"Snape, Severus!" a gruff voice called down the echoing corridors. Severus waited for the dull clank that signaled the magical release of the lock on his cell and stepped into the dim light of Azkaban's Cellblock E for non-violent offenders.
He waited as patiently as he could with only a slight sneer on his face as they prodded him through processing, gave a full account of his effects, and shepherded him toward the floo that would lead him to the prisoner release office at the Ministry of Magic. He took a moment to shake hands with the lead guard—a decently congenial bloke, for all that he ran a tight ship—and left without further ado.
Severus emerged into the release office with little more than some his trademark sneer, newspaper clippings, his wand, and an engagement ring in desperate need of cleaning in his dress robe pocket.
His first stop was to Gringotts so that he could withdraw funds from his recently liberated accounts. The next stop was to his cottage to exchange his dress robes for Muggle jeans and a jumper. A grimy layer of of dust lay over all of his furniture. Well, the furniture that hadn't been overturned and disemboweled during the Ministry's search of his home two years prior. "Couldn't they have at least repaired the furniture after their search?" he muttered with a sigh, flicking his wand around the room and restoring it to its former glory as a worn, but comfortable home.
He checked his dresser drawers, unsurprised but still disappointed to find only his clothes in residence. So she'd really gone, then.
A quick trip to the medicine cabinet revealed that his potions were still untouched. He uncorked a vial of cough relief and dumped it into the bath, watching the liquid drain away and leave four shrunken Occamy eggs at the bottom of the clawfoot tub.
He'd have to find a safe way to dispose of those. Two years of his life was more than enough for that particular folly, thank you very much. He didn't particularly feel like returning to the dank cell that had been his home since his initial inspiration to try the prohibited ingredient in place of Doxy eggs had struck.
He sighed, feeling more than a bit like an idiot. He knew better than most that the Wizengamot cared more about the letter of the law than about altruistic intent or scientific advancement.
Dunderheads.
He picked up the worn and folded clipping from The Daily Prophet and glanced at the headline once again.
Mystery Investor Saves Tempest Entertainment: World of Witchcraft Head Designer Breathes New Life Into Struggling Company
He traced his finger over the photograph of a smiling Hermione Granger before tearing it from the article, snatching his wand and apparating to Knockturn Alley.
The building was surprisingly well-lit for what was essentially a bookmaker's salon. Knockturn had cleaned up since the war, so bookie's sat on the right side of the law these days, if only by a hair. Severus made his way toward a desk in the back corner, where a young man was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.
"Mr. Thomas," he said, taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk.
Dean glanced up at the sound of that familiar voice. "Professor! You're out."
"Just this morning. I came to see you first."
The former student ran his fingers over his quill nervously as he regarded his former Potions professor. "I don't do that anymore. I cleaned up, got a straight gig as you can see here," he said, gesturing to the other desks in the room, each occupied by an arithmancer working the variables on every possible betting event in the wizarding world imaginable. "Whatever you're thinking, I can't do it."
"Are you sure about that?" Severus asked, sliding the news clipping across the table for Dean to look at.
"I'm familiar with the company," Dean said with a little smile. "We run odds on the battleground events. Good odds on the Muggle servers this week."
"What if I told you Tempest was owned by a former associate of Tom Riddle? And that his new investor wasn't an investor at all. What would you say to that?" He quirked an eyebrow and waited for Dean's response.
"Not this bollocks again. Seriously, how many Dark fucking Lords do we have to purge before we're allowed some semblance of peace?" the arithmancer groaned.
The elder man steepled his fingers and leaned back in his chair. "As many as it takes, Mr. Thomas."
"Shit. You've got a plan already?"
Severus merely gave Dean a grim smile.
"Professor Snape."
"You used to call me Severus, Potter. I haven't been your Professor in a decade."
Harry tilted his head to regard the dark man in front of him. "You used to date my best friend. Now you don't because you're a criminal. Mr. Snape, then."
"As you like," Severus said, inclining his head. "I was told to check in within twenty-four hours."
"Yes." Harry withdrew a Ministry form and started to tick off boxes. "Have you been drinking?"
He sneered. "No."
"Do you have a place to stay and a means to support yourself?"
"Yes to both."
"Very well. Stay out of trouble. The terms of your parole prevent you from leaving the country for the next year. I expect to hear from you in a week."
