Heart of the Guardian

27. London Again

The boy was off to see Hagrid this time. Snape tried to concentrate on potions, but his mind did not seem to be able to focus this morning. He kept finding himself making mistakes – a waste of ingredients, not to mention potentially dangerous – for both him and whoever would ingest the serum he was making into... something other than what he intended. At the third error, he acknowledged that he was not in the right frame of mind for delicate precision. He banished the latest disaster, cleaned the cauldron and work table, and left in search of Minerva.

He found her in her office. There were voices behind the door as he stepped off the spiral stair, but he did not let that deter him this time. Septima Vector opened the door at Snape's knock. "Severus! How are you? How's Potter doing? Minerva was just telling me you've put him up for the summer."

He looked past the Arithmancy professor to McGonagall, smiling at him from behind her desk, and caught a flash of Dumbledore's gaze before he turned back to Septima. "He's doing well – improving."

"Minerva said he's coming back for his NEWTs."

"Yes – so he has decided."

"That's wonderful – for him, I mean. He'll need some protection this year – all that torrid gossip that's going around, poor boy."

He closed his eyes at that. For some reason, Septima seemed to think this required patting Snape on the arm. As he had literally never even shook hands with the witch, this made Snape even more uncomfortable than usual. Why must everyone pat him? However, he restrained the urge to hex the woman, his need to talk with McGonagall foremost in his mind.

"I'll leave the two of you," Vector said, pulling her traveling cloak from a hook behind the door. "Good day, Minerva – I'll see you at supper."

Snape breathed a sigh of relief when the woman left, looked permission from Minerva, and shut the door. Turning to face her, he again caught movement in Dumbledore's frame, and glared at the portrait. However, he could not conjure up anger, his and Potter's visit to Dumbledore's tomb settling loss and grief over him more strongly than ire, and his previous urge to throw things at the manipulative, conniving headmaster seemed to have abated. Well – that was probably better for his heart, he reminded himself.

"Come, Severus, sit," McGonagall said, motioning him to sit on a chair across from her. "I was just about to have some tea. Join me?"

He nodded. They talked of inconsequential things as they made their tea – Filch and Pince, the returning professors... Minerva sat back in her chair, blowing slightly on her cup to cool it. "To what do I owe this pleasure, Severus? Not that you're not welcome any time, of course." She smiled at him warmly. "What's on your mind?"

He'd thought about how to begin on his way here.

"I don't know if you know this, Minerva..."

Of course she did not know it. Why would she know it? Unless... He eyed Dumbledore's portrait.

"... but four years ago, when it became clear that Voldemort might return, I... knew that Dumbledore would ask me to return to Voldemort's service..."

He suddenly realized he had never talked about this with her... with anyone... other than his testimony before the Wizengamot and what he'd told Potter. His stomach tightened in memory of those interviews. Odd that of all people Potter should be the one to know. He shrugged. I guess that makes sense. He took a breath.

"When Voldemort returned, Dumbledore asked me to return to his service to spy for the Order." Minerva nodded. "As that seemed likely to be dangerous, I determined it would be... prudent... to make out my will. I named Potter as my heir."