dueltastic

Title: Circumstances of a Small and Accidental Nature (Chapter 1 of 8)
Author: dueltastic
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Minerva McGonagall/Severus Snape, cast of thousands (appearances by: Pomona Sprout, Filius Flitwick, Horace Slughorn, Poppy Pomfrey, Argus Filch, Albus Dumbledore, Aberforth Dumbledore, Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, Draco Malfoy, Rita Skeeter, Molly and Arthur Weasley, Ron Weasley, George Weasley, Bill Weasley, Phineas Nigellus Black, Dilys Derwent, Rubeus Hagrid, Septima Vector, Sybill Trelawney, Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Teddy Lupin.)

Author's Note: This is more of a confession. You see, one day, I was reading fic, minding my own business, when I stumbled across an example of one of my least favorite fic genres. Then another. And another. Before I had quite recovered from the shock, I said to myself, "It doesn't need to be like this. I bet it could be done in character, if one tried. I bet it could be done with more realism. I bet I could do that." I still can't believe I wrote it.


"In history, so many circumstances of a small and accidental nature are relevant, that no broad and simple uniformities are possible." --Bertrand Russell




Chapter 1: Minerva McGonagall and the Unexpected Post-War Outcome


Minerva McGonagall wasn't surprised that Snape had his own routes in and out of the castle. He would have needed them, all those years he was living a double life. She was fairly surprised, however, to learn of a passage leading into the Headmaster's office when he emerged from it late one night, nearly six weeks after he had been reported dead.

"Severus!" exclaimed McGonagall, jumping up from her desk.

He hesitated. "Minerva," he said.

"You're alive," she said, immediately feeling a bit silly for stating this obvious, if unexpected, fact. She took his hands in hers while she inspected him more carefully. He was both solid and warm, ruling out obvious signs of being dead, she thought with a certain degree of self-mockery.

He stiffened, but didn't draw away. "Evidently," he said.

She didn't ask what staying alive had cost him. She really didn't think she wanted to know. "Severus, if you ever do something like that again, I'll kill you," she said. His lip curled into a faint approximation of a smile. Sense of irony, not entirely dead, she added to her mental tally. "Why are you here? Why now?"

She almost thought he wouldn't answer, but then he said, "I had nowhere else to go."

She had sometimes wondered, in the years they'd been friends, what would become of Severus Snape when it was all over, if he survived. That he might be like a lost boy, drifting aimlessly now that his life's purpose was completed, had occurred to her many times. She had a castle full of lost boys and girls now, and more experience than she'd ever wanted at helping them find their way back.

"Well, it's a good thing you showed up now," she said, all practicality and business. "Any later, and I'd have had to appoint an interim deputy, while you were off shirking."

"Shirking?" he said with distaste. "Is that what I've been doing?"

"You of all people know how much work there is to do before the start of term under the best of circumstances, and how far from the best of circumstances these are," she said. "And I'm well aware of your obligations to the school. I shouldn't have thought you'd let a small thing like dying stand in your way when it came to fulfilling a promise."

He stared at her. She waited for him to read between the lines; it had been a long time, she thought, and a difficult year to boot, but they couldn't have both lost their touch at this game.

"I regret that my attempt to bleed to death was inconveniently timed, Headmistress," Snape said finally, with more irony than animosity. "Naturally, had I realized the children were not in safe hands with you, I would have returned sooner."

"I'd have hexed them myself if I'd thought there was any chance it'd bring you back faster," she said, and reached up to stroke his cheek as though she were afraid he'd disappear. His grip tightened around her other hand; maybe he had the same fear, she thought, or maybe being touched made him anxious. "You'll be staying."

"It seems so," he said, sounding as though he might not have thought this through till this moment. And perhaps he hadn't.

