Chapter Two

No human being is innocent, but there is a class of innocent human actions called Games. W. H. Auden

"I don't care how many damn fools on the Board of Governors approved it, I still maintain it's a preposterous idea, and I, for one, have no desire to see that over-sensationalised twaddle implemented in this school!"

Severus turned away from the fireplace, angry at himself for losing his temper in front of the Minister of Magic, knowing that others would be with Kinsgley Shacklebolt on the other end; knowing that Lucius, who was attending the meeting here at Hogwarts with Severus, would be thinking of ways he could use this outburst against Severus at a later date.

The Floo call had been expected, but Severus had hoped that Lucius would back him up and use his restored influence with the Governors to discourage the idea. It seemed that either Lucius' authority was not as compelling as Severus was led to believe, or Lucius was also encouraging this foolish scheme.

"Minister, I propose we table this discussion for now. Perhaps we can return to the motion at a later date. If I could speak with you for a moment in private." Speak of the spider and the web takes shape! thought Severus, as Lucius Floo-d into the Minister's office.

He was gone perhaps five minutes when he stepped back through the fireplace, brushing some residual Floo powder from his immaculate midnight blue robe. "I've asked them to resume this discussion next week, and they've agreed. Minister Shacklebolt's office will contact you regarding the time and place."

Lucius stepped forward, shaking his head. For once, his lighthearted indifference was muted. "Severus, why are you opposing this Installation? I, for one, believe it is a good idea."

"That's because you will no doubt use it to your advantage to improve your reputation," Severus hissed morosely, and felt a pang of conscience as Lucius winced.

Instead of growing angry, Lucius merely bowed his head in acquiescence. "As much as that intended to hurt, there is some truth in what you say, old friend. But this is not about my eagerness to embrace a positive concept - this is about your reticence to accept a very forward-thinking idea. Why on earth would you object to the school hosting a permanent Wizarding War Museum commemorating the ten-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts?"

Severus ground his teeth. "It's ghoulish, that's why! It will be full of overly-romanticised, lurid displays, everything will be exaggerated, the heroes will be deified, the villains will be nothing less than monsters, and the truth will be tucked under a bunch of light shows and embroidered facts because it's not half as interesting as these idiots seem to recall it being!"

Lucius listened carefully as Severus' tirade turned pleading. "Lucius, do you honestly think they will portray us – portray me, as anything resembling the truth? I'll be reduced to some Byronic, brooding hero, who saved the day for Potter with my herculean sacrifice! I'll come across as looking like some sort of sanctimonious, love-struck, pathetic, martyrdom-seeking arse!"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "I've never heard such bollocks in my life, Severus Snape! You're actually telling me that you are afraid you'll come across as one of the good guys? Merlin forbid," he added airily. He shook his head. "You never could take praise for toffee. Has it ever occurred to you that Hogwarts needs you to be a hero? That for once, history has the chance to be rewritten for the right reasons?"

"Don't talk rubbish, Lucius," Severus bit back. "The victors always write the history books to make the heroes look properly heroic. Let Potter enjoy his day in the sun. I've got a school to run." He turned away dismissively.

Lucius pursed his lips disapprovingly. He decided to try a different tack. "You do realise, don't you, that the next generation of Hogwarts students are here, now? That those who saw it first hand, even as terrified first-years, have long since graduated?"

"Yes, thank you, Lucius, I do have a grasp of who is actually attending my school," Severus retorted testily. "I realise the current student body don't have any personal memories of those days, and I for one, am glad."

The chimes of the ancient clock rang five times, distracting the two wizards. Lucius looked at his own pocket watch to confirm the clock's accuracy. "Merlin, is that the time? Must be off," said Lucius, smiling.

He waved a careless hand around Severus' study. "These children don't remember how frightening this school was that year. You do. You can tell them, you can remind them. Severus, you can enrich the hearts of the innocent with the tales of valour and sacrifice and unspeakable bravery, so that no new Dark Lord can fill the minds of the disenfranchised with prejudice and hatred again. You can be the vanguard for the new generation, Severus."

Lucius grabbed a handful of Floo powder and left his friend standing by his desk. Before he could cast it into the fire, he turned back to Severus. "You know, that sounded rather good." He smiled patronizingly. "You should use it in your speech at the ribbon-cutting ceremony."

He threw the Floo powder into the massive fireplace. "Malfoy Manor!" He turned quickly to Severus. "Oh, by the way, do you mind if we play 'What Say You?'? again next week? Cissa simply adores that game. We'll see you then. Love to Hermione. Good night, Severus."

Severus opened his mouth to launch a withering reply that everything was a game to Lucius, then decided he couldn't be arsed. It seemed pointless to expend any energy with a retort that would fall on such deaf ears. With a sigh of resignation, he turned to look out the window onto the Quidditch pitch. There was a game scheduled on Saturday, and unless this rain abated, he was afraid his Slytherins might get roundly trounced by Ravenclaw. They were a good team in fair weather, but lacked the stamina for the truly foul stuff bucketing down out there now. He could see Alan Burleigh, the team captain, putting them through their paces, but they were sluggish, uninspired.

He sighed. He knew how they felt. It was his sixth year as Hogwarts' Headmaster, and he knew he had learned to be a good one. The sweeping changes made the year of his return had taught him more about what not to do, and he was determined that the graduating class as well as the first years received the best magical education the Wizarding world could offer, in spite of the ongoing repairs to the school. It had taken the better part of ten years, but shortly after Severus' last birthday some eight months past, the Wizarding contractors charged with restoring the ancient castle had signed off the last task, and the school was whole again.

