Chapter 3

Chapter Three

~ / ~ / ~

Severus downed a sobriety potion before he went to bed; there was no point in waiting for the pounding head and churning gut of the morning-after.

Thus he felt reasonably good when he awoke the next day, except for the little matter of being expected to seduce a long-standing colleague who was twice his age and who had been his teacher. On the other hand, she was a colleague who didn't appear to hate him and who even seemed occasionally to feel a touch of lust for him. So part of the battle, at least, might already be won.

And with that sense of distance from himself that had become noticeably more pronounced since Voldemort's return, Severus was interested to note that even in the firewhisky-free light of day, he continued to find the idea of sex with Minerva to be something he was not unwilling to consider. On the contrary, in fact: he found he was more than willing.

He preferred to meet the Dark Lord's demands when he could, as a store of good faith against those times when he was going to fail to meet them. But rarely did doing a madman's bidding offer the opportunity for personal pleasure as well. Or for besting Minerva.

Severus left his quarters feeling less oppressed than he had in months. The axe of Voldemort's return had fallen, so one way or another (or one metaphor or another), that die was cast. And today, thank any deity ever imagined, the students would be leaving by noon. Leaving for two solid months. As soon as they were gone, and he'd done his final round of checking dorms and common room, he could turn his attention to Minerva.

He was almost looking forward to devising a plan, and he couldn't recall the last time he'd looked forward to much beyond sleep or the end of the term. Or, of course, oblivion.

At breakfast, Severus sat next to Minerva and took the opportunity, once she was engaged in conversation with Sinistra, to cast an eye over her without being obvious about it. It had been a while since he'd studied her; somehow one ceased to look carefully at people one met every day.

But he saw nothing very different from what he'd always seen: a dark-haired woman in neat robes with a figure just on the edge of too angular, a firm jaw just on the edge of too sharp, a pair of be-spectacled grey eyes that were most definitely too sharp. And nice tits.

He thought he probably should insert himself into her discussion, but before he could find a suitable opening, the meal was over. Breakfast on leaving day was always a rushed affair, and what with the inevitable last-minute scramble to get all the dunderheads to the train on time, he saw little of Minerva until evening.

But the dinner hour didn't offer Severus much chance to put a plan into action, even if he'd managed to come up with one. Though he made a point of sitting next to Minerva again, she seemed distracted and unresponsive to conversation. Not that he was very effective at trying to start any: he hadn't realised until now just how often it was she who began their banter.

He persevered over the next few days, however, and soon she was behaving more as usual, seeming to enjoy sparring with him. The time had come, he decided, to suggest a private drink.

But then Fate stepped in, as it so often did, in the form of Albus Dumbledore.

~ / ~ / ~

The day had passed quietly, and evening found Severus and his colleagues at dinner...or more precisely, at the pre-dinner drinks gathering that Albus liked to host once term was over. The relief of not having to take his meals at the high table in a hall full of rowdy adolescents almost made Severus not mind the forced collegiality of the drinks hour. Still, he'd have skipped it, if Albus hadn't insisted on his attendance...insisted with much geniality and twinkling, of course, but insisted all the same.

Severus was not unhappy about that insistence now, since it gave him an excuse for social interaction with Minerva. But before he could even check to see if she had arrived, Pomona latched on to him, chatting away as he reached for one of the floating sherry glasses.

"I love having dinner in this small dining room, don't you?" she asked. He was sorry to see that her usual chirpiness was beginning to reassert itself; she'd been rather nicely subdued since Diggory's death. "It's so cosy, and I think we all need a little coziness right now."

"I think a 'c' word is quite appropriate, yes, but 'cosy' isn't the one that comes to mind," Severus replied.

"Yes, Pomona, you know Severus," said Minerva, joining them. "He's probably thinking of 'crucio'...as in wishing he could use it to fell the lot of us."

"I was thinking of 'claustrophobic,' actually. But your idea is not without merit."

"Oh, you two," said Pomona, slapping Severus lightly on the arm. "You don't fool any of us, you know, with this mutual-animosity routine. You wouldn't know what to do without each other."

Minerva treated Severus to a lightly-raised eyebrow and a half-smile; she hadn't missed his pained expression at having to endure Pomona's touch. He waited for her to harass him further, and she didn't disappoint. "Is that true, Severus? You wouldn't know what to do without me?"

