Nasty Ironies

Severus and Minerva played chess on several more occasions. He beat her once and found that she did not like to lose.

He had moved his knight, placing her king in check. She stared at the board intently, looking for a way out, then suddenly cried in disbelief, "Damn! Stamma's mate!"

Snape's white knight drew its sword, threatening her black king, who removed the crown from its head and placed it before the knight in resignation.

"Damn, damn, damn!" Minerva shouted, making the chess pieces cower as Severus watched her with surprised amusement. "And you can wipe that bloody smirk off your face this instant, Severus Snape, or I will hex you and your bollocks straight to Alcina's island."

"Why, Minerva," he said smoothly. "Such language! I would never have guessed you for a sore loser. You were always so gracious whenever Gryffindor lost to Slytherin on the pitch."

"It wasn't me doing the losing," she muttered, her temper calming only slightly. "And I'll thank you to keep your opinion of my character flaws to yourself," she added sharply.

"It wasn't an opinion, merely an observation," he said. He couldn't resist goading her a touch more: "Tell me, did you behave this way when you lost to Dumbledore?"

"If you're so interested, why not release the portraits and ask him yourself?" she retorted crossly.

"Perhaps I'll do that sometime," he replied, both of them knowing he wouldn't. "Can I pour you another glass of Firewhisky by way of a peace offering?"

"No, thank you, Severus. I should be getting on before I'm missed," she said. "Thank you for the game," she sniffed.

"The pleasure was mine," he answered as she gathered her cloak and wand to leave.

"Indeed," she said curtly. "Good night, Severus." And she was gone.

As he cleared away the glasses and chess game, it occurred to him that his parting remark might have been taken as a reference to what they had done prior to the chess game. Now it was Snape's turn to be angry with himself. He took no pleasure in acting out the Dark Lord's fantasies with Minerva McGonagall and needed her to believe that was so. He was pleased that they had been able to overcome the awkwardness of their respective positions to become companionable acquaintances. She was, and had long been, the most interesting person at Hogwarts in his estimation, and he had often thought over the years that, had things been different, they might have been friends. If things had been different...

Of course, things were different now...very different, and the irony of his recent quasi-friendship with Minerva didn't escape Snape. His life was, it sometimes seemed to him, composed of a series of nasty ironies.

Minerva, of course, knew he had been referring to their chess game, and only their chess game. She knew he still excoriated himself over what he was doing to her...what he felt he was doing to her; she looked at it as a shared offense...by the way he could not look her in the eye afterwards, not until they each were holding the glass of Firewhisky that had become something of an amulet against too much feeling. She knew by the way he never allowed himself to complete the act...other than the one time she had sucked him for the benefit of the Dark Lord...that he would never permit himself any pleasure from the thing. She wondered if it pained him to stop before he could finish. He always excused himself for a few moments afterwards, and she allowed herself only a minute to speculate whether he was using a Deflating Draught or his hands to give himself relief. She suspected it was the former.

As she hurried down the corridor away from the Headmaster's office, she nearly bumped straight into Pomona Sprout.

"Minerva!" cried Pomona, almost dropping the hellebore she had been carrying to the infirmary.

"I'm so sorry, Pomona!" exclaimed Minerva. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"No harm done. Got to get this to Poppy," she said, indicating the plant. "Firstie's gone and swallowed something from the Weasley twins' shop, and now the poor lad can't stop burping up slugs."

"A rather unpleasant lesson, I should think, but a memorable one," answered Minerva.

"Too true," agreed Pomona. "Now that I have you here, though, why don't you come by my rooms tomorrow evening after dinner? Poppy and Rolanda are planning on it...thought we'd have a bit of a jaw, just like old times, eh?"

"I don't know, Pomona, I've got so much work to be getting on with..." Minerva hesitated.

"Come on, love," urged Pomona. "We haven't seen you in ever so long. It might do you some good to spend some time with us old hags...a bit of girl-talk, a spot of tea...what say you?"

"Make it Firewhisky, and you have a deal," said Minerva.

"You bring it, I'll supply the glasses," said Pomona with a wink. "Eight o'clock-ish!" she called behind her as she hurried away with the plant.

Minerva smiled after her friend. She had been neglecting Pomona...neglecting all of them...of late. In truth, she felt uncomfortable around them now. They had been so good to her during the events of the past hard year, and she felt an awful stone of guilt settle in her belly when she thought of how she was deceiving them. Another sacrifice made on the altar of the Greater Good, she thought bitterly. She wondered how many it would take before she could consider her account with Albus settled.

In the end, she went to the small gathering in Pomona's quarters and enjoyed it, at least until the conversation turned to Snape.

They were talking about the latest outrages committed by Amycus Carrow, who had been teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. Minerva was aware that he was using students to demonstrate curses, but felt powerless to stop it. She had advised her Gryffindors to cooperate and laid in a supply of calming and healing potions, courtesy of Poppy Pomfrey, to dole out after DADA classes (and sometimes before).

"The way Snape just lets them have the run of the school sickens me," Poppy was saying. "If he were any kind of a man at all, he wouldn't..."

"Don't!" Minerva cried. She couldn't bear to hear his name mentioned in this company; it evoked too many emotions, none of which she wanted to experience at the moment.

The three women looked at her, then Poppy said, "Oh, Minerva, I'm so sorry! I wasn't thinking."

"It's all right, Poppy," Minerva replied. "I just don't want to spoil a perfectly good evening by invoking Snape and the Carrows."

"Here, here," said Rolanda, raising her glass in salutation. The others followed suit.

The rest of the evening passed in pleasant reminiscences and welcome laughter until Minerva felt too tired to sit up. She rose to excuse herself, and Poppy Pomfrey rose, too.

"I'll go with you, Minerva. I'm dead on my feet," said Poppy.

When the two witches had gotten a few yards down the corridor, Poppy put her arm on Minerva's shoulder, stopping her, saying, "Are you really all right, Minerva? You've been so distant lately...I'm a little worried, I must confess."

The guilt stone was back in Minerva's belly. "I really am fine, Poppy. I've been busy and preoccupied is all."

"No dreams?" asked Poppy.

"Dreams?"

"You know...about Snape and what happened," answered Poppy softly. "Sometimes, women who have been raped have dreams or flashbacks," she said.

"No, nothing like that," Minerva said a little too quickly. "Poppy," she said more slowly, "I know you probably think I'm repressing what happened, or some such, but I assure you I am not. I accept it, and now I'm doing what I need to do to live the rest of my life."

"And what is that?" Poppy asked.

"Work. Protect the children as much as I can. Help Harry Potter put an end to all this wickedness. Maybe when all this is ended, I'll fall apart and become a blubbering mess of an old woman, but I haven't the time for it now," she said forcefully.

"All right, Minerva," said Poppy. "But if anything changes, let me know. I want to be your friend."

Minerva put her arm around the shorter witch. "I know Poppy, you have been...a good friend. For more years than I care to remember."

She kissed Poppy on the cheek, and the two women went their separate ways.