.

“Rest well Severus, you deserved it.”

He is already back into blissful oblivion.

Minerva banishes the tray of soup away alongside the folded parchment, standing up to leave, she lets her eyes linger on her friend for a moment and breathes out. A tabby with a mouthful of parchment gracefully lands on the edge of the bed, and nudges its soft grey hair under the chin, paw feeling the slow pulse at the man’s chest, with a soft meow, it leaps onto the floor, keeping its footsteps quiet at she walks out of the infirmary through the thin gap at the wooden door.

“Hey, Professor.” Fred says

“Glad to have you join us here.” George bows dramatically.

Minerva looks at the Weasley twins as she stands next to the moved Fat lady’s portrait, lips pursed as they talk in turns like passing a ball, how much she wishes to be in her private quarters to finish her scotch right now. She subtly moves her hand towards the robe pocket, where the transfigured parchment is when she returns from her tabby form.

“Mr. Weasleys, I do hope you are not up to any mischief.” Minerva raises her chin and peers into the room, the younger Weasley is talking animatedly with Miss Granger in front of the fireplace, and Potter’s back facing them, probably with Poppy who is hidden by the door frame.

“Of course not–

“Dear Professor,”

“We are on our best behavior.” They both send her an innocent grin.

“See that you do.” The Deputy shakes her head and steps into the warmly lit area.

“Yes ma’am!” The twin salutes.

She gives a curt nod as she walks pasts Potter’s friends, and heads straight to where Poppy is fussing over her frequent patient.

“Minerva.” The Matron calls as she walks closer, Albus who was sitting next to Poppy gives her a genial smile, while Potter mutters his greetings.

“Professor McGonagall.”

“I see you are doing well Mr. Potter,” She pats the boy on the shoulder gently, “Glad to have you back with us.”

“I’m glad to be here as well professor.”

Oh, you brave, brave boy. Minerva can’t help but feel a surge of fondness and pride at her student’s calmness despite the recent predicament.

“As glad as you are, best to finish your potion, Mr. Potter.” Poppy takes her eyes off the parchment and looks intently at the boy.

The adults all chuckle at the face Potter made as he empties the small vial.

“As much as I’d like to continue our conversation, Harry, there is still business I need to tend to, let’s chat again tomorrow.” Albus says in his grandfatherly tone, “stay out of trouble children.”

A series of “Goodbye Professor Dumbledore.” rings across the room as Albus steps through the green flames, yet in the corner of her eyes, she sees the tense shoulders of the young Gryffindor visibly relax at the professor’s departure.

Curious. But she refrained from commenting.

“Any problems Poppy?”

“Mr. Potter here insists that he is feeling splendid,” The matron drags out the last word, and Potter nods his head vehemently while sending a pleading look at her. “However, your headache is quite persistent, as far as I’m concerned you aren’t allergic to any ingredients from that potion, but it’s better safe than sure, you need more rest.”

“Madame,” Potter throws his hands up lightly “I’ve been sleeping like a basilisk in hibernation, I’m alright. And I really just want to catch up with–”

“I alone shall decide if you are ‘alright’ or not Mr. Potter, healer’s orders.” Poppy points a finger at his forehead. “The antidote is completely unknown to us, and we can’t exactly determine what side effects it could have, I’d rather have you lying down than having whatever symptom while running around.”

“Yes, Madame.” The boy deflates, it took all of Minerva’s power to not smile at the familiar scene.

“Boys! Always so stubborn, you two are one of a kind.” Poppy scoffs, then pauses “How is he Minerva?”

Conversations in the room go completely still, as the rest of the occupants of the room not so subtly anticipate her answer.

Minerva breaks away from the healer’s eye contact, “Exhausted, but his usual self.”

“He’ll pull it through, Minnie.” The matron replies in a hushed tone and squeezes her arm comfortingly. “Time for you to head to bed, Mr. Potter.” with that, she took her kit and left the common room.

“Well, Mr. Potter you heard Madame Pomfrey, best not to earn her displeasure.” Minerva jerks her head towards the stairway.

Potter lets out a deep sigh and carry’s the rack of vials and a charmed ice bag with him in one arm as the others waves later at him, he halts before going through the red arch.

“Professor, do you mind if I ask you something…privately?”

Minerva dips her chin and looks at the boy through her gold spectacles, assessing.

“Very well.” She ignores the curious looks from behind, “but you will rest after this.”

Potter rolls his eyes and starts to walk up the stairs, Minerva will let it slide this time.

When they arrive at his dorm room, Minerva feels a pang of nostalgia course through her mind, the four-poster beds, the red carpet with the golden Gryffindor insignia proudly embroidered on it, rays of sunlight streaming through the gaps of scarlet curtains. Between two beds are two trunks, one with frayed lines and rust at the metal hinges, the other with an outwardly bent leather surface, a large “W” sewn on top. Parchment and clothes lay all across the sheets, along with some Chocolate frog cards on one of the beds.

She doesn’t remember when was the last time she stepped into the Gryffindor dorm room. Between her duties as a Transfiguration professor and the Deputy Headmistress, she barely, no, there’s no time for her to check up on her lions other than sorting out disputes, and maybe announcements in the common room.