If he wanted to, Severus thought, he could easily interpret this remark as flirtatious; then again, maybe he was just projecting. Still, as he offered a tiny smirk in return, he entertained himself by imagining what she might do if he flirted back with the sort of line that cretins like Black and Potter would have thought irresistible: 'I could think of a few things to do with you.'

Instead he said, "I wouldn't know what to do without the galleons I so frequently win from you in your impetuous wagers."

Pomona laughed, shaking her head. "Incorrigible, the both of you. Well, I'll leave you to it, my dears. Enjoy yourselves." And off she wandered.

Minerva said something dry in response that was no doubt intended to chastise him, but Severus didn't listen; he was considering how best to offer his drinks invitation. So intent was he that he missed the approach of the Headmaster until Dumbledore spoke nearly in his ear.

Fuck. Five minutes' attention to seduction, and already he was forgetting to watch his back.

"Ah, Minerva, Severus," Albus said, in a plummy tone that immediately told Severus they were going to be imposed upon. "I wonder if the two of you might have an evening free this week. After dinner tonight, perhaps? If you could spare me a few moments?"

He clearly didn't expect them to say no, and they didn't. Minerva said merely, "Your office?" and Albus nodded.

"If you would be so kind."

If we would have a choice, Severus thought. But of course didn't say.

~ / ~ / ~

"Thank you for giving me your time," Dumbledore said later as he waved them to chairs in front of his blazing office hearth. Summer it might be, but the castle held on to the cold as if it letting it go would mean it might never return.

"Brandy?" Dumbledore asked. "No, thank you," Severus said; unlike Voldemort's, Albus's hospitality could be safely turned down. Minerva just shook her head. She seemed calm as she took her seat, though when Albus started speaking, her fingers began to pleat and unpleat a section of her robe.

Severus sat as still as he could and raised a set of light Occlumency shields. Dumbledore was always scrupulous about not entering Severus's mind without permission, but then again, the Headmaster had proven time and again to have powers that surpassed the ordinary. The ability to follow other people's thoughts without their knowledge might well be one of them.

"We've received our first reports from the Order," Dumbledore told them. "They've been interviewing Muggles and magic folk alike to see if we can track down Death Eater activity, look for patterns. We need to check the results as soon as possible, and there's a great deal of intelligence to sift through."

He Levitated a small wooden chest over to them. Severus took it on his lap, since Minerva made no move to touch it. Inside were a number of crystal phials with tiny labels that became large and readable as Severus ran a finger over them: "Malcolm Davies, 54, Horton-on-Wye, June 4, 1995"; "Melissa Grundy, 26, Weybridge, June 6, 1995," and at least a dozen more.

"Now that term is over," Dumbledore went on, "I'd like the two of you to coordinate the various Order reports. Severus, you won't want to know too much detail, of course, but we'll need to decide what information you should tell Voldemort. And it will be useful to know what he's keeping from you. He obviously won't tell you everything, but our own surveillance will help us figure out just what he's concealing.

"The phials contain memories that we hope might be revealing. I thought perhaps you could look at a few of them tonight."

Minerva's fist clenched, and Dumbledore raised a hand to forestall her speaking. "Yes, many of them were taken from Muggles without their knowledge before they were Obliviated. I know you don't approve, Minerva, and I don't disagree, but those scruples are ones we can't afford just now. There's too much we need to know. Will you look at the samples?"

There was a pause before Minerva answered, "You know I will," and it occurred to Severus that she might feel very much as he did when given orders by Voldemort. True, the Dark Lord rarely phrased his demands as questions, but that was beside the point.

"Excellent," said Albus, rising. Severus lifted the chest of memories as Dumbledore handed Minerva another square wooden box, saying, "I've shrunk my Pensieve for you. Now, I may have to leave the castle for a day or two, but when I return, we can make plans for the rest of the summer. With luck, we might even manage a week for a holiday."

~ / ~ / ~

At the bottom of Dumbledore's staircase, Minerva and Severus turned without comment in the direction of Severus's office; somehow the dungeons seemed a suitable place to examine the memories.

Severus had no feelings one way or another regarding the ethics of what they were about to do. Of course it was invasive, but it was by no means the worst of what was to come once war began again, and he had learnt not to dwell on actions that didn't end in torture or death.

Beside him, Minerva stalked silently, carrying the Pensieve, and when they reached Severus's office, she thumped the box in the middle of his desk.

He snorted. "Before you start dumping things left and right, you might at least make sure you're not crushing anything valuable."