McGonagall let go of his hand and went to fetch her outer robes from her chair. She glanced at him, all too able to imagine him at loose ends, knocking about the castle with every reason to avoid nearly everyone who'd ever laid eyes on him, only his own ghosts and self-doubts for companionship, never leaving the isolated half-life he'd had to adopt in the previous year. "Severus," she said, "this is a bit unusual, but I'd rather like you to stay with me for a week or so. I could use the company, and I dare say you could as well."

"Are you propositioning me, Minerva?" he said blandly.

"I just want you nearby," she said. "We none of us have had a particularly easy time of things lately, have we? This office can be lonely." She didn't say which of them she meant.

Later that night, they lay side by side in her bed, Snape keeping to himself on the right side in a grey nightshirt and she doing the same on the left in her tartan one. "Good night, Severus," she said, before waving her wand to extinguish the candles. She lay there in the dark, and her mind, exhausted and overwhelmed by weeks of shouldering the responsibility for Hogwarts and a damaged group of people, raced to make sense of what on earth she would do about the life and death, and now life, of Severus Snape. She couldn't see him in the dark, but she didn't hear his breathing slow; he, she felt sure, was lying awake with similar worries.

She was surprised when he leaned over in the dark and kissed her tentatively, but she didn't stop him. It was a strangely shy gesture, and it warmed her heart to think that he could be shy. There were so many ways they might have lost him. She didn't mind the opportunity to show him there was still something kind in his life, after all of that, although what he meant to show her, she could only surmise. Still, there was something in it that felt very much like the making of amends in both directions, and she wasn't the least bit sorry she'd brought him into her bed.


The next morning, as she was getting dressed, she said, "Horace agreed to stay on for Potions earlier this summer, so I rather hope you're all right with Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Yes, that'll be fine," he said.

She looked over to where he lay in the bed. "You'd better get up if you want breakfast, Severus," she said, with a trace of a smile.

He nodded and picked his nightshirt up off the floor. "Minerva," he said, more statement than question.

"Yes?" she said.

"Was last night a problem for this arrangement?" he said.

She smiled warmly. "No, I shouldn't think so," she said. "Not for me." He nodded again, looking relieved, and went to the bathroom to wash. When he came out again to dress, she said, "Would you like to arrive at breakfast at discreetly different times, like silly teenagers who'd rather not get caught, or would you like to storm in on my heels, like the wrath of god returned to haunt the castle?"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said disparagingly. "And I doubt I'd get much of a welcome if I went on my own." Probably not much of one with you, either, he didn't add.

Which was why the castle was buzzing later that morning with stories of how the headmistress had swept into the hall that morning in the company of a tall, dour black-clad man they'd all thought dead.


He stayed with her in the headmaster's rooms for two weeks. The first week was full of strange looks and greetings from colleagues and awkward questions about where he'd been, what he'd done, what had happened to him. Rather than answer them, he threw himself into the extra work of the deputy headmaster, and she began to breathe more easily about their chances of being done by September. One more senior teacher, especially one with Snape's dedication and skills, meant nearly a full complement, and they needed everyone they could get, now more than ever. It wasn't just the usual summer bustle of scheduling courses and hiring teachers, but repairing half the castle, clearing out a makeshift infirmary and a makeshift morgue, finding missing families or new guardians for abandoned children, and locating all their pupils, some of whom were scattered to the four corners and some of whom had not survived. There were condolence letters to write, and funerals to arrange. She left the repairs and academic work for Snape, since he would neither be best comfort for, nor best comforted by, families of the wounded or dead. He noticed the division of labour, but didn't comment on it, except to inform her that he considered tracking down the families of students to be an academic matter, saying that he couldn't very well send the autumn book lists to thin air.

At night they went to bed, politely distant, and stayed up late, talking about their days, arguing about the upcoming school year, speaking in generalities about things they weren't ready to speak about in specifics. And often, when the conversation slowed, he would start to kiss her. She initiated very little at first; she was careful with him as she'd be careful in an enclosed space with an easily startled stray cat. She could imagine too well what he'd done and what had been done to him. But during the day his responses got quicker and more biting, and she thought that he seemed more sure of himself again.

