Author's Notes:
Yes, the title is from Shakespeare. Points to those who recognize which specific play. So many of them seem to describe Severus, but none so well as this one, at least to me. This story pre-supposes that Severus joined the staff *before* Harry's parents died and plays havoc with the timeline.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are JK Rowling's. The situations they're in are the author's. Not meant to infringe on any legal holders of Harry Potter copyright.



"He's a Death Eater."

"He was a Death Eater."

"Once a Death Eater--"

"Forever guilty, Minerva?"

McGonagall scowled, irritated.

"He's a dangerous element to be introducing to the school, to impressionable young minds."

"I can't say I see him as particularly dangerous, Minerva," Sprout stated now. "How many Death Eaters do you know would be first scared of, then petting, Mrs. Norris?"

The rest all smiled at her observation of the young teacher candidate at that morning's breakfast. To everyone's surprise, Argus Filch, the grizzled custodian who had started working the year after Severus graduated spoke up.

"Mrs. Norris gave him her vote. I give him mine. Death Eater or no, he's a good man."

A silence fell, which was finally breached by Filius Flitwick.

"Your word is better than most people's written vows, Albus. I, for one, will treat Snape with no less respect than anyone else."

"But he's just a boy!"

"He's twenty years old Minerva, hardly a boy. He's been studying Potions since he left school and under rigorous testing by the Ministry Apothecary, he was approved to make even their highest Formulary tier of potions. In fact, his Wolfsbane and Veritaserum were an improvement on the Ministry standard."

"Horace would drool."

The statement caused titters among the staff, but none denied it. If Slughorn had been there, he would have taken credit for Snape's success.

Still, her last objection had been answered and none could gainsay the Headmaster.

Severus Snape became Hogwarts' new Potions Professor, and one of the youngest heads of house in the school's history.

The times were dark in their world, and perhaps a younger man could handle the strain better than an older one, she mused whenever the thought unsettled her.


It wasn't quite the Winter Solstice that same year when the raven came.

It was during an otherwise uninspiring staff meeting and so the gasps from those who had seen it were what alerted Severus to its presence. He had his eyes closed, listening to Binns' comments about the History curriculum and the students who slept in his class, trying to remember, by heart, a particular formulae for hair growth he might show his fourth years.

When he opened his eyes, the raven landed before him, a simple leather pouch in its mouth.

With trembling hands he took the pouch and the raven gave a piercing cry and flew out of the room.

His hands were cold, nerveless things and he could not open the pouch in them.

"Snape?" "Severus?" "For the deities' sake, Severus!"

He blinked, surprised to find himself being looked at and spoken to. The entire staff watched and he shrugged a little, befuddled.

"Severus," the Headmaster stood and began to walk toward him with measured steps. "Let's look at this message together, my boy."

He could not answer, could not say anything, merely held up his hands, the pouch in them, up to the Headmaster. Dumbledore gently put his hands over them and the pouch, reminding him, "I cannot do this, Severus. It is for you to open it."

He nodded. This he understood. Orders he could follow. He opened the pouch and two copper coins and a strip of heavy gold silk fell out into the Headmaster's hands. The fabric had his mother's name, embroidered in ornate black silk into the smoother silk of the gold.

He could feel the warm hand on his shoulder.

He could hear the Headmaster.

"I'm so very sorry, my boy."

He did not remember leaving the meeting. He did not remember anything else for a long time.


It was bitter cold in Yorkshire, especially so on the moors where Eileen Prince Snape was buried.

The Headmaster stood with him, and the Deputy Headmistress and, to his numb not quite surprise, Pomona Sprout and Hagrid. Augusta, Frank and Alice Longbottom also came in attendance, as did Narcissa Black and her sister Andromeda, now a new bride and her Muggle husband, although he could not remember her husband's name. A handful of the Muggle neighbours also attended, but many of them were elderly, he knew, and the cold would endanger their health.

It was the cold, he knew, that had taken his mother. The Muggle doctor Tobias had called said she had pneumonia. She'd never told him. He had no idea. He could have sent her something for it. Tobias was not there, fighting the same pneumonia even now at the Muggle hospital a few miles away.