Severus gave the younger man a very slight smile. "Understood."
Malfoy Manor looked less foreboding than it had when he'd last been here. Probably something to do with the fact that it no longer housed a crazed megalomaniac bent on destroying the Wizarding world from within.
Severus was pleased to see the gates swing open to admit him and strode purposefully toward the front door, allowing the elf who tended it to take his cloak and scamper off to find Lucius. Without waiting for the Wonky's return, Severus strode toward his old friend's office.
He found four wix gathered there - Alcyone Greengrass, Theo Nott Jr., Blaise Zabini, and Peregrine Derrick. Nott spotted him first, stuttering, "Professor Snape! What brings you here?"
"Just visiting an old friend," he said cautiously. Just what con is Lucy running this time ?
Zabini nodded his head politely. "Here for investment advice as well?"
Severus sneered. "Something like that."
"And what have you been up to these past few years, Professor?" asked Alcyone. "I haven't heard anything of you since before my Astoria left school."
"I was just released from prison, Madame Greengrass," Severus answered politely. "A trifling misunderstanding over some potions ingredients." He smirked inwardly as he watched the witch stiffen and look away.
"Here we are, my friends!" Lucius said from the doorway, pausing only slightly when he spotted Severus sitting with the gathered group. He cleared his throat and distributed papers—not parchment, Severus noted—to each of the four wix. "Remember, Muggle money and make sure your portkey isn't registered with the Ministry. Off you go then, and don't forget to give your galleons to Wonky on your way out."
Severus reclined against the back of the (dreadfully uncomfortable and over-upholstered settee) and gazed at Lucius. "Still running the tax evasion investment scheme?"
Lucius smirked. "You've seen the post-war reparation taxes. The only way to preserve our estates is to avoid them. At least, in part."
"And how much are you charging for your valuable advice on Swiss banking these days, Lucy?"
"One hundred galleons a pop. No one has been caught at it yet, but it's only a matter of time, really." He shrugged. What happened after his clients paid their advising fee wasn't really his problem. "Why have you come, old friend? I thought you were busy cleaning toilets at Azkaban."
"Just got out. Thought I'd come see you first."
Lucius rolled his eyes, used to the game. "Uh huh. So what's the job?"
"Have you actually ever visited Zurich, Lucius?"
The blonde laughed derisively. "You want to break into a bank? What's the payout on that?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing? Then piss off, Severus."
"Well, nothing monetary. But it may well be worth quite a bit more to you in Ministry goodwill."
There was a pause. "I'm listening."
Severus withdrew the news clipping once again and tossed it on the desk. "I'll give you three guesses as to who is behind this."
"Well my first guess would be Albus Dumbledore, but he's out of the crime-fight game post VWII."
"Hm. Put a pin in that and we'll return to it. No, the issue this time is Tempest."
Lucius' brow furrowed. "Tempest? They're Icelandic, yes?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Fuck. You're talking about Bjӧrn. Gods damn it, Severus."
Severus clapped slowly. "Got it in one. I've figured out who the new investor is, too. Except it's not an investor at all. His funds and the requisite magic to make the game work for Muggles, and thus assure its initial commercial success, came directly from the Swiss account of someone I know quite well. But the magic is fading; they need something newer. More powerful..."
"And therefore more dangerous. Where'd you get this from? Albus?"
"Albus. He wrote me when I was in Azkaban. And from what he's told me, I have the distinct feeling that I know what the next target will be." Severus took a breath, waiting for the killshot. "If we stop him, our names will be golden at the Ministry. In every Wizarding Government in Europe, I imagine. How'd you like to get out of those reparation taxes you've been paying?"
Cool grey eyes met coal black ones. "When do we start?"
"So you want to break into a Swiss bank, steal something, and then leave again. Without being caught by their technology—"
"And without being cursed by what's in that vault."
Lucius sat back in his chair, sipping at the lapsang souchong in delicate porcelain that his elf had delivered minutes before. "Whose vault are we breaking into, exactly? Don't tell me Snake-face has an abandoned account there or something."
"Close, but your suspected dark lordling has a few decades on Volde - Snake-face. No, we're breaking into the vault of the infamous brother-squib.
Lucius frowned. "Not-"
"Yes. Gunter Grindelwald's."