Chapter Text
June 2006
Severus stirred the last batch of the Calming Draught two times counter-clockwise, carefully removed the ladle, and inspected the potion. It was his own and much improved — naturally — version of the standard brew, that he patented only last month. At first, when he only began working at St Mungo's five years ago as a Head of the Department of Remedies and Supplies, the hospital's Board was not thrilled by his attempts to substitute half of the usual potions, nor by his wishes to revise the rest of them, but over time they came to a mutually acceptable agreement with the help of the Head of the hospital and some cunning techniques. Compromises had to be made, but in general, Severus got what he wanted: unlimited access to all sorts of ingredients and more or less free rein over the laboratory. He had a team of five hand-picked highly skilled Potions Masters and Mistresses and over a dozen assistants who did the bulk of the brewing, and also an assistant manager who dealt with orders and some of the tiresome paperwork, leaving him enough hours a week to continue his experiments. Life was… good. All in all.
Severus bottled and labelled the Calming Draught — brewed perfectly, as usual — then put all the vials into signed crates in accordance with the self-updating chart that took up one third of the biggest laboratory wall. His part of the work was done. Sometime during the next hour, the crates would be transported to different departments by nurses and stored appropriately. And Severus made damn sure that all members of the hospital staff that in any way touched the potions were well aware of what must be kept where and why. He refused to be accused of producing ineffective brews because some imbecile had no knowledge of how to check the temperature and the like… He simply refused.
Severus glanced at the clock above the door and sighed. It was quarter to eight in the evening already. All his coworkers had left over an hour ago, and it was time for him to do the same. He had hoped he'd be able to finish calculations for another new potion he started developing recently, however, the hospital had two emergencies that day for which he was required to urgently brew several potions not usually on stock, and his whole timetable shifted.
Even three years ago Severus would have stayed for a couple more hours (or till dawn), if needed, but he had discovered that he actually liked having a full night's sleep… So, these days, as a rule, he typically left work no later than nine o'clock.
Severus exchanged his work-robes for the regular ones, picked up one of the crates that was supposed to go to the Dai Llewellyn ward, locked the lab down, so no one not previously keyed into the wards couldn't enter, and made his way up to the first floor, using the staff-only stairway. Thanks to a certain ever-living… man and partly his faithful sidekicks’ assiduity, his reputation these days was fine — for the most part — which was both good and annoying at the same time. Hence, Severus’ general avoidance of public places. In less than five minutes he reached the needed door that lead to the newly restored and slightly enlarged ward that dealt with dunderheads foolish enough to get injured by XXXXX class beasts.
Like he did.
But that was a long time ago, and completely beside the point.
Severus cast a quiet Notice-Me-Not on himself in case there were patients inside and slipped in, bypassing all the beds and heading straight for the small office on the other end of the room where healers usually worked when not tending to anybody.
Augustus Pye — the new Head of the department and the only person in the entire hospital Severus considered as a sort of friend — was buried under a pile of scrolls on his desk, furiously scribbling away. Severus dropped the spell, transferred the vials from the crate onto their proper place in the storage cabinet just on the left of the door, shrank the crate to put it into his pocket, and leisurely walked to Augustus’ desk to take a seat in front of it, still keeping silent. He knew very well the importance of not breaking someone’s concentration while they worked and respected Pye enough to actually adhere to that unspoken rule. Not that he minded the almost-quiet. Since it was Friday — and Friday evening was their regular time for tea and a chat — Severus settled down to wait for him to finish.
Some minutes had passed in exactly the same manner with both men essentially ignoring each other, and Severus started to consider returning to the potions' storage to do a quick inventory and determine whether Monday's brewing queue required correction, when Pye finally snapped out of his frenzy.
“Usual?” he asked Severus, getting up, stretching, and racking his large palm through his mousy hair.
“Naturally.”
Pye nodded and walked over to the kitchenette in the furthest corner to turn the kettle on.
“Have you heard of the mass poisoning in the ministry today? Quite a debacle I’m telling you,” the man continued, pulling out the mugs and a box of cheap muggle tea-bags.
“Heard about it? Of course, I heard about it. I personally brewed the antidotes. Spent three whole hours on them, while at the same time brewing a Cleansing Draught for that moron who set off an ancient dark curse on himself and seven unsuspecting muggles nearby. Never open unknown strange books, Pye, or I swear to Merlin, I will leave you as is no matter how much Anabelle would beg me not to,” Severus drawled, making Augustus snort behind him.
“Deal. I’m worried, though. These things always — always — happen in threes, and there’s only been two accidents today so far. I only hope that it's not gonna be a flock of pissed off chimeras attacking a village or something of the sort… Because while I might not be old yet, I've quite overgrown my eagerness to be in these situations, and, in fact, have nothing to prove to anyone.”
Severus raised an eyebrow, turning to look at the other man. “Chimeras don't live in flocks, Pye, nor have they ever been spotted in the wild of the British Isles, as you're no doubt well aware. So I think it's perfectly safe to assume that nothing of the sort would happen in the next four hours.”
“Nothing of the sort?! Nothing of the sort, he says!..” Augustus mock-ranted, glaring, but then interrupted himself calmly, passing one of the mugs that had a dinosaur on it, “Your tea.” Severus accepted it with a murmured “thank you” and started slowly stirring.
Pye continued, “I should slap you and kick you out of my ward for saying such a horrible thing. If something does happen, I'm blaming you and your run-away mouth.”
“Relax, would you. It's pure superstition.”
“I've been in this hospital way longer than you, Severus, and I'm telling you, it isn't. It's not all coincidences either, before you mention it.”
Severus narrowed his eyes at his colleague and took a sip of the horrible concoction without a single muscle on his face twitching from the taste of it. How could anyone drink the thing, let alone prefer it, was beyond his imagination, but to each their own, he supposed.
The two of them talked for about half an hour, discussing several current cases, Augustus inquiring about Severus’ newest experiment, and Severus — about Augustus’ research paper. It was pleasant. Talking to Pye was always pleasant, that was a big part of the reason why they were where they were now. Severus sighed. He didn't want the hour to end.