"Is he all right, Minerva?" said Pomona, pulling her aside one afternoon. "He seems so quiet."

Pomona had not spent last night with Snape's arm around her, listening to him expound loudly and fervently on how the Slytherin students ought to be counselled in the coming school year, till he'd nearly stormed out of bed, Minerva thought. "He's fine," she said. "You'd be quiet, too, in his place. He'll be fine."

And, increasingly, she thought he would be.


By the second week, their time together was less careful companionship and more like the challenging friendship they'd had for many years, full of sharp humour and silent undercurrents. They worked together smoothly, as they had before, anticipating each other in meetings and trading comments with a glance. And, without house Quidditch rivalries to hone their competitive instincts on, their competitive streaks spilled over into the evenings, sometimes chess and sometimes sex, but usually both. (It was just as well term wasn't in session, thought McGonagall, as she'd hate having to explain the contest by which Slytherin had acquired 100 house points on two separate occasions.) It was unexpectedly comfortable; he was bitter and angry and cutting, and very reliable. It was as though they'd worn grooves into each other over the years, and felt surprisingly at ease as they found a way to fit themselves back together after the previous year. He had relaxed back into life at Hogwarts, and, in a way, so had she.

That Friday, over a chess game in the early evening, she said, "Would you prefer being in your old rooms near the Slytherin dormitories, or on the second floor nearer your new office?"

He thought for a moment, and moved his bishop. "The second floor," he said.

She nodded. "We can have them ready any time after tomorrow."

"Monday, then," he said.

"Monday," she said, secretly a bit pleased that he'd decided to spend the weekend with her. "Would you like help with your things?"

"Yes," he said after a short pause, and McGonagall nodded again.

That night, he held her in the dark. "We could do this again someday," he said, as if he didn't much care either way.

"Yes, it did work out fairly well," she said. "Perhaps we could."

On Monday, she went with him to his new rooms to check that the house elves had brought all of his things out of storage, and they shook hands in the doorway.

"Severus," she said.

"Minerva," he said, nodding to her, before turning to unpack his books. She left.


It was surprising, thought Minerva, what a restorative something like that could be in difficult times. The headaches and restlessness, the knots in her stomach, that had plagued her for the past year, growing more acute after the battle, had eased. Not gone completely, certainly, but eased, until a few weeks later, when she went to the hospital wing with an upset stomach.

"It's probably nothing worth mentioning," she said.

"No, probably not," said Madam Pomfrey cheerfully, sitting her down and waving her wand. "Probably just overwork, stress from cleaning up this mess. It all takes its toll on people in different ways, you know."

McGonagall looked amused. "Poppy, you seem positively giddy at the idea."

"I don't mind telling you, it's refreshing to be seeing the ordinary sorts of ailments again," said Poppy. "Oh. Oh dear." She stopped to look more closely at the diagnosis symbols her wand had cast. "Well, it's ordinary, at any rate, for most people, though not strictly speaking an ailment..."

"Is this a guessing game?" said McGonagall acidly.

Poppy waved her through to her office in the corner of the hospital wing and shut the door. "Minerva, how has your sex life been lately?" said Poppy. "I mean, not that I'm interested in a personal way, although in other circumstances I would be, but it seems that you're, er..."

"Oh, hell," said McGonagall, rubbing her forehead.

"I trust I don't actually need to give you a refresher course on contraceptive charms, along with the third years," said Poppy. "One does forget to do them occasionally, in unusual circumstances. Overwork and stress, I expect."

"Poppy, I'm seventy-two," said Minerva.

"Nature's way of seeing that you'll have someone to take care of you when you're a hundred and fifty," said Poppy, briskly. "Things become a bit irregular for a few decades. You wouldn't be the first who's assumed they were done, and found out otherwise. Look at Griselda Marchbanks. I'll prescribe you some potions, anti-nausea and supplemental nutrition for now. I don't have them on hand, but Horace or Severus should be able to whip them up in no time."

