Author: Lash_Larue
Title: "Negative Space"

Pairing: Snape/McGonagall
Rating: PG13

Summary: Saying without saying

Warnings: bit of angst, but mild
Word Count:3450

Disclaimer: These characters belong to JK Rowling

A/N: This begins the summer before "Half-Blood Prince".

"Negative Space"

I had known that things were bad, of course, even before Cedric Diggory had been murdered. The signs were all there and I did not require tea leaves or a crystal ball to read them.

I was concerned, even apprehensive, but not actually frightened until an owl had delivered to me during my vacation an invitation from Severus to join him at a pub in a neighboring village.

Severus Snape, in a Muggle pub?

Severus Snape, inviting me to join him in public?

Geese were positively fornicating on my grave while I read the letter.

Severus and I had long had a cordial relationship, nearly a friendship, in fact. At least as close to a friendship as Severus, with his convoluted existence, would allow.

Occasionally we had availed ourselves of the comfort of each other's bodies. Severus did not mind my wrinkles and I did not mind his occasional desperate need. Frankly, having a powerful younger man need me so much was obscurely flattering, and he always saw to my satisfaction in the end.

I have had worse sexual partners.

We had no need to pretend with one another, we each had our secrets, we each respected the other's abilities, and neither of us could suffer fools gladly.

As to that, were it not for Albus' interference Dolores Umbridge would have been poisoned, transfigured into slop (a minor transfiguration at best), and fed to the school swine. So long as Hagrid was unaware, that is, he would never allow such stuff to be fed to any creature under his care, but that is not actually relevant here. What I meant to say is that Severus Snape and I had achieved a meeting of the minds of a sort through the years.

But Severus simply did not frequent Muggle pubs, nor invite me to join him in this thing that he never did.

Hence the spill of ice water down my back as I read the missive.

So it was that I found myself in my best Muggle "Old Maid Schoolteacher" outfit entering an admittedly rather charming pub looking for a colleague and near friend.

I spotted him in the back corner; that, at least, was consistent with the Severus Snape that I was accustomed to.

He rose to his feet as I approached.

"Minerva, how good of you to come," he said politely.

"Thank you for the invitation, Severus. It was welcome, if somewhat - unexpected."

"It would be well to let 'unexpected' be your watchword, Minerva," he replied, and he signaled to the barmaid.

"What'll it be, dearie?" the child asked me.

I bit back a sharp reply, no doubt she thought that she was being friendly, and there was no point in telling the poor, limited thing that such address was offensive.

"What do you have in single malts?" I asked her, and I saw a gratifying flicker of surprise cross her face.

"We have a cask of Longmore," she said quietly, and it was my turn to be surprised.

"Indeed. I'll have a large one, and the same for my friend," I told her. She smiled and hurried off.

"Am I to assume that this 'Longmore', has especial merit?" Severus asked.

"Indeed it does, makes Ogden's best seem like cat piss," I promised him.

"Well, you would know," he replied, and for the briefest instant a smile twitched his lips.

Severus had a most engaging smile, perhaps all the lovelier for its rarity.

"This is a nice pub, how did you find it?" I asked him.

"My father's diary. He rated nearly every pub in the Isles. He was a drunk, but a meticulous one."

"How did this one score, then?" I asked him.

"Nine of ten on food, ten of ten on drink, four of ten on affectionate barmaids," he replied dryly.

"So I take it you want to drink more than eat, and aren't interested in sex at all?"

A very strange look crossed his face, and the fear that had nagged me since I had read his note was tempered with something else. Something familiar, but strongly out of context.

"I am largely indifferent to the food and drink, although I would welcome a surprise in either regard, and yes, I am not interested in sex, with the barmaids," he replied.

I was spared the need to reply by the reappearance of the sexually uninteresting barmaid with our drinks. I spared a look, and found that I disagreed with my esteemed colleague as to her desirability. She reminded me of a fig just ready to fall on its own from the tree.

"Your health, Minerva," Severus said, breaking me from my reverie.

The smile was back, or rather a smirk, and there was an undeniable twinkle in his eye.

"And yours," I returned, and I took a swallow of the whiskey and held it in my mouth.