Alas, it was Pye's night shift, and Severus always tried to be home by nine, so he stood up, rinsed the mug, and took his leave.
He exited through the staff entrance of the hospital with ten minutes to spare. It gave him enough time to take a leisurely walk to the nearest apparition spot, which he always relished doing when the weather allowed it. It was a great opportunity to unwind after yet another hectic day of madly dashing between several brewing stations, catering to continuously urgent demands, and answering endless inane questions. It was nice.
Severus walked into his front door, imagining himself in a relaxing hot bath, then on the couch in front of a fire with a glass of his favourite wine and a light meal, and then in bed with his book. Tomorrow he planned to spend the day in Cardiff, doing research in the local magical library, which happened to be the best one in wizarding Britain, and Sunday were to be spent in the ministry's archives doing the same. Did he already mention how nice life was these days? He had his new evenly-paced routine, and he adored it. It was practical, and never boring. Well, maybe a little, sometimes. Rarely. But nonetheless.
He loved his routine.
There was an envelope on his desk in the sitting room that doubled as a study, when Severus ventured out of the bathroom an hour later. He picked it up and settled comfortably on the couch. The fire was already going, despite it being summer, just because Severus preferred it that way, and Toffy — his long-time house-elf that followed him from Hogwarts — did his job well. Perhaps it was a product of him spending decades in a dungeon, or maybe it was a result of his frail to begin with body accumulating all sorts of damage for a lifetime, or just because Fate decided that he was to continue being punished — but nowadays he was always cold. Hence, the always present fire. Although, there was a barrier around the fireplace that controlled how much of the heat was spreading, of course. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, Severus wasn't a masochist. For certain. The food was already on the coffee table, waiting to be consumed too. Like he said, Toffy was a good elf.
The letter turned out to be from Granger. The two of them corresponded on occasion. At first, it was more or less regularly — usually two or three letters a month — but ever since the girl left the boring paper-pushing desk job at the ministry about two and a half years ago and joined a team of curse-breakers, the number of letters exchanged between them dropped. Not that Severus cared much. They were not — and never will be — friends. She had her whole life ahead of her full of adventure and love in all shapes and forms known to humankind, and he had his routine, which was incredibly nice and calm for a change. Things could not be better, could they?
Of course, not.
And now it seemed that Granger was promoted to be a head of a new team, and this soon after starting on the job too. Years ago, Severus would've said that it was just arse-kissing, that whoever her boss was, they were simply trying to get on the good side of the Boy-Who-Lived’s pet Know-It-All to acquire untold favours. Now… Now he knew for sure she was competent enough in her own right, at least in theory. He hadn’t seen her in years, after all, since his trial to be exact.
Severus finished his wine in one gulp, put the glass back on the tray with the empty plate, which promptly vanished from the coffee table, and, quietly murmuring his thanks to Toffy, returned to the bathroom to brush his teeth. His book was waiting.
“Master Snape! Sir! MASTER SNAPE!” yelled someone at the top of their lungs, making Severus jump out of his skin — and out of his bed — with his wand already in hand.
What the actual fuck!
Severus stormed out the bedroom, looking for the intruder, and found them promptly, sticking out of his fireplace.
“Miss Mayers?..”
“Sir! Thank god!..”
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, girl?! Are you even aware of what time it is?!”
The young nurse had the audacity to huff. She was an American, therefore had never attended Hogwarts and never seemed particularly afraid of him, no matter how much effort he made to teach her otherwise.
“Of course, sir. I’m really sorry to disturb you so late,” — or, rather, early, judging by the clock on the mantelpiece — “but it’s an emergency. Could you, maybe, come through real quick?”
It was Severus’ turn to huff. Bloody Pye and his threes of disasters… He was going to give the man a piece of his mind the first chance he got.
“Five minutes,” he grumbled, annoyed, and stomped back into the bedroom to change out of his night clothes, not waiting for the acknowledgement.
It was indeed a disaster. As soon as Severus arrived at the staff lounge, to which every employee’s floo was connected, he was met with a business end of a wand.
He was not fucking impressed.
And the fool that was attached to that wand on its other end was fucking lucky it had been years since the war, and he didn't automatically draw his own wand — and use it — in response anymore. He might reconsider that, however.
“Auror Bruce,” he drawled, recognising the moron with a death wish and casually pushing the wand tip away from his face. “To what do I owe the absolute — pleasure — of seeing you here at three in the morning?”
“Master Snape,” Anabelle Pritchard, who was the Head of the hospital, called, and his attention snapped to her. It was so not good… If they dragged even her out of bed, some kind of national catastrophe must've happened overnight.
“Madam. Whatever has occurred?”
“I'm afraid, nothing good… Master Snape, were you the one who brewed the latest batch of the Calming Draught?” Madam Pritchard rasped in her usual somewhat stand-offish manner. But in her case, it was fine. After almost a full century that she had given to this hospital, she earned that right, as far as Severus was concerned.
Dread pooled at the bottom of Severus’ stomach.
“Yes. Finished it around eight o'clock yesterday evening. Why?”
Bruce moved back into his line of sight and, regretfully, opened his damn mouth.
“Are you sure you did it correctly?”
If there ever was a sure way to raise his hackles, it was this. Severus focused on the idiotic auror, who dared ask such a stupid question, with his customary death glare and watched him flinch back as he always did, feeling a small twinge of satisfaction.
“I am one of the best Potions Masters in Europe, Mr Bruce,” he hissed. “Do you truly question my ability to brew a simple third-year potion?”
“Please, forgive the boy, Severus,” Madam Pritchard interfered quickly, sensing an imminent explosion. Bruce splattered indignantly. “He simply does not know any better.”
“He should, Anabelle! I taught him better!” Severus snapped. “But that's not important. Now, would anyone care to enlighten me as to why I was dragged out of bed at this ungodly hour?”
“Yes, of course. We have had three deaths in the last five hours, or I should say, three murders…”
The room froze, staring at him. Obviously waiting for a reaction.
