"Honestly, I'm impressed by how far you were willing to go just to set me straight," I continued, shaking my head in absolute surrender to her supposed authority. "You are not like the other teachers. You don't demonize desire, and you proved it to me in the most definitive way possible. You understood that a direct transaction was the only way to deal with me. Few would have had the audacity, but you... you proved to be an educator willing to do whatever it takes. I must admit that with anyone else I wouldn't have yielded, but you have my word: I will stay away from Hermione. Today's experience is more than enough to hold me back for a long time. It was entirely worth it."
Trapped in the web I had woven for her, Minerva's mind manufactured the scene with cinematic clarity. The cocktail of Snape's substance offered her the perfect justification: under that trance, her moral barriers and inhibitions had crumbled. She envisioned herself taking the initiative in a cold, calculated, and purely instrumental manner, using her own body to eradicate her student's impulses and tie him to a promise that would protect the future of both children. In that altered state, the idea had struck her as a brilliant tactical maneuver... though now, upon regaining her senses, the weight of what had transpired threatened to crush her.
"Forgive me if you find this offensive, Professor, but I never imagined you'd be so... relentless," I added, striving to appear serious while concealing any shyness. "It was exactly as you promised: something unforgettable. Thank you."
Minerva observed me closely. My reserved and cautious posture—stripped of its usual aura of mystery and far closer to that of an ordinary boy—fully validated her illusion. In her distorted memory, she visualized herself dominating the situation on the rug, subduing the boy's rebellious nature to bend him to her will and turn him into a docile pupil. She convinced herself that she had acted as a guardian willing to make immense sacrifices for the good of her wards... and that she had succeeded.
"Do you want me to leave?" I asked softly.
Minerva remained motionless, deeply overwhelmed, yet managing to articulate her words with heartbreaking dignity.
"Nothing... absolutely nothing happened here," she declared, her eyes fixed on the floor as the brim of her hat cast a shadow over her gaze.
"I understand completely. I'm no fool, and you made the consequences of breaking our pact crystal clear to me," I said with a slight, simulated shudder. "This was nothing more than an erotic fantasy of my own invention. It never happened in reality," I concluded with a wink, turning toward the exit.
Minerva did not stop me. Were it not for the lingering remnants of the brew still numbing her emotions, she might have broken down in tears right then and there. Nevertheless, she forced herself to maintain her composure; she could not allow guilt to ruin the "outcome" of her sacrifice.
Upon reaching the threshold of the door, I paused and glanced back over my shoulder.
"One last thing... Professor."
She raised her eyes, waiting in silence.
"While you were riding me... you kept calling me 'Tom,'" I paused, furrowing my brow in perplexity. "I was under the impression your late husband's name was Elphinstone."
Minerva's face froze for a fraction of a second, but she reclaimed her composure with icy serenity.
"It was simply a temporary pseudonym. I was hardly going to address you by my husband's name, nor by your true one. After all, I have never... had relations with you, remember? It was merely a delusion of yours while I was giving you a scolding." She held my gaze without so much as a blink, once again projecting the image of Hogwarts' unyielding Deputy Headmistress.
"I understand completely," I nodded casually, as if the explanation were entirely logical, and stepped through the doorway, leaving the office behind.
Once alone in the silence of the room, Minerva let out a long, agonizing sigh, feeling the heart of fortitude she had displayed crumble entirely as the crushing weight of reality came crashing down upon her.
...
After taking some time to compose herself and digest the whirlwind of emotions devouring her, Minerva made her way to the hospital wing; she needed answers urgently.
Upon arrival, she approached Poppy and requested a private consultation. They retired to the Mediwitch's personal office—the very same space where, some time ago, a certain student had released a "milky load" of aphrodisiac properties. There, Poppy proceeded to examine the residue of the potion container Minerva presented to her. Though potions were not the nurse's specialty, she possessed sufficient knowledge to perform a preliminary assessment.
"It is indeed a calming draught, but it contains additions... I can determine little else with the scant sample remaining," Poppy explained, tracing concentric circles over the vial with the tip of her wand. "It appears to have been modified to deliver a much more aggressive initial impact."
"Aggressive in what sense?" Minerva asked, instinctively wrapping her arms around herself. It was inconceivable for her to accept that Snape had supplied her with something that could have triggered such a catastrophe.
"I estimate it contains a supplementary dose of valerian extract. The expected outcome after consuming it would be a momentary numbness, a bit of slurred speech for a few minutes, and a slight loss of balance, but nothing beyond that..." Poppy replied calmly. She recognized Severus's unmistakable craft, though she was puzzled as to what motive might have driven the Potions Master to alter such an elementary formula.
"Are you completely certain?" Minerva inquired, her voice faltering with a tremor that betrayed her anguish. "Could it not have triggered anything else?" she insisted, unable to reconcile herself to the fact. What she had experienced in her office was a far cry from simple lethargy.
"Minerva, what exactly is going on?" the Mediwitch asked sternly, immediately detecting that her colleague was withholding crucial information. "If you are not forthright with me, I cannot help you."
"I drank that potion, but I didn't suffer a simple dizzy spell... I experienced a severe memory blackout and acted in a... deeply erratic manner," Minerva admitted, lowering her gaze. It was simply impossible to confess the monstrosity of what had occurred on her office rug.
"Very well. Take a seat on the cot; I'll conduct a comprehensive checkup," Poppy decreed in a professional tone.