"Yes, I don't think I want this news all over the school just yet, Poppy," said Minerva. "They're bound to be standard potions, I should think?"

"I could owl-order them from Hogsmeade," said Poppy. "Now off you go, we'll have an appointment later this week to cover what to expect when you're expecting a little witch or wizard. I doubt that medical advice is the first thing on your mind at the moment."

"Not exactly, no," said Minerva.

Outside the hospital wing doors, Minerva stopped. "Oh, hell," she repeated to herself.


Of course, ordering potions from outside the school wasn't significantly more discreet than letting one of Hogwarts' potion masters brew them, not when one of them sat at her left side for every meal, as he had done for nearly twenty years.

The fifth time that she added an anti-nausea potion to her tea before breakfast, Snape said, "Have you seen Poppy?" as if he were asking her to pass the salt, and continued eating his eggs.

"Yes," said McGonagall.

He nodded, and that was that.

As the potions continued to appear, he didn't mention it again, but his looks over breakfast grew puzzled. When it became weeks, he simply began to glare at her. Well, it was to be expected, she thought. He wasn't a stupid man, and knew when something wasn't adding up.

She tried hiding the little vials for a time, discreetly emptying them into her teacup and secreting them away, but he made a show of silently catching her at it; he would inhale the steam from her cup and detect a whiff with a potion master's nose (and glare at her), or 'accidentally' sip from her teacup (and glare at her), or, on more than one occasion, simply turn and watch her like a hawk from the moment she sat down, leaving her no choice but to pull out the potion bottle in front of him. His eyes shot daggers at her, but he didn't say anything. She stopped trying to hide the bottles, as it wasn't fooling either of them.


She knew she should tell him, of course, and fully intended to, very soon, but the real question was how. He had never been the most predictable or even-tempered of men, and, as far as she could tell, this subject was likely to be a minefield with someone like Snape, who avoided personal attachments like the plague and had a difficult relationship with children even as a teacher. She had tried several conversational approaches in her head, and none of them seemed to end well. Then the term had started, and she was simply too busy.

They had continued working together as if neither had noticed anything unusual, until one Tuesday when the door to her office flew open and he stormed in, his face hard and his lips set in a thin line.

Snape slammed an empty vial down on the desk. "Would you mind telling me," he said in a low and angry voice, "just what it is that the Hogsmeade Apothecary is equipped to provide that we cannot?"

"Privacy," said McGonagall.

For a fraction of a second, he looked taken aback, then returned to his rant. "Privacy? Do you think, Headmistress, that I couldn't keep your secrets? Have I proved lacking in discretion over the years?" he said with a sneer.

"I'm rather afraid," said McGonagall, "that it was you I was keeping a secret from, temporarily. I hadn't quite figured out how to mention that I appear to be pregnant. In fact, I'm having some trouble believing it myself."

"You're--" he said. McGonagall wasn't sure whether he was pulled up short or apoplectic. He grabbed the vial again. "You do not keep that sort of secret from me for nearly three months. And you do not go to those morons at the Apothecary for potions instead of me. Do we understand each other?"

"I'll bear that in mind for next time," she said dryly, not bothering to point out that the nature of the thing meant she'd only known herself for five weeks. "Shall I owl you my potion requirements later today?"

He dropped into a chair in front of her desk. "How--" he began.

She interrupted him. "Severus, do not finish that question, or I shall have you removed as a teacher. No matter how good your credentials or how fond I am of you personally, I will not accept a professor at Hogwarts who is unable to explain where babies come from," she said.

He glared at her. "I'd have thought you were too old," he said gracelessly, and a touch petulantly.

"Yes, I'm afraid I thought so, too," she said. "Otherwise I'd have been more careful."

"Hmm," he said with a frown, then got up and stormed out again.

"Yes, that went rather smoothly, I thought," said McGonagall to herself. Raising her voice, she said, "One word from any of you lot, or if that leaves this room, and I'll be charming undignified additions onto everyone's portrait for weeks." There was some grumbling from certain portrait frames, but rather fewer than she'd expected.