His nails bit into his palms again now, as he fought to keep from weeping, from raging. He trembled instead, his jaw so tight he thought the tendons might snap.

He could not hear the words of the Muggle vicar, but they did not matter. Wizard or Muggle, the words were not for the dead, but the living, and Severus did not care to hear words, nor did he want comfort.

He only wanted his mother.


The headmaster announced he would fill in for Professor Snape for the rest of the week back at Hogwarts the next day. There was a muted form of jubilation among the student body that caused McGonagall, Sprout and Hagrid to issue stern warning looks.

Minerva was worried about Severus, although she did not say anything to anyone else. She understood grief quite well, knew it was the great equalizer. House affiliations did not matter when it came to death - all were touched by it and the grief, the pain was the same, no matter who was feeling it.

She'd seen him clench his hands until blood dripped from his palm where his nails dug into it at the funeral. Severus didn't cry, she knew. Not since boys from her own house had taunted him mercilessly with the cruel nickname of Snivellus. Even if he wanted, needed, to cry, he ruthlessly refused himself the release.

If ever a man needed such a thing, it was Severus Snape and it was now, Minerva knew. His mother had been so very proud of him, she remembered now the one weekend that first month of Severus teaching where Eileen had managed to meet her son at Hogsmeade. They looked so much alike...

She sighed now and considered. It was nearly the weekend, nearly the holiday break. Making a swift decision, she called the Head Girl and Boy to her and informed them she expected them to cover her remaining classes for the week. She had important business elsewhere. They nodded agreement and she wished them a Happy Christmas and ushered them out of her office.

Then she Flooed the Headmaster and told him the same thing. Albus, tired and busy, merely nodded, grateful she had made arrangements to have her classes covered.


Snape's expression did not even change when he opened the door that snowy day to find Minerva at his doorstep.

"Good evening, Severus," she said politely. "Might I come in?"

He stepped back, not caring one way or another. He was in the process of becoming very drunk indeed, something she could clearly smell on him as she entered.

She drew in a breath, about to begin to chide him when she noted the pouch and the strip of gold silk on the table by the chair he was sitting at. She glanced at the mantel and noted another strip up there by his mother's picture.

"Oh, Severus..."

"Old bugger passed this morning," he muttered. Severus grunted. "He should have gone first. I might have cared more."

"Severus."

Minerva sighed, bowing and shaking her head. This would be a difficult season for him. It was always difficult when loved ones passed just before the holidays.

"You should have written or Floo'd the Headmaster."

"He's done enough."

"Oh, Severus. Here, sit. I'll fix some tea."

"I don't want tea, Minerva."

"You need something to warm you. Trust me."

He shrugged and she fixed tea, liberally adding honey and lemon and whiskey. There was almost no situation, to Minerva's mind, where good strong toddy wouldn't help.

She brought him the steaming drink and he sipped, lifted an eyebrow and continued to sip at it.

He did not respond to her, did not really hear her, and when he slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep two toddies later, she gently levitated him up the stairs and tucked him into bed.


Sometime in the wee hours of the night, the alcohol's soporific effect wore off and Severus became restive.

His unhappy sounds woke Minerva, who napped in a chair by his bedside and she went to him.

"Severus?"

"Mum!" He gasped and sat up, hair damp with sweat and looked around wildly. "Mum?"

McGonagall's expression answered him and his lip trembled as he fought for and lost control.

"NO!!!"

His howl was half-buried in her shoulder as she drew him to her and held him as he began to bitterly weep.

"No..."

He kept saying this, a mumble of sound as he trembled and shook the pain out with his tears within Minerva's comforting arms.

"Shh... now. It's all right. It will be all right, my boy."

"Mum..."

Tears were in Minerva's eyes, too, as she held him tight, held him through the morning, hoping to give him enough strength to make it through the next few days.

She knew they would be among the hardest in his life.


Minerva had helped him with the funeral arrangements, helped him through the burial, this time with not so many in attendance as Severus had not informed anyone besides a few of the inquisitive neighbours.

Tobias Snape was buried the day before Solstice day. Minerva began to wonder if it would be the first and only one she did not celebrate in her own village.

