Hello.

Alright, so I'll try and avoid long author's notes (at least at the beginning of chapters), but let me just very quickly say this: The idea for this story popped into my head and I just couldn't shake it. It had to come out. Hopefully it's worth reading.

Go ahead.

APRIL 17th 2003

"Ah, Bess. Please, come in, come in. Here, take a seat."

I stepped into Fredrickson's office and closed the door behind me before apprehensively sitting down in the chair facing his large desk. Fredrickson sat on the other side, eyeing me with those crinkled, gentle blue eyes of his.

"You wanted to see me, John," I said.

"Yes," nodded Fredrickson, making a fuss of tidying away the papers on his desk in order to fully turn his attention to me. "Yes, I did. Look, I've been going over our recent sales numbers and it's clear your last book didn't do quite as well as we would've hoped."

That was an understatement; it had been an enormous flop. In all honesty I was surprised Fredrickson had even agreed to it, he couldn't possibly have imagined that a biography about Grindelwald's family history would be a best seller, especially not now, considering the only dark wizard anybody ever cared to read about these days was Voldemort.

Five years after his demise the bookshops were now filled to the brink with Tom Riddle biographies. Apparently an acceptable amount of time had passed and suddenly, as if flicking a light switch, it was okay, albeit slightly controversial. Now every publishing house in England – and abroad – was keen to see what profit could be made.

I had early on stated to Fredrickson I would not take part in any of it. I would not have my big break come from the misfortunes of others, from people's morbid fascination with a megalomaniac mass murderer.

And so instead I had written my Grindelwald book. And it'd been disastrous for Fredrickson & Holly. I was surprised Fredrickson had even bothered asking me to come in, he could've simply sent me an owl telling me he was done with me – which was what I had expected to hear up until I saw that distinctive friendly look in his eyes.

"I did warn you about that book," I said.

"You did," smiled Fredrickson. "But it was worth a shot. Listen, the truth is I didn't ask you to come in today to discuss Grindelwald Roots."

I raised an eyebrow. "You didn't?"

"No. We must look to the future, Bess."

I nearly laughed. "I would've thought after my two flops you wouldn't want to share any kind of literary future with me," I said.

He looked at me, surprised. "Bess," he said. "You thought I called you in here to tell you our collaboration was at an end?"

I shrugged.

"Merlin, when will you learn," sighed Fredrickson. He leaned forward, placing his right palm on the desk in front of me. "Bess, you're a great historian. You know your stuff, and what's more, you're good at writing about it. I know you're young, and you haven't made your non-fiction debut with as much of a bang as I would've liked, but I know what you're capable of." He paused for effect. "Bess, I want you to write another book."

Still reeling from the praise I so obviously didn't deserve, I merely managed to splutter, "Another book?"

"You heard me," he said with the slightest hint of a grin at my look of surprise. "No one knows dark wizards like you. I have a particular assignment for you."

"John, no Tom Riddle books, I –"

"Not Tom Riddle." Fredrickson shook his head. "Something else. Something that hasn't been done before, something the readers want. It's bold, Bess, but if anybody can do it …"

"Which war?" I interrupted.

He hesitated. "This one. The most recent one."

I shook my head. "I won't."

"Bess –"

"No," I said. "I won't make money off of that. It's too soon. Those vultures over at Dust & Mildew can have dibs on all the war books as far as I'm concerned, you won't get me to write about that. Gods, John – those victims all still have living, grieving relatives. I'm not turning their deaths into a soap."

"You won't," John assured me. "We don't want you writing about the victims or their families. In fact our focus isn't on the victims at all. If you're lucky you won't even have to mention the name Harry Potter."

I raised a sceptical eyebrow.

"Well, alright," smirked Fredrickson, "perhaps you won't be able to dodge Harry Potter. But it won't be a soap, Bess. It won't be a gut-wrencher."

"So?" I said, curious despite my better judgment. I leaned back in my chair. "What will it be?"

"The Death Eaters," said Fredrickson. "More specifically, those who are still alive."

"Those who are in Azkaban," I added.

"Precisely."

"What?" I said. "You want me to … interview them? Tell their life story, what? Can you possibly imagine anyone wanting to read about their laments? Half of wizarding Britain is still demanding they all receive the Kiss despite it being illegal now. What sort of book could you possibly be imagining?"

"An honest account," said Fredrickson. "Facts, dates. That's what people want. There's still so much we don't know about their movements, about their various whereabouts during the war, about their … crimes." He looked down for a moment before returning his gaze to me. "People have unanswered questions. Loved ones they have lost, but whose final hours are still a mystery to them. The Death Eaters who are still alive might be able to shed some light on these issues. I want a book that will give people their answers without telling a story – I want facts. And you, Bess, are a woman of facts."

I drew a deep breath, hesitating to answer. To me, this sounded like just the sort of book I wanted to avoid. Still I had to pick my battles carefully. Not only had I cost Fredrickson & Holly money with Grindelwald Roots, my first book from two years back, Into the Fire – a biography about Ignatia Wildsmith, the inventor of Floo powder – had been almost as big of a hit and miss. I'd barely made enough money to make it through the last couple of years and rent was becoming increasingly difficult to handle.

Damn it. I needed the money.

Plus, I was afraid if I turned it down Fredrickson wouldn't give me another chance. And with my track record I didn't fancy any other publishing house in London giving me as much as a foot in the door.

"Why me?" I finally asked. "There are plenty of qualified non-fiction writers. Not to mention plenty older ones who might recall more about Voldemort's rise to power. Remember I was only six years old when he was defeated the first time."