Now that repairs were finally complete, the Governors had come up with this idea to commemorate the milestone by killing two birds with it. Ten years after the battle, they had voted unanimously to allocate a large portion of the East Wing for the sole purpose of building a permanent Museum to the Battle of Hogwarts. Severus knew in his heart it was a good idea, and for once he thought Lucius was right – they needed to be reminded why so many good people lost their lives, so that another Tom Riddle could not get a foothold in Wizarding Britain again.

The problem was that Severus did not want to see his own history romanticized. Already the Governors wanted a complete section dedicated to Severus' own efforts as the double agent and the lynchpin of the war. It made him queasy to think that his youngest students, who regarded him with a mixture of respect and intimidated awe, would discover just what an utter bastard he'd been in those days. If history was to be written here, under his very nose, then Severus wanted his chapter to be about who he was now, not back then. He wanted to believe he'd changed.

Ten years after the war, the Wizarding world was stable, and as a microcosm of their world, Hogwarts reflected it as such. Each student was treated as equal to the other, and the inter-house relationships were on a par the likes of which the school had never seen before. The Pureblood/ Muggle student ratio was steadily evening out to a respectable sixty/forty split. Severus had personally overseen the push to encourage more Muggle families to embrace their magical children and allow them to attend Hogwarts. He was proud of that.

He watched the weary Slytherins leaving the grounds, looking exhausted and dispirited. Burleigh stopped and spoke briefly with Joan Speckin, Ravenclaw's team captain, and Severus watched as she gave Alan a commiserate pat on the shoulder. Both teams chatted with each other as Slytherin left the pitch to the Ravenclaw team. Severus almost smiled; he could allow himself to be proud of that small, telling exchange as well.

It was a strange new world. Sometimes, Severus could almost forget those dark years after the end of Tom Riddle, when he was sure of facing a lifetime in Azkaban. His Dark Mark was nothing more than a ghostly shadow on his skin now. When Severus had received his pardon and was asked to return to run the school, he had almost refused, feeling that he didn't deserve it. But, then Hermione came back into his life. His precious girl. He allowed himself a smile this time. Another perk for being lucky – Hermione.

He had been brutally honest with her in their early courtship. She often teased him of trying to frighten her away, and although that was the last thing on his mind, he truly wanted her to be completely aware of the man she was involving herself with. He didn't want her to hero-worship him, but she had. He had courted her with every weapon in his arsenal, and she'd surrendered without a struggle. Now she ruled this fine school at his side, as fierce and loyal as her House's mascot. He sometimes wanted to jab his wand in his leg to make sure it was not all a dream.

But it had a price. Once, he had been a warrior. Now he was a sedate headmaster. These days, his worries consisted of how well his former House's Quidditch team would perform this year. It was not that he missed the old days, he told himself – often. And yet, sometimes, especially at night...

Yes, the Dark Lord had been vanquished, the opponents of the Light gone or scattered or fawning, but then again, so were the warriors. They were gone; dead or neutered. That's how Severus felt most days - as indolent as a neutered tomcat.

He chastised himself; it would distress Hermione to hear him say that; it distressed him to think it. He didn't miss the darkness...

He thought of Hermione, and felt his body long for her sweetness. There would be a thrice-damned installation, he thought. And a ribbon-cutting ceremony to open it, as well. And as Headmaster and hero, he would have to make a speech about what an honour it was to have been part of it. He would be eloquent and use his sonorous voice to emphasise the bravery of the Order and certain individuals, and the Prophet would laud him.

It would be an excuse to buy Hermione lovely dress robes, perhaps in a dark wine colour, to bring out the colour of her eyes, her glowing skin. She would look stunning, and he would swell with pride when referring to her as 'my wife'. She would sit by his side as he spoke to students, dignitaries, press and politicians, and she would smile up at him with that smile that promised so many things a former student shouldn't know about, much less do to their former professor...

And afterward, they would come together, and he would revel in her, knowing their love would be the cause of their fierce, consuming passion. She would be soft and silky, and passionate and sweet, and her scent would be intoxicating, her touch devastating.

She would smell like lemons and honey, and her virgin-tight pussy would taste sweet as nectar, and she would be so wet and delicious, that he would remind himself it was not a dream, but a gift belonging to him alone. She would cry his name over and over on their bed, and his name would sound like an incantation on her tongue...

He allowed himself a smirk. Amazing, he thought, how the image of his wife panting beneath him drove all thought of anything else from his mind. How she would laugh at his train of thought, starting with his acquiescence of the Museum installation to bedding her with only the briefest detours at speech making and dress buying.

Where Hermione was concerned, Severus had to keep himself in check. She was such a distraction to the detriment of everything else around him. He had once vowed he would never allow his feelings for another woman to interfere with his duty; he should have known that to be a foolish vow, and one he had no hopes of keeping with Hermione. Every time they made love, it was all he could do not to turn into an animal, fucking her into the mattress. She deserved better than his ranging, uncontrollable lust for her.

He felt the tug of darkness whisper to him then, but he wouldn't sully her with it. He would keep his peace, and not frighten her with his baseness, as he had done... no. Those days were over and gone. He would bury himself in her heat and her desire, and forget that he didn't deserve it, that he wasn't good enough to lick her shoes, much less her...

Severus turned from the window with a mental shake. He needed to finish requisitions, and then he would join his precious wife in the Great Hall for the evening meal, and peg together some announcement about this infernal Exhibit. Instead, he returned to his reverie, his dark eyes gazing at the fire, his thoughts drifting to his little Gryffindor lioness, and her lovely warm body, her little mewls and growls, her hungry kisses...