It was sublime, and when my eyes opened I had the satisfaction of seeing the surprise on Severus' face change to pleasure.

"While we may disagree on what constitutes desirability in a woman, Minerva, we most certainly agree on what is good whiskey. This gives me one more reason to oppose he-who-must-not-be-named."

"Can't you simply say 'Voldemort', Severus? It would save so much time," I asked him.

"Alas, no, Minerva. I simply cannot say it. That amongst other things that I long to tell you."

I looked at him sharply, the words were fraught, and the look on his face was almost pleading. My heart gave a funny sort of lurch, I was not accustomed to seeing vulnerability on his face.

"You are under some sort of compulsion, then?" I asked him.

"Several, I –" he fell silent, and sweat broke out on his brow.

"Severus, are you ill?" I asked him. He made no reply, but held up his hand so as to ward off further inquiry. Frustration was evident in every line of his body. Obviously something was preventing him from speaking freely, and it would take an exceptionally powerful witch or wizard to so inhibit him. I could only think of two for a certainty, and Severus knew both of them.

He took a deep breath and shook himself a bit, and then he reached into a bag hanging from his chair and brought out a notebook and a pencil. It was strange to see him using Muggle tools, but it was clear that he was comfortable with them. No doubt his father had acquainted him with them.

I wondered if Severus had his own diary, and whether or not he had carried on the family tradition of pub ranking.

He worked rapidly, alternating staring fixedly out the window with making sure strokes on the paper, using the same formidable concentration that did with his potion-making.

Severus Snape was not a handsome man, nor an especially kind one, but when his intellect was engaged and his hands, with their sure skill, were busy, he was undeniably attractive in a very elemental way.

He was still busy with his pencil when I reached the bottom of my glass, and I signaled the barmaid, who appeared with admirable promptness.

"I'll have another," I informed her, "and what would you recommend for lunch?"

"The cock-a-leekie soup is good, and steak auld reekie or shepherd's pie, if you're really hungry. The cook's in a good mood today," she told me.

"We'll start with the soup, and decide after on the rest."

"Very good ma'am, is your friend an artist?"

"Of a sort, yes."

"Wicked, I'll be right back with your lunch, whiskey first, right?" she asked.

"Indeed, thank you," I replied.

She bustled off and was back soon with my whiskey, I did not miss the appraising glance she gave my table companion. I indulged myself by displaying a knowing smile, and thereby shot well up in her estimation.

Severus had finished his project by the time the soup arrived, and he set the notebook aside to make room.

"What's this?" he asked, eyeing the soup suspiciously. Severus looked askance at anything he did not brew himself, be it potion or victuals.

"Cock-a-leekie soup, sir, and oat cakes," the girl replied.

"It smells all right," he admitted, "thank you, miss."

"Call me Annabelle, if you please, sir. Enjoy your lunch," she told him, and he nodded to her.

"The soup is quite good," I said, hoping to allay his suspicions.

"Indeed," he admitted after a cautious taste, "as are the oat cakes. Drunkard or no, father appears to have kept accurate records. Have a look at this why don't you?"

He slid the notebook across to me.

I looked at it for a long moment, comparing it to the view out the window I had seen him looking through. It was quite a good drawing of the rail fence and skeletal tree that were on view.

"This is lovely, Severus, I had no idea your talents extended to art. Is there a particular reason you drew the fence and the tree?"

"That is not what I drew, Minerva. Look closely at the pencil lines," he encouraged, and from the look on his face I could tell that this was something important.

It still looked like a very good drawing of the fence and the tree to me, and I told him as much. He looked disappointed, and he looked like he longed to explain something to me. He also looked like he was hard up against one or more of the compulsions that were laid on him.

I concentrated on my soup for a time, racking my brains for whatever it was that I had missed. Severus also ate, and he enjoyed the soup enough to soak up the last of it with a bit of oatcake.

"Would you like anything else?" Annabelle asked, picking up the empty bowls. "Oh! That's a marvelous drawing! I've seldom seen so effective a use of negative space!"

"Thank Mer- God," Severus sighed.

