A/N: This is for the March Monthly Writing Contest with the theme of "Promise." Goes slightly AU at the end. Enjoy!

We are taught not to play with broken things, for that can only lead to scarred hands and bleeding hearts, but time and time again we find ourselves clinging to broken promises, pretending we cannot feel the pain that they bring.

He is not coming.

Wondering where he is will do no good, she tells herself. Whether he is an another's arms or lying half-dead on a cold stone floor, she cannot reach him and so it is of no use to worry about him.

Stubborn, obstinate man that he is, he didn't tell her where he was going or what he was planning to do, but then he rarely does. He departed quietly at the darkest part of midnight, like always, a light touch on her cheek that she pretended to be asleep for the only thing he left behind.

She has seen how he looks at her when he thinks she isn't watching, dark eyes alit with equal amounts of passion and desperate longing. She wishes she could convince him that his red hands are not defiling her, that his black soul is not shrouding her. She wishes she could convince him not to pity her for loving him, wishes that she could make him understand that she loves him not out of pity, but for who he is and how he has changed.

She wishes he would say he loved her back.

It is a shallow wish, a wish born of long nights spent between smooth sheets, staring into his dark eyes as he peered into hers. It is a wish born out of selfishness and she knows it and she hates herself for it, for wanting him to open his heart when all that has ever given him is scars.

And so, Minerva McGonagall promises herself, she will lock this wish away deep inside her heart, because she loves him and every one knows Gryffindors will do fool things for love.

As the candles die down and the stars shine their weak light upon the ground, a man in black strides carefully and quickly towards the gates of Hogwarts Castle.

Severus Snape is not a patient man, contrary to a potion-maker's typical attitude. He is, in fact, often impatient and brisk in almost everything he does. Ancient warlocks whisper behind their gray beards about how he is always on the move, trying to outrun his past. Severus Snape couldn't care less about what the Wizarding Community has concluded on him, himself, and his withering glare is enough to stifle their murmurs. But there is a truth to the rumor, a truth he only discusses properly with two people and to everyone else, tells to mind their own damn business.

As his Slytherin mind reflects on it somewhat slyly, his relationship with one of them was never exactly what one would call proper to begin with.

What exactly is his relationship with Minerva McGonagall? He couldn't define it in just one word and she would be insulted if he ever did.

He first thought of her like everyone did, the stern head of Gryffindor house, staunch ally of Dumbledore and a part of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry as much as the portraits on the walls. He couldn't mark the precise date when his feelings changed, and he's never felt tempted to, he has a reputation to uphold, after all.

But he will never forget the moment when she stormed into his classroom, all ablaze, cheeks red with anger and eyes flashing like a tempest. When she had slammed a Gryffindor paper (Potter or Weasley? He couldn't remember) down onto his desk, all marked up in red with a D circled heavily on the front, he'd barely looked up from his work, secretly relishing in this moment. He'd always been fond of that glaring red ink.

"This is ridiculous, Severus! Your prejudice against my Gryffindor students has gone too far!"

Only a brave or foolish serpent would dare go against a lioness, and Snape was both when he glanced lazily at the failed essay and responded with a careless drawl reminiscent of the Malfoy family.

"Prejudice, Minerva? I think not. If you had read the essay, you would've seen that the student had very obviously not looked at the ingredients beforehand and was creating a potion which had no relation to the requested goal at all."

The green-robed witch remained unconvinced by his explanation and brown eyes glared down at black as she crossed her arms over her chest.

"I did, as a matter of fact, and I see nothing wrong with it! Your requested goal was never going to be reached by any combination of ingredients and you know it! You deliberately gave them a far more difficult potion than any of your other classes! I noticed that all your Slytherin classes, for example, passed with extraordinary marks."

At this, Snape stood so they were nose-to-nose, separated by his desk and feigned ignorance.

"Are you suggesting I show favoritism?"

"Oh my, what a thought! Who would ever believe that Severus Snape would favor his Slytherin students?" Minerva's voice was just about dripping in sarcasm and her eyes glared daggers at him as she broke into a passionate tangent about his unfair treatment of his Gryffindor students.

Snape stood, motionless, behind his desk, letting her words wash over him, knowing that once she had started, trying to stop her was futile.

He can't recall what he was thinking in that moment, just that he desperately needed a moment of quiet which did not include Minerva McGonagall berating him at the top of her voice. The part of him that wasn't focused on getting a sliver of peace wondered what in hell he was doing when he moved around his desk to face her.

That was the last rational thought he had before he kissed Minerva McGonagall.

Her lips were soft and irresistible and he was quickly intoxicated, unable to stop himself from deepening the kiss, whereas she stood utterly frozen, completely shocked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he would regret this, but he couldn't stop himself from falling into the kiss, one hand on the back of her head, the other encircling her waist.

