Chapter 2

Chapter 2

McGonagall's wards were set at just the standard Hogwarts minimum security level, and under his Invisibility Cloak, Severus shook his head in exasperated wonder. Were they all really so foolish as to believe that just because the Dark Lord was in abeyance (only temporarily, Severus was sure), there was no more threat? "The Dark Lord's ideas aren't just going to go away!" he wanted to shout, when some idiot in the staffroom started bleating about what a relief it was that You-Know-Who was dead. "It's just as dangerous now as ever!"

But then again, what the fuck did he care? His own life was ruined; why shouldn't other people's be? It would serve someone like McGonagall right, always so smug and sure of herself, to have her secure little Hogwarts world disturbed by Darkness. Or even just by a mill worker's lad from Spinner's End.

He slipped past her guardian portrait – a snoring old Gryffindor knight – with ease and soon found himself in her sitting room. He was fairly sure what he'd find there: heavy old Victorian furniture (and too much of it), chairs with needlepoint seats, pictures of simpering children on the walls. He didn't actually expect antimacassars, because not even a walking spinster stereotype like McGonagall – tight bun, pursed lips and all – could be that much of a cliché. But he had no doubt that her rooms would say "vinegary virgin" as clearly as if they'd been a talking mirror.

Except that they didn't. He wasn't sure what they said, exactly, except that a reader lived there. The walls were covered with bookcases, not the sentimental lithographs of Severus's imagination. There was a small table (heaped with homework parchments) and two straight-backed chairs. Near the fire were a wing-backed armchair and a low settee. This last was draped with a tartan throw (of course), but the frame was made of light wood and didn't seem too old-fashioned.

So all right, McGonagall's sitting room wasn't your typical old-maid's paradise (except to the extent that an old maid lived in it). Fine.

But the bedroom, now. . .

Severus felt a smirk tug at the corner of his mouth as he made his way to the door. A historic occasion, this – the first time a man entered McGonagall's bedchamber. With her actually in the bed.

His breath came faster, and he could feel his pulse begin to thrum in in his neck. About the only time in his life that he felt powerful was on these secret forays into other people's bedrooms in the middle of the night. Even if the occupants weren't present, he was seeing their most intimate space, and if they were present, they were usually asleep – at their weakest. Severus had no interest in harming them, of course, but it gave him a rush to see them vulnerable: snoring or drooling, their mouths open. Or wearing a silly nightcap, like Flitwick did, or sleeping with a cat on a beribboned pillow next to them, like Filch.

He pictured McGonagall sleeping in something long and high-necked, her hair probably still in its bun. Would she wear a hairnet, like his gran had? He hoped she wouldn't have the bedcurtains closed; he wanted to see her – wanted, just once, to know what she looked like underneath that sharp teacherly authority. No glasses, no sarcasm, nothing to hide behind. Nothing to use as a weapon against him.

The light from her fire was enough to keep him from blundering against some obstacle in the dark. That would be all he needed, to be discovered creeping about the staff's bedrooms while they slept. It would be just his luck, of course.

Severus sidled further into the room and looked at the four-poster bed against the far wall. His da had always said that "Fortune don't never favour a poor man," but Fortune seemed to have taken pity on Severus this once: the bedcurtains were open, and someone clearly lay beneath the dark-patterned quilt.

Two someones, in fact.

Two.

The blood was roaring so loudly in Severus's head that it seemed impossible that McGonagall and her bedmate couldn't hear it. So faint did he suddenly feel that he had to steady himself with a hand on the wall.

Minerva McGonagall was asleep in her bed, and a man was in it with her.

The man was old – Severus could see whitish hair on the pillow, and for a heart-stopping moment, he thought McGonagall was sleeping with the headmaster. But then reason reasserted itself, and he could see that it wasn't Dumbledore at all. This man's hair was shorter and greyer, and if he had a beard, it wasn't visible.

It wasn't visible because the man's face was hidden against McGonagall's shoulder. He lay spooned behind her, his arm snaking out from under the duvet to curve around what must have been her waist. She had the bedclothes pulled up under her chin, but the man's arm was bare, as was his shoulder.

It took a moment for Severus's shocked brain to register what this naked shoulder meant: chances were good that the old man was wearing nothing at all.

And if he wasn't, probably she wasn't, either.

Almost as soon as he had this terrifying thought, Severus had another one: if only he and his Cloak had arrived earlier, he might have seen McGonagall and this old man fucking.

A wave of nausea washed over him, and for a horrible second, he thought he was going to be sick on the floor. But he mastered himself – being a Death Eater had taught him that much, at least – and forced himself to face the truth: even though a part of him was repulsed by the notion of these old people actually having sex (especially her). . .another part of him desperately wanted to watch them.

Especially her.

Christ. Dumbledore was right – Severus was disgusting.

*-*-*-*-*

He intended to leave then, but he didn't. Instead, he crept as close to the bed as he dared and peered through the gloom at McGonagall and her old man.

Her hair, he could now see, was loose and long, a black lock of it spreading far enough over the quilt to brush against the man's arm. And closer to, he could also see that the arm was really too high to be at waist height; it was just about at the right level to rest against McGonagall's. . .chest.

Shit. Severus would rather not have seen the pictures that now pushed their way into his brain, images of rounded smooth skin and nipples and the old man's hands touching. . .damnation. He focused on the man's arm instead. That naked arm looked possessive, looped around McGonagall as it was, and Severus felt a surge of irritation. Just who was this old duffer, anyway?

As if in answer, the old man suddenly stirred and sat up; Severus scuttled backwards in silent alarm, stopping only when he fetched up against the wall.