After executing a meticulous series of diagnostic charms, the nurse detected a number of anomalies in Minerva's system—factors that could account for the violent reaction she described.
"Indeed, there is something anomalous here, though I cannot pinpoint its exact origin..." Poppy remarked, observing her gravely as she weighed her deductions. "Your system is disrupted. Not only do you lack the aging corresponding to your years, but your hormone production is running wild and your metabolism shows atypical acceleration," she explained with bewilderment. "Severus's brew alone shouldn't have wrought such havoc, but the particular condition of your body generated a devastating reaction. I believe you should visit St. Mungo's to undergo a more rigorous examination..."
Minerva shuddered as she stood up and adjusted her robes, averting her eyes to avoid eye contact. Poppy's words left her paralyzed. Her rejuvenation... that was a secret that could not come to light under any circumstances. Exposing it would mean revealing the origin of her transformation: the brothel... Andra... Tom. She had never imagined that this "gift" she had never asked for—yet which deep down afforded her a fascinating vitality—would end up blowing up in her face so ruthlessly. She knew nothing pure could stem from that wicked woman, but this consequence surpassed her entirely. She couldn't set foot in St. Mungo's without her condition being exposed, and she lacked a credible excuse to justify it.
Shortly thereafter, Minerva departed the hospital wing after expressing her gratitude. The two women parted ways, each consumed by her own thoughts.
Poppy suspected the Deputy Headmistress had resorted to some illicit rejuvenation method or potion that had destabilized her system. Even so, the healer felt she was missing some detail in her evaluation. She intended to question her further about the procedure used, because setting the physical imbalance aside, it was the most flawless rejuvenation process she had ever witnessed: clean, profound, and aesthetically astonishing. Even she found herself secretly fascinated by Minerva's radiant appearance.
For her part, Minerva walked away from the hospital wing convinced that the root of her tragedy lay solely in that forced rejuvenation, which had transformed Snape's heavy-handed prank into the catalyst that drove her to betray her principles. She was entirely unaware that the threads entangling her were of a far more complex nature.
...
In the Headmaster's office, Snape was pressing forward with the pending paperwork, gripping his quill with suppressed rage, as if wishing to drive it into the throat of the old man who had dragged him into such torment. He couldn't even fathom how he had ended up accepting this burden... And though he wanted to abandon the task on the spot, he had to wait for Dumbledore to reappear. However, the Headmaster had been absent for some time without a trace, leaving Severus no choice but to vent his bitterness onto the parchment.
Suddenly, the office door flew wide open. Through it burst the other great cause of his nightmares: Minerva. Snape frowned instantly upon noticing a lethal expression on her face—the look of someone arriving intent on committing murder.
Minerva advanced with firm, heavy steps, making her stride echo with every footfall. As soon as she was a short distance away, she raised her hand violently and threw the empty potion container he had handed her that morning directly at his face.
Snape, startled, flicked his wand through the air to deflect it before it could strike him. His astonishment multiplied upon realizing that the Deputy Headmistress had no intention of stopping there: with her wand already drawn, she began chaining one spell after another without granting him a second of respite.
Thus, out of nowhere, a fierce duel erupted in the middle of the office. Minerva attacked driven by blind fury and deep resentment, while Snape responded with stern concentration, a mixture of stupefaction and bewilderment, initially limiting himself to defending without understanding the reason for such an outburst. He immediately recognized the glass of the shattered vial on the floor—the slightly altered potion he had supplied her—but it was incomprehensible to him how such a minor prank could have unleashed this storm.
However, Snape was no ordinary wizard and was not about to let himself be run over without putting up a fight, so he began responding with equal force.
The Headmaster's office descended into absolute chaos. The portraits on the walls shouted and fled into neighboring frames to escape the impending destruction of the room. Shield charms and complex transfigurations crossed paths in the air; parchment flew up in flames and furniture groaned under the impact of spells. Of course, neither crossed the line into dark magic; and though Minerva's eyes reflected a desire to slit his throat with direct, cutting spells, deep down she held back enough power to keep it from turning into a duel to the death.
After a few minutes, Snape managed to assert his tactical superiority, cornering the Deputy Headmistress and forcing her to a halt as she realized she would gain nothing clean without escalating the clash to irreparable consequences. Even so, the Potions Master was visibly battered, his robes disheveled and his hair mussed as if he had just survived a gale.
"Minerva! May I ask what on earth has gotten into you?" Snape demanded in a raspy voice, breathing heavily.
Minerva didn't bother offering an explanation. She simply cast him a look steeped in hatred, then shifted her gaze toward the broken vial on the rug. Turning on her heel toward the exit, she delivered one final sentence over her shoulder:
"You ought to have yourself examined, Severus. I find it pathetic that someone of your reputation failed to brew a simple calming draught. I suppose the years don't pass in vain," she declared poisonously, leaving the office without looking back.
Snape ground his teeth until his jaw ached as he watched her leave, holding back his rage. He cast a final suspicious glance at the shattered bottle. Something didn't add up. Minerva's reaction was completely disproportionate, leading him to deduce that the effects of his petty revenge had been infinitely more severe than intended. He made a mental note to thoroughly investigate what had truly transpired over the last few hours... but at that moment, he had far more pressing emergencies.
Beholding the ruined Headmaster's office and the reports he had spent all morning working on reduced to a pile of smoldering ash, Snape felt his wand creak under the pressure of his fingers. He would have to start everything over from scratch, cursing Minerva and Dumbledore with every fiber of his being.