She stayed with Severus, who said little, and she went out only once to return with two bottles of mead and a small sprig of mistletoe that she affixed to the doorway, above the black ribbons that hung there. It was not a house of celebration but a house of sorrow, she mused with a sigh.

She wondered if she ought not invite him to her own house for the holidays, or perhaps return with him to Hogwarts. He needed others around. She feared him regressing to a state of extreme depression if she left him.

She handed him a glass of mead at his seat by the fire and held her own glass up.

"Dies Natalis Invicti Solis," she intoned solemnly, but with a hint of a smile.

He grunted and swigged down the mead in one gulp, then inhaled sharply at the burn.

"Merlin's priest!"

"It's meant to be sipped, Severus."

He blinked back tears and cleared his throat.

"Now that you're with me again, I have a proposition."

He nodded, not really caring.

"Come with me, Severus. Come back with me--"

"I don't think I could bear Hogwarts right now, Minerva," he admitted softly.

"Then come with me to my home. You shouldn't spend Christmas alone. Not like this."

She waited, knowing he'd probably say no and afraid for him.

"D-don't you have family?"

Minerva's smile dipped, and then grew ironic and she sighed, sipping at her mead before shaking her head.

"No, Severus. I'm afraid Voldemort and his followers destroyed my family long ago."

There was a silence, and then he sat forward, looking at her intently.

"Then why do you ask me? Why would you want a Death Eater in your home?"

She looked at him with just as much intensity as she spoke.

"I don't. I'm asking you, Severus, my friend. Not a Death Eater."



He shut up Spinner's End as if he did not intend to return. Minerva wondered if that was the case.

They took the Knight Bus, full of noisy holiday revelers that Severus avoided by standing near the driver. It left them by the hill near her village and they climbed down the bus and headed toward the orange glow on the hill.

Severus was suddenly overcome with memories of one particular summer Solstice and paused. He was not sure what took place at Winter Solstice, but he was fairly sure he was not in the mood for revelry and most especially wanton debauchery.

"What's wrong, Severus?"

Before he could speak they could hear singers starting a carol and the expression on his face was one of desperation. She took him by the elbow and led him, instead, down the path away from the hill and the revelers and before he knew it, they were headed toward a cottage.

She waved a wand at the door from the path and at the step turned to him.

"Be welcome, friend, and enter."

He was taken aback, but he nodded and murmured his thanks. He could feel a tingle of magic slide over him as he stepped inside and before he could speak, the fireplace roared to life and various candles lit in their sconces and he found himself looking about at a warm and cozy home.

A lovely brown feline leapt into the room from the hallway and stopped to stare at him with curiousity, before turning to her mistress and twining about her feet.

"How is my girl?" Minerva cooed, petting the cat as she set down her bag by the door and hung up her robes and hat. She briskly took Severus's coat and also hung it up, then urged him to sit by the fire. "Go warm up."

A wave of her wand and a tea service floated into the room from what was presumably the kitchen. Soon they were sipping hot, sweet, bracing tea and sighing out their journey fatigue.

"Happy Christmas, Severus."

He started, and then looked over to her and his lips quirked, not quite a smile.

"Happy Christmas, Minerva."

The silence that followed was neither expectant nor onerous and after a while he spoke again.

"I appreciate your offering me your hospitality."

"Think nothing of it."

"But I do. I shall."

She looked over at him and noted with disquiet the expression in his eyes. Too few, she suddenly realized, had ever shown this man kindness or friendship or even, thinking to what she'd heard the students saying about the young, new Potions Professor, common courtesy or simple respect.

"I'm glad," she responded now. "It's meant, you know."

He nodded, and then looked away again, to the fire, hiding his eyes.

Minerva suddenly wanted to see those eyes, black and gleaming with his emotions. Nothing had frightened her quite so much as seeing them go flat and blank and dull. She wondered now what they looked like at the height of passion.

She took a fortifying sip of tea.

He's just lost his parents, Minerva, she chided herself.

Then a surge of warmth shot through her as she remembered her own response to grief so long ago. Not to mention the anecdotes she'd heard within her family and circle of friends.

The release found in passion often follows grief...

"Minerva..."

She set her cup down and without thinking, slipped into her Animagus form and jumped to settle at his feet where she took her own form again, this time seated looking up at him.