Freaking Pye.
“And it's relevant to me, because…”
“Because they used the latest batch of the Calming Draught, sir,” Mayers began explaining, but clamped her mouth shut at the murderous look from the auror.
So he was a suspect then. How utterly surprising.
“I think we should continue this discussion in the ministry,” Bruce drawled, twisting his face into a grimace. The poor sod must've thought it looked menacing. Or sounded. Or both. Either way, Severus continued being unimpressed.
“Lead the way then, Mr Bruce,” he sneered, completely calm, and turned his back on the fool. It was an ill-advisable move, however, he had a shield at the ready, and the temptation to mock the imbecile was simply too great to resist.
Just as Severus made no more than a couple of steps towards the fireplace that was about two metres away to begin with, he heard a growl behind him a split second before he was roughly pushed on the back by the furious auror. On the fly, Severus made the decision not to catch himself as he stumbled, and he ended up planting his face into the fireplace's sharp corner. As a result, his right cheekbone experienced a small explosion of pain. Good. He hoped it bled, it would make for a better visual.
Severus righted himself and turned around, glaring at the fucker. Nurse Mayers gasped, clasping her mouth with her hand.
“Auror Bruce!” she shrieked, surging at him, and started to blab nonstop, waving her hands frantically. Anabelle just stared at the idiot with her patented heavy gaze that usually sent them lesser mortals scurrying.
So he did bleed. Severus wiped his cheek just to check, and his fingers were indeed bloody. How marvellous. Add to it the dull throbbing pain that he just knew would stick for at least a few days, and the result was obvious — his temper started boiling dangerously.
“Mayers, stop the histrionics immediately!” he snapped at the annoying girl, freezing her in place. “Let us continue, auror. I suddenly feel an urgent need to speak to your superior. Madam Pritchard, we'll talk in the morning.”
And with that, he pivoted on the spot and followed Bruce through the fireplace.
The Department of Magical Law Enforcement was dark and silent, which was not surprising, considering the hour. The pair made their way past several closed doors and entered a big, long space, filled with cluttered desks, separated by glass walls. Each cubicle had two of them, pushed together, facing each other, a white board, and various filing cabinets. At the end of the aisle was another office, the only occupied one, judging by the light filtering through the opaque glass of the door. They did not go there, however, stopping at the second to last cubicle on the right side.
As Bruce stepped into his workspace, it lit up. Severus took the proffered seat at the side of one of the desks, and leisurely put one leg over the other. He stapled his fingers on his knee, bore his gaze into the all of a sudden meek auror, and calmly waited for him to finally speak.
“So,” Bruce sighed. “Snape-”
“Master Snape, if you will, auror.”
“Of course, my apologies.” He hesitated a little. “Listen, about what happened earlier…”
“Oh, do enlighten me,” a voice Severus hoped to never hear again said right behind him. He swivelled on the spot, nearly falling off the uncomfortable chair and froze for a moment. He hadn't seen the boy — the man now — in just as long as he hadn't seen Granger, and the difference was startling. Potter had no glasses, was taller, seemed calmer, and had clearly been working out — or just working, judging by the fact that both he and the dark bruises under his eyes were still in the office. In general, he had an unmistakable presence now.
“Potter—”
“Is it what I think it is, Mark?…” Potter said at the same time as Severus started speaking, ignoring it and staring first at his injured cheekbone and then at Bruce.
“Uhm, boss…” — Boss?! — “It was an accident. I can explain…”
“I'm sure you can. In the morning you will submit a written report where you will describe your encounter with Master Severus Snape in minute detail, so I would have a legitimate reason to suspend you until further notice,” Potter hissed, suddenly looking livid. “I've about had it with your anger management issues, Bruce. It's a third time this month — fucking third. This ends now. Leave. I'll be waiting for you tomorrow at ten to deal with the relevant paperwork. Where are the case files that you've brought Snape here for?”
Severus was shocked, probably even more than Bruce.
Potter… Defending him…
Nonetheless, it was just his luck that the one and only time he supposedly got into trouble, Harry fucking Potter was fucking involved. Why did he even bother being surprised?
Bruce, also pissed off, got up, slammed a thin folder that must've contained everything about this night's poisonings, and without another word stormed out of the room.
“Charming,” Severus drawled, looking at the door, fancying himself seeing how it reverberated still.
“Indeed,” Potter replied, picking the folder up and moving towards his office. “Follow me. Let's deal with this quickly.”
Something swooshed uncomfortably inside Severus.
“Naturally. What else could I have ever expected from a Potter?” he snarled, getting up. “Never been one to pass up a chance to get at the dungeon bat, oh no.”
Potter stopped and turned back, looking at him blankly.
“All I want is your statement, Master Snape. For all we know, it could've been a roundabout attack on you.”
Severus's anger instantly deflated. To be honest, it didn't even occur to him. Nothing occurred to him, it was almost four in the morning, for God's sake… There was a time when he was capable of being fully functional at the blink of an eye, regardless of time of day, pain, or exhaustion. There was that time, and there it stayed. Now he was severely out of practice. And his aching cheekbone was not helping either… He was out of practice managing pain too, it seemed.
But in no way in hell was he ever going to apologise to Potter.
Fuck no.
So he just nodded, and proceeded to the man's office ahead of him.
The room was of a moderate size, but it was barely noticeable behind all the clatter that was crammed into it. There were six high filing cabinets, a fireplace, three desks, a white board covered in dense writing and notes, a narrow leather love-seat with a side table — and all of it was buried under a literal ton of papers, scrolls, folders, and boxes. Potter was indeed busy…
Severus made himself move forward without any sort of reaction and took a seat on a soft-looking chair in front of the main desk. Potter, however, did not sit.
“Would you like some tea or coffee?” he asked, forcing Severus to turn back.
Wherever did Potter manage to find a free spot for a kettle in this madness?..
He was obviously trying to be polite, however, and even if Severus absolutely could not apologise, he did feel kind of bad-ish for his unwarranted outburst earlier, and he damn well could be polite too.
