It was going to be the last projection for the evening. The younger children looked just about to go to sleep on the spot after having eaten more than their little stomachs could handle. Several of the professors were more than a little tipsy. Even though they'd made it appear to the children that none of them were drinking anything stronger than butterbeer, that was not really the case
Severus Snape felt very uncomfortable sitting in the middle of the head table. This end-of-year celebration signified the end of an era. Dumbledore had named the Slytherin his successor and was now sitting by his side, privately amused at Severus' obvious discomfort at being the centre of attention. The change of guard had been rather anticlimactic, getting sparse cheers and mostly open-mouthed shock from the children.
"If you could be quiet for a moment," Snape said, "you may see what the headmaster..." Even sitting in the middle of the head table and wearing the Hogwarts signet ring, Snape could not call anyone other than Dumbledore headmaster. The new headmaster corrected himself gruffly before proceeding "You may now watch what, Professor Dumbledore has assured me, is the last strand of memory that he has chosen for us to watch."
Everyone's eyes turned to the three-dimensional projector at the centre of the Great Hall, an enormous transparent ball which had already shown several of Dumbledore's fondest memories from his years at Hogwarts, going back to the time he was a student.
The image sharpened, showing Dumbledore sitting. His eyes were closed and his breathing laboured.
Snape turned to Dumbledore whose eyes had bulged so much they appeared to be about to leave his head.
Soon Dumbledore's weren't the only eyes that were bulging as a dark head appeared from under the desk.
"I told you it could happen," the man purred, his voice very much the same voice that had insulted practically every student unlucky enough to have been taught by him.
The memory was barely a year old, still bright and clear.
"You cheated, Severus. I knew the tea tasted funny."
The sly smile that everyone could see in close up now had transformed the dour Potions Master's face.
"I'm a Slytherin, what would you expect?"
Flitwick and Vector fell on the projector trying desperately to stop it.
"It's stuck!" Flitwick cried out as Pensieve-Snape slid under the desk again to do something that got a loud moan from Dumbledore.
"What are they doing?"; "Oh, that's disgusting!"; "He's gay? That's a relief," could be made out as the children reacted to what they were seeing.
"PREFECTS!" bellowed McGonagall. "Get everyone out, priority to first, second and third years."
Pensieve-Dumbledore had bent Pensieve-Snape over the desk now, hitched up his robes as well as the Potions Master's and appeared ready to do something that was rather self-explanatory.
A steady stream of bewildered first, second and third years was herded out by amused Prefects and other older students who would sneak a peak to the projector from time to time. The soundtrack now was Pensieve-Snape's loud moans and flesh slapping against flesh as Dumbledore drove hard into him.
Harry Potter was one of the few seventh years in the Great Hall who were not staring at the projector at all. On the one hand, that was a futile effort to protect what was left of Dumbledore and Snape's dignity. On the other, Harry had known of the relationship between the two men since his fourth year at Hogwarts when he'd glimpsed at a rather interesting strand of memory during his unauthorised trip in Dumbledore's pensieve. At the time, the knowledge he'd kept to himself had made him doubt Dumbledore's blind faith in Snape. In time, the unpleasant Potions Master had gained Harry's blind faith as well.
Pensieve-Snape gave one last shuddering sigh and came, making a mess on himself and on Dumbledore's desk. Dumbledore yelled his release, his head thrown back, eyes closed, the veins on his neck sticking out. His body sagged on top of Snape. "You'll be the death of me," the old man murmured affectionately, his face buried in the black mass of hair.
Snape chuckled. "Going out with a bang I suppose," he said playfully. The scattered members of the audience that still remained were gaping at the sated smile on Snape's lips, unable to recognise the Snape they thought they knew.
"I got it!" yelled Flitwick as the projector globe went blank.
"I think the memory simply ended," Vector said miserably.
The two professors turned to the head table. Dumbledore appeared nearly catatonic while Snape was just starting to remove his hands from his face.
The silence was deafening. Snape slowly got up and raised his head shaking his hair from his face.
"This is obviously not the strand of memory that the headmaster had intended for you all to see," Snape said surprised that his voice did not falter. "In view of its... content," he continued, "I would like to offer my resignation." His hands trembled as he removed the Hogwarts signet ring. "I suppose with a total of two hours I will go down in history as the shortest serving headmaster of all time."
Hermione Granger knew well that Frumentius Gallenius held that dubious honour since he had died of a heart attack a few minutes after been given the ring; anyone who'd read 'Hogwarts: A History' would know that. She remained silent, however, understanding that now was probably not the time to be setting records straight. "Severus..." Dumbledore murmured. Snape raised his hand. "No!" he said curtly. "Hear me out! I never wanted this position in the first place. I never asked for it. You just assumed that I'd like to run your precious school. It's my bloody life and if I bloody decide to spend it nursing you, you senile fool, then I bloody well will! McGonagall is much better suited to pick up after you, she actually likes children!"
McGonagall stared from one man to the other, her mouth a comical 'O' of shock. Snape handed her the ring.
"There you go, Merlin forbid the headmaster wouldn't be a bloody Gryffindor."
"Severus," Dumbledore said softly, "you deserved the position."
"For my performance under your desk? Be it the truth or not, that's what everyone will say." Snape's expression softened, his lower lip practically trembling. "I don't want to be at Hogwarts without you."
Dumbledore turned to the few scattered students before him. "You may congratulate Professor McGonagall. I have no doubts that the Board will accept her appointment. Now, if you'll excuse me, Professor Snape and I will be retiring," he turned to the dark-haired man for reassurance. Under the table the Potions Master's slender hand found his and squeezed.
Feeble applause greeted their exit while a bewildered McGonagall approached the middle of the head table. A smile lit up her face as she realised her greatest dream had come true. She made a mental note to apologise to that charlatan Trelawney who had assured her that somehow everything would turn out all right.
Elsewhere at Hogwarts, the two recently outed wizards were leaving the grounds to Apparate to their new home, walking hand in hand, out in the open, for the first time since a man in the service of the Light had embraced a fallen angel and had let himself see beyond the skinny student he remembered and had never allowed himself to desire, to find a young man who was offering himself and would not take 'no' for an answer. A tear ran down Dumbledore's cheek to be buried in his beard as he looked at his fallen angel, whose hair were streaked with grey now. He would be leaving Severus soon, he'd told him as much, but his Slytherin was stubborn and refused to believe him. He took a deep breath then gave out a laugh.
Severus looked at him curiously.
"Just... the look on their faces... all of them..." Dumbledore said between bouts of laughter.
"You old nutter! Well, forgive me but it's going to be a while before I'll be able to laugh about it."
The plan had been simple in its concept but the execution had not been easy, not for a man as fiercely private as Snape. He knew that Dumbledore would probably never suspect him. He had hated casting that shadow in the life history of the living legend that was Dumbledore. He hated that the footnote, the naughty anecdote would become what people would remember and recount first; that people would remember the headmaster who had been in a relationship with his former student, one that he had brought to the school as a professor.
And he had hated traumatising the younger children with a memory as explicit as this. It had not been his intention, the memory he thought he'd picked had been merely romantic; but with so many taking place in Dumbledore's office and so little time that Snape had had alone with the Headmaster's pensieve, he'd gotten more than he'd bargained for.
The end result had been what he had intended, however. He turned and stared at Albus, adoration shining in the dark depths of his eyes. Minerva could have the brats, the title, the glory. He was content.
Title: The Last Strand
Author: Mimine