A moment or a thousand later, he pulled away, breathing heavily, hands dropping back down to his side.

"There." He said, trying to recollect his disdainful air. "Quiet."

Still in shock, he started to turn away when Minerva grabbed him by his collar, spun him around and kissed him back.

At this point, he had completely given up on any logical chain of reasoning and had wrapped his arms tightly around the shorter witch, fully inclined to never let her go. He couldn't remember where they had ended up that night, but he did remember his couch never quite being the same on the left side.

As he slips out of the memory, he quickly erases all trace of the faint smile on his face and reverts back to his usual sneer as he approaches the castle gate.

Their relationship started purely as something muggles would say, "friends with benefits." He's not sure when it crossed the line, if it ever did for her. They became closer than acquaintances or colleagues, he feels confident in saying. He remembers the late nights spent in her quarters, the long nights she spent in his quarters, where they would talk or debate or have another discussion about her precious Gryffindors. But times got darker and the return of Voldemort signaled the very thing Snape had come to dread, as his mark burned black and he was summoned to his master's side. When he returned, he could only think of her because she could heal him more than any potion or antidote would, and she did, stoically and calmly. He could see her bottom lip trembling, noticed her face whiter than usual, but neither of them spoke because one of them had to be strong for the other, that strength was all they had.

He enters the castle and begins to head upstairs to where he saw a light still burning in the window.

As he walks, his thoughts are filled of her and he remarks to himself wryly what lying with a lioness can do to a Slytherin. She must've bewitched him, or been bewitched herself to enter into a relationship with an ex-death eater.

No, he is a death eater, he reminds himself grimly. That is what he is now, on Dumbledore's orders.

She shouldn't be with him, he knows. He clings to her selfishly, knowing she deserves someone better for a million reasons. Someone who...

Someone who could tell her they loved her.

His feet keep moving, but his mind freezes at those thoughts he has kept hidden for so long, locked away in the back of his mind so he could pretend that he didn't see them at all.

He has so many excuses, piled upon each other, lined up so he can defend himself, say its not the right time, or that its dangerous to speak such things aloud. But it is more than that, and he knows it.

He is afraid. He has hurt and been hurt by too many and this fear is deep within him, though he has tried to rid himself of its bitter taste.

But tonight, tonight he will. He will tell her he loves her and keep this silent promise to himself.

She stands before him, hair braided neatly down one shoulder, spectacles still perched on the bridge of her nose and dressed in her green nightgown. A more beautiful sight, he cannot imagine. A wave of relief washes over him that she is safe and he is here and all of a sudden, he cannot stop his knees from buckling and he quite literally collapses into her arms.

"Severus!" She gasps, sharpened reflexes catching him in time. Her concerned eyes watching him all the while, she helps him into her quarters, ignoring his attempts to brush her off and sits him down on a chair.

As she goes to close the door and check the corridors for any late-night students, he grimaces in pain and presses a hand to his side. His fingers come up red and his world begins to spin.

"Severus."

There are no questions asked as she closes her eyes briefly at his hastily bandaged side, the blood soaking through the thin covering. She steadies herself and begins to clean the wound, applying new bandages and murmuring quiet spells to stop the bleeding. He leans back while she works, fighting to stay conscious after the effort of apparating back to Hogwarts.

"Foolish." She says when she has finished. "Utterly foolish."

"I did not have much of a choice, though believe me, I did try to persuade him against it." Snape groans as he shifts in the chair, the pain lessening to a dull ache.

She glances at him briefly and he can read the concern in her eyes before she turns away to dispose of the old bandages.

"That being said, you were gone far too long for a simple mission. What was the delay?" Her tone is casual, as if this were a conversation over tea and biscuits, but it is anything but and if his mind wasn't still dazed from blood loss, he would've laughed at the irony of it all.

"It was nothing." He says, vision clearing, busying himself with setting his cloak aside.

"Don't lie to me, Severus." Minerva's tone sharpens, her eyes fixing him with a piercing glare.

He glares back with an intensity that sears the room. "It is not for you to know where I went or what I did. I cannot tell you everything."

"You never can, it seems!"

The words hang in the still air, a double meaning etched into every movement of the two people in the room. The understanding sinks in that they are no longer talking about his mission, no, something far different.

"Minerva, I-"

"No," She says, turning away from him so her face is hidden in shadow. "I know."

He grits his teeth and catches her wrist, pulling her back to him. "Listen to me, Minerva. I cannot say those words. It is too dangerous."

He can see something broken behind her eyes as the empty excuse falls out of his mouth once again. His promise, equally broken, weighs on him just as heavily.

She twists her wrist out of his grasp and moves to stand in front of the fire.

"Can't or won't?" Her face is impassive, smooth. He can't read anything in her eyes anymore and that scares him more than any dark terror of the night. He cannot lose her.