After all, he had always been polite to that bitch Lestrange among many other unsavoury characters, for example, it should not be any more difficult with Potter.
It will not be.
“Black tea, if you would, please. No sugar.”
He suddenly felt very tired.
In less than two minutes, Potter took his seat, carrying a familiar crate with St Mungo's crest and levitating two cups behind him. He passed Severus the medicine, at the same time sending one of the cups to him without a word or even any deliberate movements, and the other stayed, hovering in place, while he cleared some space on the desk for a new case file.
Impressive bit of magic, for sure.
“The bathroom’s through that door in the corner,” Potter announced, indicating a previously unnoticed door on the right side. “Go take care of the cut. Also, there are empty unbreakable vials in the cabinet under the sink. If you don't mind, I'll need clear, untempered copies of your memories regarding today's events, starting with you brewing the Calming Draught in question, including the ingredient preparation, and ending with auror Bruce inflicting that wound on you.”
Severus waited for some indication of the — at the very least — inner gloating at showing off his skill to a former bully of a teacher, alas… It did not happen. Potter only dropped his gaze to the documents in front of him and immediately got completely immersed in them.
Annoying little twit.
Severus was already in hell, would it really have been so hard not adding to the general torment by proving him wrong? He did not think so. Sighing, Severus got up and went to the small bathroom as was directed. It would be the height of foolishness to leave the wound untreated and get an infection because he decided to act juvenile.
The room was plain and simple. Just worn white tiles, a toilet, a shower, and a sink. And Severus was not blind, nor was he an imbecile. He knew that Potter junior was not Potter senior, which would make comparing the two completely pointless, but he just couldn't help it… He still marvelled at the general lack of all the nicer — red and gold, naturally — things that James Potter would have absolutely adored. His son seemed to not give a damn at all.
Amazing, how things turned out.
Severus quickly washed his face, took care of the cut and the forming bruise, and then took a Pain Reliever, because why not? It was provided. A row of the unbreakable vials was indeed lined up on the top shelf inside the little cabinet under the sink. Severus debated at first if he should be giving Potter his memories — again — but in the end decided to do it. It would surely reduce the amount of contact he was about to have with the Auror Office in general and its Head in particular, which could never be a bad thing. So he carefully extracted the required memories and put them into separate vials that immediately sealed themselves. Done with everything, Severus returned to the office, leaving the crate with potions on the sink. He had no idea where to put it, besides, Potter could very well do it himself.
Potter sat in the exact same position, frowning at the paper he was reading — not a good sign, surely… — then plucked the still hovering cup from the air and took a sip. He looked like shit.
“You look like shit, Potter. Why are you at work at this hour?”
The man glanced up and scrubbed his face tiredly, continuing on to comb his fingers through the locks that escaped his short ponytail. He assessed Severus’ face momentarily and nodded to himself, before replying.
“I've only got this position a few weeks ago. Robarts was a great Head, but not particularly, shall we say, thorough when it comes to paperwork, an infliction he seemed to acquire from his two predecessors, and in two more weeks I'll have several ancient farts from Wizengamot crawling all over the Auror Office, making sure that Kingsley did not make a mistake in putting me in charge. It turns out that I'm just too young and inexperienced, practically a wallflower, you see…” Severus snorted despite himself. “So I've got a month to get decades worth of things in order and a ton of coffee lying here somewhere.
“Which is why we're going to stop the pointless small talk and proceed with the matter at hand. I'm sure you'd like to return home too.”
Severus nodded, leaning forward to put his elbows onto the desk, and the two of them spent the next half hour in a surprisingly calm discussion. Potter had a dictaquill write it all down.
“Here, check everything thoroughly,” he passed the sheets and a fountain pen to Severus when they were done. “These freaking quills tend to switch words sometimes. If everything's fine, sign it, and you may go.”
Severus nodded and read the transcript of the nicest questioning he had ever undergone in this department, while Potter returned to doing whatever it was he was busy with before he was interrupted. Everything was as it should be, so Severus put his signature at the bottom of every sheet, as was indicated, feeling the ink in the pen tag on his magic slightly. It was standard practice to use a charmed ink in this sort of situations to avoid any potential forgery. He returned the papers to Potter who took them and rose up, extending his right hand, which Severus shook.
“Thank you for your help, Master Snape. I really appreciate it. And you have my sincere apologies on behalf of the Department, and my personally, for auror Bruce's actions. I assure you he would not get away with it scot-free.
“In regards to the investigation, tomorrow I'll assign a team to it, so if there should be any follow-up questions, one of them will contact you. I promise, they will be the picture of professionalism and politeness, and if not, I’m currently glued to this desk and will always find a few minutes to hear you out. I only ask you to please inform the Office should you leave your current place of residence for an extended period of time, so we'd know where to find you if need be.”
“You're welcome, Head Auror Potter. I'll do as you ask.”
Severus nodded and went to the door, but at the last moment stopped and turned around.
“Go home, Potter,” he said quietly. “You do look dangerously exhausted. It wouldn't do for the Head Auror to make silly mistakes.”
Potter glanced up and sighed, leaning back. They stared at each other for a few seconds in the still silence of the early morning. The white light of dawn, streaming through the fake window, greyed the shadows around the room, leaving only Potter's unfamiliar gaunt figure in a warm light of his desk lamp, making it seem glowing. All the parallels and comparisons that that image immediately inspired in Severus’ mind were entirely unwelcome… But the moment still felt somehow monumental. Eventually, Potter nodded, and, satisfied, Severus moved to open the door.
“Snape?”
Severus looked back again.
“I'm glad you're fine. And thank you once again for not pressing charges against Mark. He's a potential to one day become a truly great auror. It's just… He used to be a Hit Wizard back in the day before the Department merged the two Offices, and has a harder time regulating his temper than most of the other transfers.”
“It does not give him any right to take it out on other people, especially not in his line of work.”
Says him… Severus tried very hard not to feel like a giant hypocrite, but failed. He only hoped Potter would not call him out on that. He wanted to, Severus could tell, but the peace they established felt too fragile to survive a spat.