"What do you mean, negative space?" I asked.

"Rather than drawing the fence and the tree," Annabelle explained, "he drew the spaces around the rails, the empty areas among the branches. By drawing what is not there, he reveals what is."

I felt a shock run through me.

"For a highland barmaid your knowledge of art is most impressive," I told her. She shrugged.

"Even a highland barmaid can read and study, but I'm in art school in Edinburgh. I just help out in the family pub on breaks. Anything else?" she repeated.

"Steak auld reekie or shepherd's pie, Severus?" I asked him. I was somewhat chastened by my assumptions on Annabelle, and resolved to spend a bit more by way of recompense.

"My mother used to make shepherd's pie, it was horrific," Severus commented.

"Ours is good," Annabelle assured him, "it's all fresh."

"Your endorsement is enough for me, and I'd like another whiskey if you please," he told her.

"I'll have the steak auld reekie, and a pint of the house brew, please, Annabelle," I told her.

"More oat cakes while you wait?" she asked.

"Please," I said, and she smiled and hurried off. "So, Severus, perhaps I can discern what you want to tell me by taking note of what you can't tell me?"

"Such is my hope," he admitted.

"I suppose that I'll have to guess at where to start," I muttered.

Severus held up a hand and twisted it into a claw.

"Shit," I said.

The lunch was very good indeed, and the chairs were comfortable enough, and after we had eaten we switched to tea and I continued my bizarre interrogation of Severus Snape. Annabelle was obviously interested in our conversation, but too well-brought-up to actually eavesdrop. That was almost a pity, as she had a bright mind and a fresh outlook and could doubtless have given me further help in my exploration of negative space.

Alas for the statute of secrecy and the fact that she would have really no idea what we were dancing around.

She did however keep us supplied with tea and various snacks throughout the long afternoon. Severus presented her with the drawing he had made and I resolved to leave her an extravagant gratuity for her service and circumspection.

Besides, she really was lovely.

A vein was throbbing on Severus' head as he strained to get something past the compulsion he was fighting, and at last there emerged what sounded like the bleating of a lamb. He looked at me and shrugged, and something clicked at last.

"That old bastard..." I breathed, "he hasn't. He couldn't..."

"For the greater good," Severus said sadly. "I admit that I can see no other way to do it."

"You can do this, Severus?" I asked him, my heart nearly breaking.

He shrugged again.

"I must."

"Excuse me, sir, madam," Annabelle addressed us, "will you be having dinner with us this evening?"

"You are welcome to join me at home for dinner, Severus," I told him, "I have a lamb stew that is edible."

"I cannot pass up an opportunity like that, Minerva. Thank you, no, Annabelle, we shall settle accounts with you now," he answered for us both.

"Very well, and thank you again for the drawing, it will look grand framed behind the bar," she told him.

"This is my treat, Severus," I told him.

"Normally I would jump at that offer, but I beg you to indulge me this once, Minerva. Never fear, I shall compensate our lovely hostess well."

Somehow I knew that this meant something to him, so I merely thanked him rather than argue. Something in my mind whispered that this might well be his last opportunity to buy lunch for a friend.

Annabelle delivered the bill, and Severus counted out some notes and rose, offering me his arm. We waved to Annabelle and headed for the exit.

"Excuse me sir," Annabelle said, rushing to catch us up, "but you've left far too much money. These notes are-"

"I have not made a mistake, Miss. Please consider it as a gift from an aging artist to a budding one. An investment in the cause of the positive uses of negative space."

He smiled at her, a real smile, an absolutely glorious smile, and from the look on her face it had the same effect on her that it had on me. I had seen his eyes glint before, but never sparkle, and the smile only broadened as the flush spread across Annabelle's face.

"Thank you sir, I scarcely know what to say."

" 'Thank you' is enough and more, best wishes on your studies. Have a care to apply yourself, yes?" he said sternly.

"Yes sir, I shall, and thank you once more. I do hope we see you again here soon," she told him.

The smile became rueful.

"I should like that as well, good evening miss."

The air was cooling, and it was quite pleasant out.

"That was most generous of you Severus," I vouchsafed. He shrugged.