Despite Snape's feelings on the matter, and she had no idea what they were, he was true to his word. She'd sent an owl with the short list of potions she was taking, mostly out of annoyance at his leaving mid-conversation, and she'd received them first thing the next morning. Whatever his personal flaws, she thought, his professional standards were first-rate.

And his work as deputy head didn't falter, although he was a bit distant the next day, and most of Thursday. On Thursday afternoon, he delivered a meeting schedule to her office by hand.

"Oh, you could have owled those," she said, taking the scroll and unrolling it on her desk. "Thank you." She expected him to disappear as silently as he'd arrived, but he didn't move from his spot by her desk.

"You're planning to have it?" he said, staring fixedly at the bookcase on the wall.

She looked up. "I was, rather," she said. "Perhaps it's impractical, but I can't bring myself to be casual about the life of a child so soon after this summer." He didn't say anything. "Do you mind?"

"No," Snape said. "I was just curious."

"Well, now you know," she said, returning to the scheduling scroll in front of her.

"Yes," he said, and left.


On Friday, he dragged a pair of third-year Ravenclaws into her office for a disciplinary infraction, and stayed after Filius had collected the poor girls.

When the door closed after them, he turned to her. "Am I expected to offer to marry you?" said Snape, standing ramrod straight with his fingers pulling reflexively at his coat.

"I'm breaking enough long-standing habits as it is, I wouldn't want to overdo it all at once," said McGonagall. "So I'd rather you didn't, if it's all the same to you."

He looked relieved, although he didn't say so. "What, then?"

She gazed at him thoughtfully. "Given my choice, I'd much rather cohabit like a sensible person, and let the whole situation sort itself out, one way or another, in time," she said. "I don't think I'm the sort to rush into a marriage just for the sake of a child, but I can't deny that an extra set of hands would be helpful. If you have other preferences, though..."

"No, that's fine," he said. "That's sensible enough." He turned and swept out the door.


Saturday was a bright and sunny September day, and he found her watching the Quidditch practice in the audience stands. "The Hufflepuff team looks adequate for a change," he said, sitting down next to her.

"Yes, they're not too bad," said McGonagall. "One of their beaters needs some practice."

"We'd better give it your surname," said Snape.

"The beater?" said McGonagall.

"The baby," said Snape.

She looked at him consideringly. "That's remarkably progressive," she said.

"I promised myself I wouldn't bring any more Snapes into the world. If you're making me break that promise, the least you could do is help me fulfil it on a technicality," he said.

She nodded. "Then it'll be a McGonagall," she said.

They sat in the crisp autumn air, watching the team fly. "You were too kind, that beater is terrible," said Snape.

"She'll improve," said McGonagall. "She's new to the team."

Snape got up. "I'll see you," he said, and left the field.


She didn't require her deputy to work Sundays, but Snape usually spent the morning in his office or hers, which, come to think of it, was the unofficial arrangement she and Dumbledore had come to, as well. This week, he sat silently in her office, his quill scratching audibly on a scroll of parchment. McGonagall put down her own quill, and took off her spectacles.

"The only thing that bothers me, Severus, is when it comes time to tell everyone," she said He stopped working and looked up. "Goodness knows, I don't mind what they think of it all, but I would prefer, when I announce something mildly scandalous, that it truly be worth the fuss. I should much rather go down in Hogwarts history as the notorious headmistress flaunting an illicit affair with her deputy than as that poor headmistress who had a summer romance."

The corner of Snape's lip quirked upwards. "Gryffindors," he muttered to himself. "Go ahead," he said to her, "it could hardly do my reputation any harm."

"It's a kind offer, Severus, but no," said McGonagall. "I'm afraid I can't lie about it, even to save my pride."

"Come to my rooms tonight, then," he said. "We'll get started."

"Oh, really, Severus," she said, looking at him disapprovingly from over her glasses. His lips quirked upward again. "I dare say that, from you, that's about as romantic an offer as one gets," she said, smiling back.