His expression was stunned, eyes swimming with unshed tears, just as she'd expected.

"Yes, Severus," she answered him.

He blinked, and a stray tear slid down his craggy, so familiar face.

"Minerva..."

"Yes," she whispered, drawing closer, hand on his knee now.

He drew in a shivering breath. She could feel him trembling now.

"Minerva..."

"Yes."

Then they were breathing each other's name off their lips without a thought for anything else.


It was everything and nothing that Minerva had expected.

He was as harsh and unbending as he seemed at first, then once the storm broke, she was left with the gentlest and sweetest lover she had ever experienced in her long life.

"Oh, Severus..."

He moved above her now, within her, a slow rhythm that brought nothing but comfort and pleasure to them both. It was their third coupling, she thought, but could not be sure. It seemed as if they had been connected for hours, as perhaps they had. She decided it did not matter.

Severus Snape made love as if he expected never to be able to do so again.

Perhaps this was the case, although if she had anything to say about it that would be a totally erroneous belief.

"Severus," she murmured in his hair, before moving to taste his skin, to test the tenderness of his ear lobe and the quality of the salt of his sweat.

"Yes, Minerva," he said now.

It was all he said as he moved within her, buried in her warmth in every possible way, taking what he would, what she offered him freely.

It was how that Christmas Day found them, tangled within each other's arms, uncertain of everything except their need for one another.






Two years later...




It was the first day back for the staff in a miserably warm summer that had her answering a hesitant knock at her door, which revealed Severus.

He appeared highly uncomfortable, much as Minerva was sure she did. The events of the past Hallowe'en had created friction between them and their two houses. The death that was a blessing to the rest of the Wizarding World had created a rift in the House of Slytherin, and the ensuing trials had fomented mistrust and suspicion and caused him to shut himself off from his colleagues. From her.

"Well, come in."

He inclined his head and stepped in and, she noted, did not automatically sit, but waited to be offered a seat or refreshment or whatever she had in mind to offer. She waved a hand to a chair and he, again, inclined his head before sitting.

If nothing else, he's got good manners, she mused.

"What can I do for you, Severus?"

"I would like," he said without hesitation. "To undertake private lessons in Transfiguration, Minerva."

She sat, flummoxed.

"T-transfiguration? But you managed a NEWT in my class. Perhaps not outstanding, nor even excellent, but a NEWT nonetheless."

He nodded, almost grimly.

"Perhaps I should have tried harder at the time, however, it can't be helped and I find I cannot proceed any further in my studies without direct tutoring."

She frowned. Studies? He had been studying Transfigurations.

"Forgive me, Severus, but I'll need more of an explanation."

His expression grew, if anything, even grimmer, and she found herself growing concerned. With the death of Voldemort last Hallowe'en, while Slytherin House found itself under suspicion and disarray, the rest of the Wizarding world had fallen into a hazy sort of relaxed contentment. Perhaps, she thought now, they might have done better to remain cautious.

"I would like to master the Animagus spell."

She blinked, then considered this. "To what end?"

To her surprise, he began to unbutton his cuff and soon, he bared his forearm to her gaze. The hazy grey outline of the Dark Mark writhed on the wiry muscles there and she gasped.

"But he's been banished!"

"He's been discorporated. He may yet find a way to return. When he does... I wish to be ready."

She drew in a breath. "I was at the trials, Severus. To help him or help us?"

He scarcely flinched, but she noted the pain in his eyes for a brief moment before he spoke.

"You asked me to what end. To his end, Minerva. I am confident of my other skills in so far as I can hone them, but this one... this could be a great help and I would ask you to see past our enmity of these past months and teach me as only you can."

His voice was hoarse when he stopped, and she could see a suspicious gleam in his eyes.

McGonagall thought back now to her past mistrust, all the way to when he'd been a mere boy, tormented by other boys of her own house, nearly killed in a foolhardy prank whose echoes still resounded in her heart whenever she thought of the fate of those same boys, now all dead but one, and this one, not of her house, but whose fate she had once held in her hand. One she still held in her heart.

Still...

"Very well, Severus," she said, agreeing to everything he asked, giving of herself willingly in anyway needed to bring about the end of a very great evil.