"As the saying goes, one cannot take it with one."

I had no ready reply to that, and once we reached the shadows of the trees I extended my arm to him and took us to my cottage.

"A lovely place," Severus said as he looked over my cottage.

"Thank you, Severus. Do have a seat in the garden while I get the stew on, I dislike using magic in cooking, so it will be a little while. I have a decent whiskey for us to pass the time with though, never fear," I assured him.

"Your failure to be a gracious hostess is not one of my fears, Minerva. I very much appreciate this - invitation," he replied.

I smiled at the look in his eyes, for I knew full well what it meant. It is possible that I also felt a tingle of anticipation, but I would deny it upon direct questioning.

I directed him to the garden and placed the stew on the cooker, adding some peat to warm things up. Then I fetched a very old bottle and some glasses and went into the garden.

"How are your dueling skills, Minerva?" he asked me.

"Adequate, I daresay. Have you something in mind?" He shrugged.

"As things are going it seems to me that one cannot have enough practice. Shall we?" he asked, and I could see in his eyes that this was important to him.

"Why not? What is off-limits?"

"Nothing," he replied baldly, and I felt a tingle of another kind.

We had scarcely finished our formal bow when a vicious cutting curse whizzed by my face. It was real, and it was dark, and I felt the heat and the power of it.

It had also missed, and so the stunning spell I sent in reply barely ruffled his hair.

The bitter smile and slight nod he gave me let me know that I had guessed aright.

It was deadly, this duel, and my garden suffered for it, and while I did not fully understand the purpose of it I grasped the import. Soon enough I discerned the pattern as well, and my admiration for his skills on many levels increased.

As a choreographer, Severus Snape was a master, and when he lowered his wand and bowed, both of us were soaked with sweat and trembling with fatigue.

"Let me show you to the bath, Severus. Each of us could do with a little freshening before dinner," I told him after returning the bow.

I left him in the bath and went to check on the stew, and as it was coming along nicely I left it be and set the table. Severus joined me before I was done.

"Your turn, Minerva," he informed me, "I shall keep an eye on the stew while you shower."

He was lying about that, I soon discovered, but it was so pleasant having him wash my hair for me that I did not mind at all.

Scorched stew was a small price to pay for that sort of attention, if it had to be payed.

The stew was lovely, and the whiskey was lovely, and the sex was lovely, and having him sleep in my arms was lovely, all the more so for its rarity.

We breakfasted together, a first for us in this context, and then he was preparing to take his leave.

He bowed over my hand, and kissed it.

"I wish..." he began, but he never finished telling me what he wished, he simply gave me his brief bow.

His face resumed its blank mask before he had fully turned away from me, and then he was gone.

School was less than a week off, however, and I had little time to ponder the myriad possibilities that our meeting had stirred up in my mind.

I suppose that it should have occurred to me among those possibilities that Severus would never touch me again.

Mercifully, it did not.

The year was hateful, and at its end there was more negative space than ever there had been, and I was clinging to the things that I hoped I had deciphered correctly in that little pub.

I did not return to my cottage that summer after we buried Albus, and I kept my thoughts, my hopes, to myself as we all did our best to prepare for the coming storm.

I stood before the shattered window and watched as Severus disappeared into the night. Then I had to listen to all manner of invective and condemnation of the bravest man I ever knew, and I hoped that the part of my heart that I had given him would sustain him through the even darker times ahead.

I played my part, hoping that I had gotten it right, that I had understood what he had tried so very hard to tell me.

At last, there was only Filius left with me, and his solid presence was a comfort.

"I have an excellent brandy in my quarters, Minerva," he suggested.

"I should like that, Filius," I allowed, and as his quarters were nearby we were soon sitting together staring into his fire.

Filius cleared his throat.

"An unusual duel, Minerva," he said gently.

"Indeed," I agreed.

"Almost more remarkable for what was not, than for what was," he continued.

It was no accident that Filius headed Ravenclaw, and it was an exercise in futility to try and deceive him in the matter of a duel.

"Tell me, Filius my friend," I said, staring through my brandy at the fire, "are you familiar with the concept of 'negative space'?"