“Of course, not. And I'll make damn sure this little insight sticks for good this time.”
Relieved, Severus nodded one last time and finally left.
At lunchtime the next day Severus found himself flooing into St Mungo's staff lounge once again. Anabelle sent him a note at some point during the morning, asking him to come at his convenience, and Severus would've come sooner, but for a fact that could not be arsed to get out of bed before half past eleven. He practically dropped asleep upon returning from the ministry, only just managing to drag his sorry bones onto the bed, and blissfully did not have a single dream.
The lounge was somewhat busy, which was unusual for a weekend, but understandable and even expected after last night's events. Naturally, the level of the noise immediately decreased, as everyone failed to pretend that they weren't watching him closely. Morons, all of them. Ignoring the annoying buggers, Severus glanced around and spotted Pye sitting on one of the three moulted grey plush couches on the opposite side of the room.
“I'd like to deliver the slap I promised you yesterday, but I've heard some recalcitrant young auror already did that for me,” Augustus said in lieu of greeting, standing up and smirking smugly. “When's the funeral?”
“I'm yet living, you dunderhead. Are you sure you're qualified to be a healer?” Severus shot back. “Have you seen Anabelle? She's supposed to be waiting for me.”
“She's at the meeting with the Board, but it's been almost two hours, so I think she'll be back soon. And I meant the auror, Your Mighty Highness,” Pye snorted.
They both sat down and Severus flicked Muffliato around the couch. “The auror is fine. Or he was yesterday. He was supposed to show up on the carpet at ten today to be suspended.”
Augustus nodded absentmindedly. “What exactly happened? There's a wide range of rumours going around, starting with you attacking the poor unsuspecting novice, forcing him to defend himself and ending with a seasoned auror Crucioing you near the front desk downstairs.”
Severus smirked. Of course there was. “Nothing so dramatic, I assure you. I was woken up in the middle of the night by nurse Mayers who told me that there was some sort of emergency, I came through the floo and found her here with Anabelle and auror Bruce who without much ado decided Merlin knows what and found it reasonable to escort me to the DMLE. He pushed me on the back on the way to the fireplace, I stumbled and hit the edge of it, cut my cheekbone slightly.”
Pye's eyebrows made a valiant attempt to merge with his hairline.
“And that's it.”
“And that's it. Exactly. So, as you can see, nothing earth-shattering. All of that—” Severus made a circling motion with one of his hands, “is completely unnecessary. It's like people have nothing better to do on their weekend, or worse — in the middle of the work day. Speaking of which, why are you still here?”
“I'm waiting for my turn. People—” Augustus copied Severus’ hand motion, “do have better things to do, I assure you. But auror Andrews asked us all to wait here to speak to her or one of her team about the poisonings. They are interviewing everyone who's on duty first, so… There's been another death during the night, by the way, around four.”
“Indeed…”
“Yup. The same circumstances, I've heard.”
“At this rate patients will soon start running away from this place.”
“You're so funny. I'm going to take a nap.”
“Finally.”
They were silent for almost a minute.
“What about Potter?”
“What about him?” Severus snapped, gritting his teeth.
“Oh, nothing,” Pye smirked. “You said that auror Bruce already got his just deserts and there is no way it could have happened so quickly, unless his boss was there yesterday. Which means you've interacted with him, and seeing as you aren't spitting fire right now… I'm curious.”
“And how would you know that I wasn't there first thing this morning?”
“I fire-called you at about ten today. You were asleep.”
Severus just raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, do you think I'm stupid?” Augustus huffed good-naturedly. “Your robes were on the couch. And your boots strewn about near it.”
“And I, of course, own only one robe and only one pair of boots…”
Augustus snorted. “No. You are, however, a complete neat-freak and would never have left the house with them lying about.”
Bloody perfect. Severus rolled his eyes to cover his embarrassment. “Fine. It still does not mean I talked to Potter, however. Bruce's boss might have been anyone for all you know.”
Augustus stared at him for a moment as if he had grown a second head. “It was all over the Daily Prophet a couple of weeks ago, my friend,” he deadpanned.
Severus sighed and rubbed his face. How could he have lost his touch so thoroughly… Utterly unacceptable.
“Fine. Yes, Potter was there last night. I assume he heard us coming in, and stepped out of his office for whatever reason. He noticed the cut on my face, got mad, threw Bruce out, and interviewed me himself. We had a surprisingly calm conversation. Satisfied?”
“Is it truly that surprising that a Head of the Auror Office would have better things to do than to keep up with the old school yard feud? He's hardly fifteen any more, is he?”
“No. But he's still Potter.” And Potter hated him. They hated each other, and for good reason, but Pye never seemed to understand such a simple concept. “Please, Pye, let's not start this again. Things are as they are, and will never change. Potter and I will never understand — or, Merlin forbid, like — one another, no matter how much you wish otherwise. You'll have to do your fangirling—” Severus scrunched his face in distaste “from a distance or approach the man yourself.”
Pye had the audacity to laugh. Laugh!
“You still haven't read the biography, have you?”
“No. And I never will. I’ve lived through all that once already and have no wish to repeat the experience, especially through Potter's eyes. I've had enough of his endless whining. And before you mention it again, yes, the fact that the blasted book was written by one of my own Slytherins still changes absolutely nothing. Cease and desist.”
Pye held his hands up, falling silent, and wiggled slightly on the couch to find a more comfortable position. The nap time had come, apparently. Severus watched him for a few seconds, then turned away to survey the room. Eight of their colleagues were still lazing about, but he had no wish to talk to either of them, nor did they dare approach him.
The door opened, and a blond woman about his age with calm intelligent eyes walked in, her gaze quickly scanned the room and immediately zeroed in on him. Severus got up.
“Master Snape,” the woman said, holding out a hand for a handshake. He nodded. “My name is Isabella Andrews, my team has been assigned on this case. Just wanted to let you know in case you remember something else pertinent, or something happens, so you'd know who to contact.”
“Alright,” was all Severus replied, but the auror wasn't deterred in the slightest.