"You know I can't."

"And you know I can protect myself from anyone or anything that comes after me, yet you still refuse to say it! Tell me you do or tell me you don't, but don't leave me waiting for you like a lovesick schoolgirl, Severus." Her every movement accuses him and he is speechless in her wake.

"I... I cannot." He says, voice barely above a whisper, hating himself for his weakness. She tilts her head away and makes a valiant effort to keep her voice steady as she replies.

"As I thought." Despite her effort, her trembling tone betrays her and she runs a hand furiously across her eyes.

He stands abruptly, because he cannot bear to see her cry, cannot bear to be the one who breaks Minerva McGonagall and reaches for her but she raises her hands to ward him off and steps back.

"You can't stay here, there might be questions." She gathers his things and thrusts them into his hands. An uncontrollable urge comes over him to refuse to go, to stay and force her to listen to him. But what is there left to say? He leaves, unaware of the broken promise behind him just as she is unaware of the broken promise that he carries ahead with him. No one is innocent tonight.

Can broken promises ever be mended? Or once broken, are they shattered forever?

It is over.

This terrible, terrible war is finally over and Minerva McGonagall nearly drops to her knees as the realization finally sinks in that He-Who-Must- Voldemort is dead. Despite her utter exhaustion and pounding ache in her heart that has been there since he walked out of her life and never came back, she plasters on a smile as Harry Potter runs to Granger and Weasley and their grins mix with tears.

The great hall is awash with bright colors as the dawn breaks and houses mingle together, united in their joy, or united in their sorrow as they mourn lost loved ones. In the midst of all this, the now headmistress of Hogwarts slips away to her chambers.

Closing her door and leaning against it, Minerva sighs and closes her eyes briefly. This war took too much from her. It took her students, it took Albus and in the end, it took Severus from her too.

He is dead, she knows, she heard Voldemort's words as they were spat at Harry Potter, hoped none caught her gasp and heard her stumble backwards.

She broke her own promise that night and she cannot stop blaming herself for driving him off. It was too soon and she should've been content with the fragile love they shared. Or was it even love? Not to him.

As she angrily wipes her tears away, she notices a plain white envelope sitting on her desk, black ink spelling out Minerva McGonagall, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in neat letters.

Deft fingers take out the letter and curious eyes scan it carefully.

Dear Minerva,

By the time you read this, I will most likely be dead, whether in the coming battle or because I have been discovered. Hopefully when you read this, Potter will have already defeated the dark lord and a flurry of shrieking fangirls have already surrounded him. But if not...

I am about to die, Minerva or will soon. I cannot see an alternative to it, and so I am writing this. It may be a fool's errand, and you may toss this away after you read it, but I must send it away, because I see no point to surviving if I do not.

The night you pushed me away I... I don't know what I felt. I couldn't say it because I was afraid. I was afraid of losing you, of hurting you. It was a coward's fear, something I promised myself to overcome, but I could not.

I know it can't make up for the hundreds of times I should've said it, but...

I love you, Minerva.

Keep this or leave it, but know that you will have my heart, always.

A Slytherin professing his love for a Gryffindor. I suppose this will break some house records.

I hear footsteps, I must go. I hope this finds you safe and well.

All my love,

Severus

The letter flutters softly to the ground as her hands fly up to cover her face and her shoulders shake.

She doesn't notice the man who enters without a sound, doesn't notice his slender fingers pick up the letter.

"Well now, my intention wasn't to make you cry."

She glances up, heart racing at that voice and shakes her head firmly.

"I do not need ghosts."

"I am very much alive, I assure you. And do I look like a ghost to you?" He outstretches a hand to her, and she takes it after a moment of hesitation, searching his face, running a hand across the scar that mars his neck and looking wordlessly up at him.

He clutches her hand and answers her unspoken question. "Voldemort was desperate and desperate men make mistakes. Potter, Weasley and Granger were hidden in the Shrieking Shack along with myself and the dark lord. He set his snake on me, but never saw the job through. I was barely conscious when the damn thing has finished with me. Potter, Weasley and Granger stopped the bleeding and bandaged my wound. They brought me to the hospital wing and Madam Pomfrey did the rest. Mind you, I don't think Potter and Weasley did much but stand there and gape, I hope you won't consider them heroes along with the Granger girl."

She laughs a trembling laugh, and finds she cannot speak, the exhilaration and the utter exhaustion catching up to her as she wraps her arms around his neck.

"Well?" He says, one eyebrow raised. "Do I not even get a kiss?"

"Perhaps." She murmurs and pulls his face down to hers.

It wasn't a promise, they know better than that. Rather, it was a hope, a hope they would share together for the rest of their lives.

A/N: Reviews are loved. :)