Her gaze sweeps across the room and sees charmed lights suspended at the ceiling, a roommate's work? Has this always been in the rooms? She has never stayed long enough to see what has children in her house have been up to in the rooms, despite being the head of house.

“Erm…Professor?” Potter’s voice breaks through her thoughts.

Minerva remembers to pull her face into a frown, “Perhaps, Mr. Potter, I should start taking points seeing how…unkempt you and Mr. Weasley’s room is.”

A shade of pink rises to Potter’s cheek, “Sorry professor,” He moves and stacks the mess away, “Ron and I were just trying to make sure my relatives didn’t throw anything away from my trunk.”

Oh, those muggles.

“I assume Remus collected your luggage for your then.”

“Yeah… I mean yes ma’am.” Potter corrects quickly.

Minerva gives the boy a pointed look at the odd behavior, before settling down next to the boy, “What is it you’d like to inquire?”

She watches the boy wriggle his hands as he tries to formulate his question. Her gaze softens at the familiar gesture of a certain Slytherin boy from the past.

“You taught my parents along with Sirius and Remus, right?”

“Indeed, the boys were always in trouble, but your mother, Lily was always there to ground them. I’d say they are all good in transfiguration, and I think you might have carried their talent.”

Potter, Harry blushes at the rare compliment, before his eyes refilled with curiosity.

“Professor, did you teach Sna— Professor Snape too?”

Minerva must have let her surprise show, because something in Harry’s eyes lit up.

“Yes, he was also my student back then.” she replies, “what prompted you to ask about the professor?”

“Well...I um, thought he is only a bit younger than you, but then Remus said they were in the same year.”

“Stress makes people age faster, if you have to instruct your dorm mates to write a 3 foot-long essay daily, it will do a number on you.” She replies, with feigned annoyance.

“Right,” Harry has the decency to look sheepish at that “Do you know if he knew my mum?”

Minerva takes a moment to consider what Severus would say, as the green eyes of the son of Lily Potter look expectantly at her.

“Yes. He does”

“Were they really friends?”

If Severus is next to her right now, no doubt he would: one, hex her for divulging about his schoolboy days; two, say “be careful where you are treading into”; three, cloak billowing as he makes his way out of the Gryffindor dorms.

Green eyes are begging for an answer.

“I am hoping to apologize to her, professor.”

“Give her some space for now Mr. Snape, and come back tomorrow.”

“I failed all of them Minerva”

“...Yes, Harry.” She takes a deep breath, conceding, “They were.”

Harry’s face visibly lightens but is instantly replaced with unspoken sadness, his back hunched, and his expression agitated.

“But then…why…”

“Yes?” Minerva nods in encouragement.

“Why does he hate me so much?”

What could she possibly say to that? Seeing the hurt in the boy’s face gives her an urge to wrangle the nonsense out of Severus Snape, Poppy’s patient or not. The hate between them is illogical, and by gods did Severus not notice the familiar too thin frame of the young boy in front of her?

“Believe me, Harry,” she stresses, “I have brought that up more times than necessary to him, but I think we both know you did nothing wrong, and he’s just being, as most of your peers would say, a stubborn git.”

Harry chuckles at the name, and Minerva inwardly relaxed at the reaction.

“However, I don’t think he actually hates you.”

The boy immediately chokes at the statement, “No way professor, him hating me is a well-known fact amongst all of us.

Severus Snape shall live to rue what he did to her lions.

“I understand where you are coming from Harry, but trust me in this,” she pauses, and considers for a brief second how to continue, “he simply projects the hate onto you, but he does not detest you, Harry. If he hates you that much, he surely wouldn’t have taken you out of You-Know-Who’s grasp.”

“Projecting?”

“I shan’t reveal much of it, all I can say is, you remind him of something unpleasant,” she stops, and adds “and something he regrets.”

Harry looks away from her, seemingly in deep thought.

“For example, if you have to see Mr. Malfoy’s son…”

She smiles at the barely concealed horror on the boy’s face, “Yeah, though, he’s not Malfoy.”

The son of James Potter and Lily Evans never ceases to make her proud.

“Don’t worry Mr. Potter,” Minerva slowly stands up from the bed, smoothing the creases on her dress, “I’ll talk some sense into Professor Snape, he remembers who gave him detentions all those years ago after all.”

He nods, snickering.

“Rest well and recover soon, we still need our seeker for the Gryffindor quidditch team afterall.” With that, she shuts the door with a click, and walks down to the floo, bidding farewell to the other Gryffindors.

By the time she is back into her private quarters, the sky has already turned into a deep shade of orange, the blank parchment is still sitting silently at her desk, but she couldn’t care less about it, she sets the tray of scotch back into the cabinet, before transforming into the Tabby cat, jumping onto the bed and curl up against the tartan blanket.

Hexing Severus and lesson plans can wait, but for now, she only wishes to rest, and perhaps another dream, back into the cottage in Hogsmeade, sharing a pint of scotch with Elphin in front of the hearth in the middle of a snowy night.