“I also wanted to thank you for the memories you provided. They are exceptionally clear and detailed, you've no idea how rare and helpful that is. Not that I'm surprised, of course, with you being who you are. Head Potter already told you all this, I'm sure, but I wanted to express my own gratitude to you personally nonetheless.”
Head Potter definitely knew better than to accost him in such a way.
“There's no need, I assure you. I did my duty, nothing more.” Severus was becoming very uncomfortable, and prayed to all the gods that the woman would stop her effusions. No such luck, however…
“And your brewing! It's incredible. I've never seen a Master at work. Heard a lot about your skills, of course, but hearing about something and witnessing it are two different things, wouldn't you agree?” She paused and looked at him closely. “I apologise if I made you uncomfortable, Master Snape. It was not my intention. Anyway, contact me if anything comes up. I'll be on my way now.”
They both looked at the door when it opened once again.
“And here's Madam Pritchard. Excuse me, sir.”
“A moment if you will, Auror Andrews,” Anabelle called, crossing the room towards the two of them. “I need to speak with my Head of Remedies and Supplies first. We'll be but ten minutes. Severus? Let's go to my office.”
Severus nodded and followed the old witch out of the lounge, feeling a knot forming at the bottom of his stomach. Nothing good would come out of this…
The walk was a very short one — the office in question was only three doors down the hallway. Anabelle took a seat behind her large desk and pointed Severus to a chair opposite her, looking, for lack of a better word, like a pissed off mother dragon.
No, it was not good.
For about a minute they sat in silence. Severus’ unease grew. His life was too perfect for it to last, he knew that from the start. Nothing good ever held out for long. It was like good things ran away screaming as soon as he turned up on the horizon.
“Would you like some tea?” Anabelle asked finally.
“Your secretary is not here.”
She huffed. “I realise that compared to you, I'm a complete troll when it comes to brewing, but I'm perfectly capable of brewing tea, young man. I've been doing it more than twice as long as you've been alive.”
Severus smirked. “Strange… Samuel swore differently last Christmas.”
“Oh, hush,” Anabelle swatted him on the shoulder playfully, while passing him over on her way to a side table. “Don't listen to my husband when he's drunk. If he used that tongue of his to lick the floors of the hospital as much as he blabbers while inebriated, it'd be spotless.”
Severus snorted, despite the nagging worry. Trust Anabelle Pritchard to always know how to lighten the mood. They weren't exactly friends — mainly because he was apprehensive to befriend another benevolent employer — but he did like her.
“Come on, woman, out with it. Just tell me how bad it is. I assure you, I've had ample practice in receiving such news, I won't fall apart.”
Anabelle returned to her desk with two cups of tea and passed one to Severus. All mirth evaporated.
“Have you seen today's Prophet?”
He sighed. Fucking rag. He should've sued it years ago after the shit storm they rained down on him when his official pardon was released.
“No. But I can imagine,” he ground out.
“Exactly… Someone — I don't know who yet — sold the news to that so-called newspaper, and that Skeeter woman went to town with it. The Board was not happy with the new smear campaign, as you can imagine.”
Severus put his tea down and rubbed his face tiredly.
“I'm sorry, Severus. Mitchell pushed for your dismissal because of the damage to Mungo's reputation this investigation — or rather Skeeter's “helpful” commentary on it — would inevitably do. About a third of the others agreed with him. Six members were clearly unsure. Baker, both Joneses, and the rest of their small circle, you know them.”
Severus nodded. He did know, and often used their perpetual uncertainty to get what he wanted in the past.
“What's the verdict then, Madam?”
“I've managed to instil some sense into the majority of them and talk them into sending you on paid leave until the situation clears.”
Great. Just great.
Fucking incredible.
Why was it always him? Just fucking why?
Severus stood up. “Say no more, Madam. I shall leave you to deal with the aurors. When do I need to return to sign the paperwork?”
Anabelle also stood up. “Monday after lunch would be good.”
Severus nodded and went towards the door.
“You're a great man, Severus, and an invaluable addition to the hospital. I will fight for you for as long as it takes, I hope you know that.”
He nodded again. He felt like a bloody nodding dog that muggles liked to put in their cars with how frequently he did that lately.
“And, Severus… My door is always open to you, I hope you know that too.”
“I'll be fine, Anabelle. See you on Monday.”
And with that Severus walked out of the room.
The next few weeks were hell. Time dragged out, almost staying still, but at the same time, all of it somehow became one big blur. He went to St Mungo's once to put his signature where required, detouring to the lab to grab his notes and all the other personal things, because he was not sure when — or, rather, if — he would return, and spent most of the days since working on his research. Or at least making a valiant attempt at it. He felt stuck — he was stuck — and had both no physical strength to do anything about it and no mental strength to give a shit.
Auror Andrews owled him once and visited twice to clarify some things or ask new questions. She also told him how spitting mad at that pitiful dung beetle of a journalist her boss was these days and advised him to press charges against the newspaper, which he gladly did. But since the investigation was still underway, not much progress could be made in that direction either.
His weekly tea with Pye was relocated to a muggle pub in a nice part of Cokeworth where he now lived after selling his hovel several years ago, because the wizarding Britain had once again gone mad. That initial Saturday afternoon upon leaving the hospital, he made a mistake of taking a quick trip to the apothecary in Diagon Alley to pick up the ingredients he pre-ordered, and got accosted thrice in a damn half-hour it had taken him. People were once again calling him a murderer and a Death Eater, which stung. He was still taking potions daily to manage the damage the war had cost him, and all for the sake of those ungrateful shits that turned on him at the first hint of suspicion.
Bloody fucking bastards.
The very next morning after that, the Daily Prophet published a retraction with an apology, because — apparently — the DMLE threw a sufficient enough fit the day before about the paper airing the details of an ongoing investigation. The damage, however, was already done, and the articles did not stop. Skeeter latched onto Potter, and, referencing Nott's book, started a series of articles about their national hero, speculating on different aspects of his life. It was harmless on the surface, but each and every one of them also in some way touched upon Severus, and all of them together rather pointedly hinted at, well… Putting it plainly, it hinted at the two of them having a torrid affair that, according to them, started when Potter was all but eleven.