"Yes, but you remember the second rise to power quite vividly, don't you?" said Fredrickson, his eyes no longer twinkling. He just looked at me, patiently awaiting my reaction. I knew exactly the reason for his gentle, cautious nature.

"I do," I muttered. "I remember a lot of awkward family dinners."

"Don't be snappy, Bess," begged Fredrickson. "I know it must have been difficult for you. But your experiences put you in a unique position. I forget, how closely related were you in fact to the Death Eater Evan Rosier?"

Bastard, he hadn't forgotten, he knew very well how closely.

"He was my uncle," I replied. "But I only met him once."

Fredrickson nodded. "Yes, he died in 1980. Resisting arrest. But he had a daughter, didn't he? Another follower who, though she remained in the shadows, did aid Voldemort during the second rise?"

"Yes," I spat. He knew all this, why was he asking?

"So," said Fredrickson. "As I said, this puts you in a unique position. You're a half-blood, but your pureblood mother's side was riddled with Death Eaters, pardon my saying. Her father, her brother, his daughter … And in the midst of all that your mother marries a Muggle."

I shrugged. There was nothing to say, he was right of course. Those were the facts.

"And …" Fredrickson eyed me cautiously. "Then there was the matter of your grandparents."

"What about them?" I snapped.

"Well, they were murdered by Death Eaters, weren't they?" he asked. "Your Muggle grandparents … in 1997?"

I sighed. Yes, they were, as Fredrickson knew perfectly well, though I understood his reasoning for talking me through my own family history – he was trying to point out to me my "unique" position. Plenty of Death Eaters on my mother's side, Muggle grandparents murdered by Death Eaters on my father's side. Truly unique. And not at all that pleasant and not something I would willingly put in a book for the world to read about. And I told Fredrickson as much.

"You won't have to tell your story, not in any detail at least," he said. "But having family members on, well, both sides, so to speak, makes you ideal for this particular project. Think about it, Bess: None of Voldemort's remaining sympathizers can accuse you of not telling the facts accurately – you have Death Eater in your blood, after all – and none of the survivors can say you aren't interested in getting the truth out there because you yourself lost Muggle family members during Voldemort's reign of terror."

Merlin. How he managed to so thoroughly compliment and insult me in the same breath I couldn't fathom. Death Eater in my blood? Thank you very much, John Fredrickson.

"So I'm to tell the facts," I stated. "About the surviving Death Eaters. Where they were at what times and what they did there. Basically make them share all the details they haven't been willing to share thus far." I shook my head in disbelief. "The purpose of which, you believe, is to offer some comfort to the grieving families of their many victims."

"And answers, hopefully," nodded Fredrickson.

I didn't speak; instead I let my gaze wander. It fell upon the various books that filled Fredrickson's many shelves. All non-fiction, all proper, serious works, no gossip, slander or soaps here. Fredrickson & Holly was a respectable publishing house; there was a reason I'd gone to them in the first place after finishing my degree in Dark Magic History. I had always relied on them to choose projects with the utmost care and decency. Which was why this new project was a puzzle. I wanted to believe Fredrickson truly desired to do something good with this book, but …

I had two good reasons to turn it down. One, it still sounded to me a bit too much like profiting off of the victims' grief. Even if it was supposed to be all facts, all answers, no tears, it still sounded like dangerous territory to me. Two, I definitely didn't want the whole wizarding world to know the details of my family's involvement in the war, but if I chose to write this book I would have to share at least some of it to ease the mind of my potential critics.

Yes, I had two very good reasons for turning it down. And one much better reason to accept.

Money.

"Let's assume I say yes," I said hesitantly, immediately raising my hands to calm Fredrickson as he seemed ready to leap out of his chair in glee, "and let's assume the remaining imprisoned Death Eaters will even want to speak with me, much less share details they've so far refused to tell even the Wizengamot. I will still need permission to interview them. Unlimited access, not just a one-time meeting. How will you sort that with the courts?"

Fredrickson grinned. "Already taken care of."

My jaw dropped. "What?"

"I called in a favour from one of the judges," he said. "He owed me one. Coincidentally it just so happens he wants answers too, his daughter-in-law was murdered back then and he still has no idea how or by whom. I obviously promised you would find the answer."

"Obviously," I parroted, rolling my eyes. Fredrickson looked expectantly at me and I grunted. There was no point fighting any more, we both knew I would take it. I'd sell my soul to sell books, if only to pay the rent. It amazed me how fast ethics flew out the window when money was involved. Disgusted with myself I briskly moved forward, saying, "Fine. Alright." I sighed, rising from my chair. "Whom should I start with?"

Fredrickson stood, shaking my hand with a big, galleon-induced smile on his face.

"With the obvious one of course," he said. "The enigma, the mystery – the big seller of this book, let's face it. The survivor, the one who claimed his innocence, who claimed to be a double agent, a spy, the one who then refused to cooperate … The murderer of Albus Dumbledore – the oh so gifted liar."

I couldn't help it; my eyes widened. I immediately knew whom he was talking about.

"Severus Snape," I whispered.

There we are. First chapter. Ooh. Yes, it will be slightly AU, but not very.

Alright, so I've always been a SS/HG shipper. In fact when I started writing Bess I almost felt like I was betraying Hermione - but she's grown on me. Also I've found there aren't all that many first person Snape stories, at least not from the OC's point of view. So I wanted to give that a go.

There will be mystery, romance, drama and perhaps a little angst. We'll see.

Oh, and so far this is a T story but it very well might turn into an M. In which case I'll let you know and of course from then on I'll inform you at the beginning of every chapter if there's any M in it, just in case somebody'll want to skip it.

So. Feedback is of course immensely appreciated. Go forth and review.