"Och, man, if you're daft enough to leave

valuable, crushable things sitting on your desk, you deserve the loss."

Severus refrained from rolling his eyes. Not the brogue already. It too often heralded that touchy mood Minerva had been exhibiting more and more of late. She sometimes followed the irritation with a recklessness of word or wager that had benefitted Severus more than once. But he hoped she'd control herself tonight; they had a lot to do.

"Just Levitate it over here," he said, clearing a small table by wanding books and parchment to the floor.

Minerva began unpacking the memory phials as soon as they'd restored the Pensieve to working order. "Let's get started," she said. "We might be able to get through half of them tonight."

After three hours, though, they had looked at only about a third of the memories. Some were almost comical; most were tedious; a few made Severus struggle not to look away. Wizard and Muggle alike, most people appeared to lead lives that were limited and narrow, spent with other people they often didn't seem to like. There were some moments of pleasure, of tenderness, of something that might pass for joy, but even those memories were painful to watch, given that they frequently ended in some DE-related misery.

Severus spent the three hours side-by-side with Minerva; like him, she resolutely watched every moment of every memory, no matter how bad. Severus became adept at reading her responses: the indrawn breaths of shock, the entwined fingers of sorrow, the sudden slight jerks of her head that meant she'd seen something she wanted to turn away from. Once she reached out to grip his arm, and he didn't pull away, but after a few moments she dropped her hand.

It occurred to him briefly that he should have offered some comfort, taken the chance to get closer to her, but then he dismissed the notion. There was no comfort to give, and had there been, it was not the sort of thing to come from him. Better just to bear whatever had to be borne.

Finally, sometime after midnight, they came out of a rather frustrating, inconclusive memory that may have been a Death Eater-arranged ambush or may have been just an unfortunate lorry accident.

"Enough, Severus," Minerva said as Pensieve images faded. "I've done for tonight." She rested her fingers on the sides of her head, massaging her temples briefly and dislodging a lock of hair.

With that increasingly-common sense of detachment, Severus wondered what she would do if he reached over to tuck the strands back into place. Or if he let his fingers trace her jaw.

Or if he stepped up behind her and let her feel the erection that had been growing steadily as he'd watched both the memories and Minerva, noting the rise and fall of her breasts, the sheen of her hair, the warmth of her body whenever a cramped memory space forced them close together.

What would she do, if he touched her?

Minerva leant over the Pensieve to give the swirling contents a stir, and Severus found himself moving to her, resting his hands on her shoulders, still with that sense of merely watching, of observing, the way they had been doing for so long tonight.

She stiffened at his touch, but otherwise didn't move. Nor did she move when he let his thumb stroke the skin above her collar or let his hands trail down her arms. And when he bent forward just enough to let her sense the hard outline of his cock against her, he thought that she leant equally lightly back into him.

"It will change things, Severus," she said quietly.

"So does watching other people's unhappiness," he replied, nodding towards the Pensieve and sliding his hands around her waist.

He could feel her breathing quicken, and he moved closer behind her. It was like a dance, or what he imagined a dance must be, a choreographed give-and-take, and he was leading. Her very breath was in his control. He liked that.

Minerva dipped her head to acknowledge his words. "Very little is as it once was," she agreed. And still did not move away.

Keeping his hands on her waist, Severus stretched up his thumbs, letting them brush the bottoms of her breasts, and the feel of the smooth curves, coupled with the sound of her sharp inhalation, made his cock jump. He tightened his grip and pushed a little harder against her; he intended to give no quarter.

This time, she definitely leant back into him, pressing his length between them; then she put her hands on his and moved them to cover her breasts.

The sensation was almost overwhelming. He would have thought it impossible for his cock to stiffen further, but he would have been wrong.

To regain his lead, he stepped away from her, breaking all contact, and she turned, surprised. Over her shoulder, he could see the silvery memories still glinting in the Pensieve, and further to the rear of the room was the space that marked the hidden door from his office to his quarters.

"My rooms," he said, somehow finding his wand and unmasking the door. "I'll be in the bedroom. Come to me there, if you choose to. And take your hair down."

Then he strode off, not looking back at her, enjoying the chance that she'd hear "come" as a play on words, enjoying even the little frisson of doubt as to whether she would follow. Would she take such orders from him? He thought she might, but... He'd soon see. And if she did...

Well. The game would be his.