And Severus was promptly upgraded from simply a “murderer” and a “Death Eater” to a “child molester”. Some even demanded details from him, and when he, naturally, couldn't provide them, did it for him.
Disgusting. He knew people were sick — he was a Death Eater and a murderer among a bunch of others just the same, after all — but that there were so many of them was just plain tragic. What did they fight a whole war for?
And just for the record, Severus never — ever — touched anyone inappropriately, let alone a child. Not even the Dark Lord had managed to make him sink quite that low, no matter how much incentive was applied.
He could only imagine how “fun” the situation was for Potter on the other end of it.
As for him, the worst part turned out to be not the hatred, since he was long used to it, but the loss of his hard-won new normalcy. He fancied himself a creature of habit, and he fucking lost his routine… He missed his usual lab, missed the enormous wall full of notes and lists, missed the little nod of greeting he was getting every morning from whoever was at the reception that day, missed the endless sound of chopping on the background, the tasteless sandwiches from the cafeteria, the continuous hustle and bustle of a busy workplace, his evening walks to the apparition spot… He missed his life, damn it!
Oh, how much Severus hated that fucker who did this! It felt like he never hated anyone as much as them: not the Marauders with their perplexing spawns, not the Dark Lord and his merry band of psychopaths, or Dumbledore and his old crowds full of morons on high fucking horses — nobody, not even himself… He wished he could just go back to his perfect easy life, but with each new day that possibility was slipping further and further out of his grasp, and he could do absolutely nothing about it.
Then on Wednesday morning of the third week, as he was drinking a second cup of strong black coffee, he was interrupted by an owl behind his window. He let it in. It was pouring outside, and the small beast was in a state, and in a mood, so Severus didn't dawdle. He preferred all his fingers to be whole and attached to his hand, thank you very much.
It was Athena, Granger's owl, but with a small folded note rather than the girl’s usual long heavy scrolls. Severus carefully extracted the missive, gave the bird a few treats, and watched her perch on a basket's handle on top of the fridge.
Well. He supposed even a flobberworm would have more sense than venturing outside in this weather.
Severus opened the note, quickly scanned several small sentences that were written there, and for almost two solid minutes just stared at it, frozen.
She wanted to meet to discuss some work-related issue with him.
She said it was urgent and asked him to name a convenient place and time, preferably that very day.
No. Just… No. Why? What use Hermione Granger the curse-breaker could possibly have of him?
There were other talented and accomplished brewers available, if she was in such an urgent need of one. He absolutely did not want to be accused of molesting two thirds of the Golden Trio instead of just the Boy Wonder when somebody would inevitably spot them and sell the information to the Daily Prophet. No.
Severus put the note aside, and concentrated on what he wanted to accomplish that day, but his thoughts constantly strayed towards Granger's invitation. She undeniably knew of the current social climate and was far from stupid. So maybe it truly was important.
Sighing, Severus took the note, flipped it over and wrote the address of a nice enough café two streets away from him, promising to be there this evening at seven. He had three potions to finish, and wanted to give a little time for the rain to stop or at least to quiet down, so the bird had an easier time flying back.
Why didn't they have cell phones, like muggles, again?
He was sure that Granger had it. Maybe he should also invest in one, for emergencies.
The day flew by. Surprisingly, Severus managed to complete all he had planned without a hitch, and at about fifteen to seven was on his way to the café. There were always tables available, so he wasn't worried about having nowhere to sit, and even if there weren't, he supposed they could always visit the bakery on the next street or simply return to his house. He didn't want it — his home was his sanctuary — but if it came down to it, he could probably make an exception for Granger. Possibly.
As Severus thought, the café wasn't nearly full. The usual bright cheery atmosphere was muted in the evening light, streaming through large windows. The light grey panelling on the walls, simple dark wooden furniture, and potted plants on every available surface made a pleasant picture. When Severus came here for the first time a couple of days after he moved to the area, he couldn't quite believe that such a place existed in his small dreary town. But he had similar thoughts about his new house, the immediate neighbourhood itself, and that whole part of Cokeworth altogether, so… He most definitely wasn't the best judge on these matters.
Severus chose a table near the furthest window and took a seat with his back to the wall to be able to observe the whole room and the street. A young waiter — a brown boy probably no more than sixteen — with a big toothy smile ran up to him, carrying a small notebook in his hands and a pencil behind his ear. His name tag said “Rashid”.
“Hello, sir! Welcome to our fine establishment!” he exclaimed happily. “What can I get you?”
Severus sized the boy up with a raised eyebrow, visibly diminishing his overabundant cheerfulness, thank Merlin.
“Just a pot of black tea for now, Rashid, thank you. I'm waiting for a companion.”
“Righto, sir! A pot of black tea coming right up! Would you like two cups or just one?”
“Two,” Severus replied, and nodded to Granger who came through the door at that very moment. Rashid also turned to glance at the newcomer, then shot Severus a big knowing grin with a wink and scattered off.
And Severus couldn't blame him, not really. He was annoyed at the assumption, of course, but Merlin… He did not know what he expected, but Granger looked… “Stunning” would be the word, Severus supposed. Or “radiant” — that one would be fitting too. Enough for his annoyance to morph into disbelief, and then promptly into embarrassment ln any case. Did he truly seem like someone who could be that sort of companion for a young woman with Granger's looks? Rashid certainly thought so.
Granger came over to him and plopped onto the chair across the table, smiling. She dragged her thick waist-long braid to hang on her back, tucked short stray curls behind her ears and heaved a sigh.
“Thank God I'm on time! I've got a bit lost — new place. Sorry. Just let me catch my breath. Hello, sir!”
“Hello,” he replied, uncomfortable. They were silent for several moments, while Granger wrestled with her lungs and Severus had no idea what to say to her.
“How have you been? You look good-” He looked good?.. What?.. “...know, with this whole madness underfoot, it's hard not to be affected.”