The man slid out from under the covers and padded quietly towards a door in the wall – loo, of course. As Severus had surmised, he was stark-bollocks naked, his white shanks gleaming faintly in the dim light of ember and moon.

McGonagall hadn't moved; the duvet still covered her as completely as her high-necked robes did during the day. Typical, Severus thought. She probably made the old man beg for it.

*-*-*-*-*

Severus didn't really remember the walk back to his rooms; he was too busy grappling with the final shock of this already-surreal night: when the old man had come back from the toilet, Severus had seen his face clearly for the first time.

And he'd recognized him. It was the creepy old git who ran the Hog's Head Tavern – Aberforth Somebody. Keeper of pubs and raiser of goats. In other words, in shit up to his neck, one way or another. He was dodgy as hell, and although Severus had never seen the man with the Dark Lord, he was certain that old Ab was not to be trusted. He was known to turn a blind eye to Death Eater activity in his pub, and rumour had it that he'd ferry goods and information to and from anyone who could pay his price, no questions asked. Without a doubt, this Aberforth bloke was a nasty piece of work.

A nasty piece of work who was apparently fucking the ever-so-upright Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts.

Jesus. Did the woman have any idea what sort of filth she was bringing into her precious school? Or had her spinster head been addled by the no-doubt rare chance to taste a bit of cock?

There was a part of Severus Snape, the part raised on the scandals and self-righteousness of Spinner's End, that still looked down on a woman who had sex outside of marriage. "No better than she should be," is what his mam would have said, her voice expressing both censure and excitement. She would have been pleased to see a neighbour's feet of clay.

Severus wasn't pleased, though. He was annoyed. McGonagall was always acting so prim and proper and superior, handing out detentions to snogging couples after curfew, and yet here she was, spreading her own legs just like any common slut. Hypocrite.

By this time, Severus had cleaned his teeth and flung himself irritably on his bed, still in his robes. He couldn't get the image of McGonagall and her lover out of his head. He kept seeing them – no, kept seeing her, naked and panting, her hair disheveled, lying underneath that old man.

Did Dumbledore know about this. . .this liaison, this "affair," or whatever it was, between his deputy and a disreputable barkeep? If not, he damn well ought to.

Severus decided to tell him. Tomorrow. It was far too late right now.

Besides, he desperately needed a wank.

*-*-*-*-*

But to Severus's surprise, when he related his tale to the headmaster during their next "little chat," the daft bugger seemed totally unfazed.

"Minerva is an adult, Severus," he said, sipping his tea as calmly as if he hadn't just been told that his second-in-command was – quite literally – in bed with the enemy. "And Hogwarts is not a nunnery. It's her home, just as it is yours and mine, and we all have the right to our private lives."

"But she's having sex. In a school," Severus said, manfully resisting the temptation to speak slowly and carefully, as if to a mental defective. "A school where there are children." Not that he gave a damn about the brats, but it was the principle of the thing.

Dumbledore continued to be infuriatingly unbothered. "As long as she's not having sex in the Great Hall during dinner, or inviting students into her bed, I don't see that it's any of our business." He eyed Severus over the top of his half-moon glasses. "How do you know about Minerva and Ab?"

Severus had been waiting for this question. "Professor Sprout mentioned Aberforth in the staffroom," he said, which was the simple truth. Of course, Sprout hadn't said anything about McGonagall's liaison with Aberforth; she'd only been talking about some Hufflepuff sixth-years who'd tried to buy firewhisky in the Hog's Head.

But still, she had mentioned Aberforth, so Severus wasn't lying. If Albus chose to assume that Severus meant that Sprout had been mentioning Aberforth and McGonagall together. . .well, that was the old man's lookout. Severus was merely reporting a fact; he couldn't be responsible for the conclusions people drew from that fact, could he?

Luckily, Dumbledore didn't press further. "Well," he said, "I know you'll respect Minerva's privacy. It's a precious commodity in a boarding school, as you know."

"And that's all you're going to say about it?" Severus demanded.

Dumbledore looked up from his tea, surprised. "What else do you want me to say? As long as she's not breaking any laws or endangering students, what Minerva does on her own time in her own rooms is her own business. There's nothing more to discuss."

"Nothing more to discuss? You're not even a little bit worried that a possible Death Eater is being given free run of the castle? After he finishes fucking McGonagall into a stupor, he could sneak out of her bed and get up to Merlin knows what!"

"Don't be puerile. Aberforth is no threat."

"But I just told you, he's shady as hell. I've seen him with Yaxley! What do you even know about him?"

To Severus's astonishment, Dumbledore gave a deep, fruity chuckle. "More than I'd like to, and he can say the same about me. He's my brother."

*-*-*-*-*

Back in his quarters, Severus paced and muttered to himself about all that Albus has just told him. Brother? Aberforth the scummy Hog's Head landlord was Dumbledore's fucking brother? Whose dealings with the likes of Yaxley and Mulciber had been on Dumbledore's orders? A brother who was a charter member of the Order of the Fucking Phoenix, for chrissake?

And no one had seen fit to mention this little fact to Severus, the man who would most probably have to become the headmaster's double agent once the Dark Lord inevitably returned?

Oh, no, of course not. Severus was expected to snitch every tiny detail of his knowledge of the Dark Lord and his followers, even down to how often Voldemort took a shit. . .but nobody bothered to share with him even the most basic information about his new Hogwarts world.

Jesus Christ on a crutch, as his da would have said.

Severus paced some more.

Fine, dammit. If no one was going to tell him anything, then he'd just have to find things out for himself. And what better place to start than Dumbledore's deputy headmistress and his own brother?