"It's not working."

Minerva sighed. Severus had gone through the required reading over the last year, had debated with her knowledgeably about the principles and methods. They had spent countless Tuesday and Friday nights honing his Transfiguration skills in general, from large to small, small to large, dense to diffuse, until she thought they might wear out the handles of their wands.

Over the summer they had continued to meet at her cottage every Tuesday and Friday, working toward a common goal.

Now the final step was required - for him to focus on his desire.

Desire was important in many magical disciplines. It also helped provide focus. What did Severus desire?

Apparently he did not know either, as this was the fourth night in their tutoring (what all others, save the headmaster, thought were head of house interdisciplinary meetings) that he'd attempted to affect a change within himself. Any change.

"Perhaps you should take a step back to earlier lessons. Make yourself taller, or make an arm longer? Then try."

He made a frustrated sound and stalked off to the window, glaring at the summer rain falling. He felt like a failure and one thing Severus Snape did not take kindly to, was failure.

"This isn't working. Something is wrong. I think I'm doing what you say, but..."

"Severus."

He started to find McGonagall beside him. He lifted a brow at her.

"Come with me."

He followed her out of her office and down the staircases. It was past curfew, so no students should see them, he knew, but he kept an eagle eye out on miscreants nonetheless. They ran into no one, and when they reached the third floor, she made her way past some statues and toward a mostly dark corridor. He could not remember there being any classes taking place here.

She found her way to a heavy oak and iron door and bid him slip inside. She followed him and closed the door.

"Where are we?"

"Be hush, dear. Your questions will soon be answered."

She led him to a large tarpaulin-covered object in the corner of the room. He frowned.

With a flick of her wand the cover flew off into the corner, folding itself as it did, and he found himself studying a mirror.

He frowned at the ornate inscription.

ERISED STRA EHRU OYT UBE CAFRU OYT ON WOHSI

"Never mind that," Minerva whispered to him. "What do you see?"

Severus looked.

His mouth fell open on a silent gasp and his lips trembled. Minerva watched as tears filled his eyes.

"What is it, Severus?"

His expression went from pained to a radiant one, smiling. He took a step forward, but she stopped him and with an effort, he turned to look at her.

"I... The Minister of Magic was giving me a medal. My mother was there, watching me." He frowned. "But how?"

"This is the mirror of Erised, Severus. It shows us our heart's desire."

He glanced back at the mirror, half-afraid, and was entranced once again by the image.

"Mum," he whispered.

Minerva squeezed his hand.

"Come dear. We know now and we can use this."

Severus walked out with her, but he had difficulty not casting glances back to the mirror.


Severus did not show up for his next session, but there had been an incident in Potions with detentions given so she did not worry. When he started skipping dinner, she worried, and when he missed their next meeting, Minerva made her way down the staircases to the third floor.

She found him, as expected, sitting before the mirror. To her surprise, a House Elf sat near by and she frowned.

"Severus?"

He did not move and she came closer.

"Severus?"

He stirred and the House Elf snapped her fingers and the tarpaulin covered the mirror.

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands, then looked about.

"Minerva?"

"You missed our meeting. I wondered if you might be here."

"Blast. I forgot. Thank you, Booni," he told the elf who nodded back to him.

"Booni is glad to serve Master Severus."

She disappeared with a snap of her fingers and he stood before Minerva.

"I'm sorry. I..."

"You are spending far too much time here, Severus. This is not healthy. You've lost weight."

"I'm not hungry," he muttered.

"Not for food," she agreed. "But the soul starves, too, my dear, when you feed it empty dreams. Come with me."



"I can't explain it. It's like... I know I'll see something there that will help in this fight."

"Severus, that is why you came to me. To become an Animagus."

"I know. I'm..."

"You're exhausted, but you've also neglected these lessons and no more. They are a key, a tool, that you can utilize against Voldemort."

He flinched and she frowned.

"Can you not say his name?"

He did not say yea or nay, nor did he shake or nod his head. He merely said, "He is my former master."

"You call him that. Did he teach you, Severus? Is that who you learned Potions from?"