“It is.”
Merlin, what the fuck had happened to his brain? Monosyllable answers? Really?
Granger frowned at him. “Are you sure you're fine, sir? You've suddenly gone a bit pale.”
“Yes.” Again? Talk, Severus, for fuck's sake!.. “Yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you. Must be tired after a whole day over a cauldron, that is all.”
Granger nodded, but he wasn't sure she bought it.
“Alright. Did you order anything?”
“Just tea. I didn’t know if you'd like anything.”
“Oh, it's fine. I'll order myself, I'm bloody starving,” she chuckled.
Severus nearly reprimanded her for the language, but caught himself half a second before the words slipped out. She wasn't his student anymore. And knowing how often he himself cursed like a bloody sailor, he had no leg to stand on here. Thankfully, at that moment Rashid returned, carrying a tray, laden with tea things, and, while Granger chatted with the waiter, Severus busied himself with pouring them each a cup, trying to remember if he ever saw how she took hers.
“Would you like to order something too, sir?” her voice broke into his musings, and Severus snapped his gaze up at them.
His stomach rumbled. Quietly, thank fuck.
“Yes. I'll take the same, thank you, Rashid.”
“No problem, sir. It'll be about twenty minutes.”
They both nodded, and the waiter left.
“A funny fellow, that one,” Granger snorted. “Anyway, while we wait, why don't we talk shop and get it out of the way?”
“Alright, Miss Granger. What was so urgent?”
Finally. Some familiar waters… Severus breathed out, relaxing slightly.
“First of all, I asked you multiple times to, please, call me Hermione. I'd like to think we are friends, and my friends definitely don't call me ‘Miss Anything’… Would you?”
Friends? She thought they were friends?
“Fine. Hermione, then. What's happened, Hermione?”
She beamed, short-circuiting his brain again. Fucking… Shit. Fucking shit!
“Now. I come bearing a job offer.” That snapped him right out of it.
“I have a job, Miss… Hermione.”
“Yes, I know that, of course. Hear me out, please.” Severus nodded. “As I’ve already told you, our office is expanding, and the big guy at the top wants me to find people for a team of my own, which is going slow, but that's to be expected. Two days ago we signed long-term contracts with two more people, making me short of only two more. I now need only someone proficient in muggle technology as a main field, and someone proficient in potions and healing.
“Yesterday, however, Rod — Rodger, my boss — was able to lay claim to an incredible assignment from the Unspeakables. We, I mean me and my team, are to accompany a team of Unspeakables to Annobón — that's a small island near Africa — to study an ancient temple practically bursting with magic that they found there. I can go without a proper tech, since in that place we're very unlikely to be in need of one, and even if I'm wrong, three of my people are good enough at it, we'll make do. Potions and medicine specialist, however, is an absolute must. I talked to Harry this morning, and he said you're still on a leave and will be for some time yet, which is why I owled you. It's an opportunity of a lifetime. Please, Severus, I-I mean, sir, sorry, uhm-”
“No worries. Severus is fine, Hermione. We're friends, after all.”
And wasn't that a surprise of a century.
Her eyes sparkled warmly as she smiled again. “Thank you. As I was saying, you're the best there is, Severus. Please. I'm not saying you should quit your job or anything of the sort, I'm inviting you for this one trip. It should only take a couple of weeks at most — or that's the plan anyway — we'll sign a contract too, of course.”
Hermione dug into her small bag and pulled out a bunch of papers.
“This is the standard contact we're offering to every recruit, yours of co—”
His stomach flipped.
“Please, don't ever call me a recruit… Bad associations,” Severus asked quietly, interrupting Hermione. She shut her mouth mid-word, staring at him blankly for three seconds, then understanding dawned, and she grimaced apologetically.
“Sorry. Of course. I didn't mean to… Anyway. Your contract is only for one field trip, as you can see,” she babbled on, while Severus was scanning the pages. “And the pay is negotiable too. Like I said, you're the very best in your field, so if you think it's not enough, Rod is prepared to discuss it and make changes. And it would get you away from all this bullshit Skeeter has been smearing all over the Prophet, which could not be a bad thing. The portkey is in two days, so please — please — say you'll at least think about it? I can't give you more than ‘till the morning, though.”
Severus looked at the contract in his hands and thought about his beloved routine. Agreeing to this would mean one more step away from it, away from the life he so desired to have.
But did he?
He dared to raise his gaze to look into Hermione's hopeful eyes. Memories of himself as a young boy looking through all three issues of an old travelling journal the local library had over and over, or reading various adventure books to Lily, promising her that one day, when they grew up, found jobs and all that rot, they'll go on an adventure of their own, flooded Severus’ mind. But that was just silly childish fantasies. Real life had no place for those, he fucking knew that very well.
Why not, though?
Hadn't he earned a right to do what he wanted for once? If he wanted to go to Annobón, then he fucking could go to Annobón. Or to the North Pole. To China. To bloody Sahara. He could get up, return home, pack a bag, and go traipsing around the Sahara for a month, and no one could say a word to him against it.
Besides, it's not like Granger — Hermione — wanted him to completely uproot his whole life, it was just a small trip, only for two weeks. He'll be back soon enough. Hopefully, by that time Potter catches the bastard that killed four innocent people, screwing them both in the process, and Severus would be able to return to his job.
Pye would understand too. He'd even encourage Severus.
The words were stuck in his mouth, though.
“There you go, guys,” the waiter exclaimed, putting plates onto the table. That boy was decidedly far too loud. “Freshly cooked, just for you.” He bloody fucking hoped so. Severus shot a glare at the imbecile to shut him up, but it only made the boy's smile wider. As soon as he went away, Severus picked up his fork.
“Severus?”
He looked up, almost startled.
“Would you think about my offer?” Hermione asked tentatively, not even touching her food yet.
There was a beat of silence between them, and then, “Yes,” he replied finally. Hermione smiled. “Yes, I agree,” Severus clarified, making her smile grow exponentially brighter, and feeling something inside him breaking off and soaring high.
“I'll go, Hermione.”