"Probably," he said blandly. "But I do have a great deal of experience with illicit activities, Headmistress."

She went back to her parchment with a smile on her face, shaking her head in amusement.


That evening, she had tea in Filius's rooms with him and Septima Vector, who had taken over as head of Gryffindor. It was a pleasant affair. She and Filius reminisced about their early years as the heads of their respective houses, happy memories over endless cups of tea, and she stayed as late as she could bring herself to stay away from her work. As she stood outside, making her goodbyes, Severus rushed up, robes billowing out behind him. "Headmistress," he said. "You're ten minutes late." He nodded distractedly at Filius and Septima, his face stern and emotionless.

"What for?" she said.

"I'm so pleased my duties involve familiarizing you with your own schedule," he said. He gestured down the corridor. "If you will." Without waiting for her reply, he led the way at a fast clip.

She caught up with him on the second floor, as they neared the wing where his office was. She realized the moment after he took hold of her arm that they were in fact outside his new rooms. With his hand on her arm, he guided her inside.

"I hate to state the obvious, but I'm fairly certain I've never scheduled an appointment in your private rooms," said Minerva.

"You didn't. I did. I thought you might ignore my invitation if it weren't in writing," he said, setting up the chess set, and gesturing for her to sit. "Correctly, as it happens."

"Oh, honestly, Severus, what if Filius or Septima ask me what was so urgent?" she said.

"Then you will have to lie," he said. "Or not."

"And you brought me here to play chess," she said, sitting down.

"I thought you'd feel more comfortable with a game you could win," Snape drawled.

"I can win any game you want to play!" she said quickly. He smirked, and she frowned at him.

"You'll forgive me, Minerva, if I don't believe you," he said, sitting down across from her. He indicated her pieces. "The first move is yours."

She stared at him across the table. "You are an insufferable sneak," she said, crossing her arms.

"I know," he said. "Your move."

She rose from her chair. "Make me a cup of tea, Severus. I'll be in your bedroom. The next move is yours."

Snape went to the kitchenette and got a teacup from the cupboard, one emblazoned with the Slytherin coat of arms. It'd only score a cheap point, but all's fair in love and war.


The next morning, Minerva lay under his nice, warm duvet, enjoying a few pleasantly languid, blank moments before the day began.

"Well?" said Snape, muffled against her.

"Mmm?" said Minerva, grasping for thoughts that seemed to lurk just out of reach. "Oh. Yes, I had a wonderful time, Severus, thank you."

Snape scowled. "No," he said. "Are you going to keep sleeping with me?"

Minerva turned to him. "Oh, I didn't realize. Would you like me to?"

He didn't look up to meet her eyes. "It may have escaped your notice, but my personal life for the past fifteen years has consisted entirely of trying to deceive followers of the Dark Lord, so somewhere between none and worse than none. And now I can't even step outside the school without half the people trying to spit in my face and the other half fawning like idiots. I've never had a personal life outside this school, and I never will have, even now the whole damned mess is over. And I want... You want something for the baby and the board of governors. I want this. You to keep sleeping with me."

"Oh," said Minerva faintly, trying to process this before six in the morning.

"We did well together this summer," said Snape, in a tone almost like pleading. "You said so."

"Yes," she said, "yes, we did. We did quite well together." She smoothed his hair out of his eyes where it had fallen in a black curtain across his face. "I didn't want to presume. The circumstances are a bit awkward, to put it mildly. But I shan't deny I was interested, nor that it would make things easier on all of us to have a somewhat more traditional arrangement."

Snape's arm snaked around McGonagall possessively. She patted it to reassure him.

"I'm sorry about, er," he said awkwardly, muffled against her shoulder.

"Do you mean this, or that business before?" she said. Snape hesitated, then nodded. "Well, what's done is done, Severus," said Minerva. "We'll cope. We're rather good at that."


On to Chapter 2.