"No. I call him that because that is what he asked us to call him. I cannot name his name. No Death Eater can, for it would alert him."

"Through your Dark Mark."

"Yes, though it is dormant now."

"You don't think He's truly gone."

"So long as our flesh carries his mark, his taint is in the world and I dare not rouse him from whatever foul sleep he resides in."

Minerva considered this, along with the deep disgust in his voice. She changed the subject.

"You didn't say who you learned Potions from."

Severus smiled, the first genuine smile she could remember seeing on his face in some days. It was both bright and wistful.

"My mother." He cleared his throat. "Slughorn never gave her the credit she deserved. She was astoundingly good at Potions. She was proud to see me in my teacher's robes."

McGonagall gave in to her impulse and she held him, briefly, tightly, then let him go.

"I'm sure she's still proud of you, Severus."

His eyes filled with anger, disgust, tears, and he turned from her.

"I'm not so sure."

She waited and his tone filled with self-loathing.

"She... she never forgave me for joining the Death Eaters. She thought I was selling out half my heritage."

"In a way..."

"Don't say it, Minerva, for the love of anything you hold holy - don't remind me!"

Silence filled her office, then his head hung down.

"Forgive me. I think I need more sleep."

"And more food, and more congenial company. Severus, please don't go to the mirror again for awhile."

He turned. "Is that an order?"

"Does it have to be?"

He looked haunted. "It might. I... I'll try."

"That's all we can ask of you, dear," she said, patting his arm and leading him from her office, bidding him a good night's sleep.




The next time he made his way to the room with the Mirror of Erised, it was gone. There was a folded envelope on the floor where it had stood and he noted it read "Severus". He sighed and picked it up, opening it.

Dearest Severus,

You had accepted the difficult path, and were navigating it with no small amount of skill. I have always lauded you for that, even when you thought otherwise.

The mirror is naught but a meandering side road, a distraction that keeps you from the main trail you must follow. I asked the Headmaster to have it moved and he has. Even I do not know where it is anymore.

I regret having introduced you to it, although I do not regret you discovering your true desire. Desire is one of the most powerful focuses for Transfiguration magic, much as it is with Potions, although I doubt you see it that way.

Please. Sit here a moment where the mirror was. Remember what it showed you. This is your desire. Use it as a focus. Try to become what you must in order to fulfill the desire and rid our world of an evil most foul.

That is your lesson for today.

Sincerely,

Minerva

He crumpled the message and plunked down on the hard stone, head in hands.

"Oh, Minerva. You know me too well."

He drew in several deep breaths, then stilled his thoughts and fought to focus.

Desire. To hide and gather information. Evil.

He closed his eyes and slowed his breathing.

Desire. To hide and gather information. Evil.

He drew on his power, his birthright from his mother, and drew one last breath in human form.

Desire. To hide and gather information. Evil...

He opened his eyes, his many eyes, and jumped, a feat that caused him to leave the ground for what seemed several feet before drifting gently down. He would have frowned if he could as he noted the floor approaching. He had... legs. Many legs. All strong and powerful and he knew the distance would not harm him, even if it had been many more feet higher.

He was a spider.

He lifted a leg after landing and studied it, then turned his many eyes and assessed the rest of himself. Measuring himself against the brick below him, he determined he was the size of his palm, black and shiny, with black legs.

He would have smiled if he could. This was perfect! In such a form, he could easily listen in on conversations, sneak into places, crouch unseen...

He wanted to rejoice and he focused, releasing his form to shoot up, higher, higher, and faster until a very dizzy and human Severus Snape stood in the middle of the room with a dazed expression. Then he beamed, eyes filling with happy tears.

"Bravo!"

He jumped, this time a human start as Minerva rushed from the shadows in the corner, still clapping, and he swung her up into his arms, laughing giddily as he'd never done as a boy.

"Minerva! I did it!" He swung her around, and then set her down now and she beamed at him, eyes full of pride.

"Bravo," she whispered now, her voice full of her own unshed tears of joy. "Bravo, my dear sweet lad. Bravo."

"Oh, Minerva."

Then his head dipped down even as she tilted hers up and their lips met and all was very warm, very right, and very forgotten for the rest of that long late summer night.

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Posted: 30 September 2006

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