APRIL 30th 2003

"He … he got it?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Downright couldn't believe it. I would've laughed, suggested Fredrickson was pulling one over on me if he hadn't looked so serious. In just over a week he had somehow managed to yet again pull enough strings with the same judge who gave me access to Azkaban to now, somehow, secure Severus Snape's requested furlough. It was unthinkable. And yet …

"He did," nodded Fredrickson. "The warden was furious and will do his best to make your life hell, but there you have it. Judge Crest is a powerful man and eager to get his answers."

I nodded, painfully reminded of why this Crest was even helping us. If I didn't find out who'd killed his daughter-in-law I would be in a world of trouble. Who would have thought the publishing industry was this dodgy. My dull and eventless life as a historian and documentary writer was a running gag with my friends; I could only imagine the look on their faces when I told them I was bribing a judge (with information, not money, but still), visiting Azkaban and now taking a convicted Death Eater on vacation. They'd choke on their Butterbeers, the lot of them.

"I'll do my best for Crest," I said. "But it's going to take a while. I'm scheduled to interview eleven Death Eaters and so far I think just my talks with Snape alone might take weeks, if not at least a month."

"A month?" Fredrickson's eyes widened. "Why?"

I hadn't yet told him what I was onto. Hadn't explained to Fredrickson the deal I'd struck with Snape in the hopes of a real scoop: the truth behind his conviction. Fredrickson believed I was just interviewing him like I would the others about his Death Eater activity. Truth was I didn't think Fredrickson would appreciate the deal I'd made, nor my snooping. He, like the rest of the world, believed Snape to be a dangerous and gifted liar – and he was; his Occlumency skills alone confirmed that – and I was certain Fredrickson would say I was on a wild goose chase. He'd say there was no way Snape could be innocent, no way he could be telling the truth about him being a spy and then he'd go on to say that all that talk about a secret group of Voldemort supporters waiting to strike was surely just a ploy to gain furlough …

And perhaps it was. Perhaps Snape had already played me like a fiddle.

But two could play at that game. I wasn't so easily tricked.

"Snape's … difficult," I said to Fredrickson, elegantly dodging the real reason I'd predicted it might take a while to finish with him. "He's tricky, the fact that he even said yes to the interview suggests he's planning something. It'll take time figuring out whether or not he's telling the truth, I'll have to fact check everything, obviously."

"Good girl," smiled Fredrickson. "I knew I picked the right author for this project. Now – the furlough. I've had words with Crest, the Auror Office and the new warden, Eustace Singe. Goes without saying it comes with very strict terms."

"I figured," I nodded.

"The Aurors have found a small cottage in an almost desert village not far from Yorkshire. It's mostly unpopulated now but it is a wizarding village, meaning there won't be any Muggles there should Snape be tempted to return to his old, wicked ways."

I bit back a snort.

"Even so," continued Fredrickson, "he obviously won't be allowed to go outside. The cottage is being thoroughly warded as we speak and two Aurors will be stationed outside at all times. Snape will be magically bound to the cottage, actually physically unable to leave it. Of course he won't be given a wand for his stay either."

"That went without saying," I said, nodding. "What about supplies? Food?"

"Yes, it will be decently stocked," said Fredrickson.

"Coffee?" I blurted out.

Fredrickson looked curiously at me. "Yes, I presume there will be coffee there. And some books for entertainment. Every item, every wall, nook and crevice in the cottage is also being checked to ensure there's no magic there he can in any way use to stage an attack or escape. He will have no access to owls or the Floo network, no communication with the outside world whatsoever."

"Sounds like the Auror Office has been thorough," I said. "When do we start?"

"Not so fast," said Fredrickson. "Those are the measures taken to secure the cottage. Another spell is being cast to protect you."

I hesitated; I barely even considered my own safely in all of this, I was too obsessed with the story. But he was a Death Eater after all. Like a caged beast he was likely to be dangerous and unpredictable. Besides, if I were in the way of his escape at some point the truth was he probably wouldn't hesitate to kill me. But at least I had a wand and he didn't. And I was slightly insulted that the Auror Office didn't think that was enough.

"Severus Snape will be physically incapable of doing anything to you or involving you that you don't specify," said Fredrickson. "He won't even be able to shake your hand unless you say it's okay."

"So what will happen if he attempts to – say – strangle me with his bare hands?" I asked, trying but failing to keep the indignation out of my tone of voice.

"He'll get ill," said Fredrickson. "Immediately and seriously ill. And unable to finish strangling you, if that was a particular concern."

It wasn't; I figured Snape needed me as much as I needed him. I wasn't too worried about being attacked. Instead I thought about the measures Fredrickson had described to me. All those binding spells sounded a lot like Constringo spells, but those were highly controversial. Binding a person to a house, or to another person … The Ministry rarely granted the use of Constringo and whenever they did there were heated debates and discussions about the ethics of it all. I figured since Fredrickson deliberately didn't say what spells the Aurors were using I could probably count on it being a couple of Constringos. Perhaps they hoped the usage would pass by unnoticed. Still I felt a little apprehensive about being a part of it; I, like most people in the wizarding world, was opposed to the idea of binding someone magically to any place or person. The potential for abuse of power was too great.

"Well," I said. "Alright. When will he be moved there?"

"Tomorrow morning," replied Fredrickson. "You're free to go there whenever you want; would you like to be there when he arrives at the cottage? Start your interview right away?"

"Won't he want to get settled in first?" I asked.

"He doesn't really have much of a say," said Fredrickson. "It's not a holiday, Bess, he's there to answer your questions. That's it."

Yeah. That was it. Except for the tiniest, little secret detail about how I was also going to be answering his questions. I'd deliberately put that in the very back of my mind, figured I would deal with it later. Now later was fast approaching and I was feeling more than a little bit apprehensive. But I couldn't back out, not even for the sake of my privacy. I needed this job, I needed the money.

And I needed to hear Snape's truth. It'd been all I'd been thinking about the last week and I'd spent every waking moment preparing for our first talk. I wanted to know everything. If he had indeed been a double agent throughout the entire second war then that was unprecedented. The thought of writing the book that revealed that truth made me positively giddy. Big break, here I come.

"Alright, John," I said. "I'll be there when he arrives in Yorkshire tomorrow."

Fredrickson nodded. "I'll have Susan write down the details for you."


That following morning I found myself Disapparating from my flat to the village of Saffron-on-the-Hill. It was a ridiculously adorable place and I was surprised it was almost deserted. The papers Fredrickson's assistant had given me suggested something happened there during the war that made it this ghostly, but I hadn't bothered figuring out what. It wasn't the village I was interested in; it was the man who was going to be staying there.

The cottage was small, but not too small. It had two floors, a nice garden (ironic, since Snape wasn't allowed outside) and a greenhouse covered with vines. I had Apparated onto the nearest street – I naturally couldn't Apparate within the grounds, the Auror Office had seen to that – and now I found myself stepping up to the cottage, opening the gate to the small picked fence and giving a friendly nod to the two Aurors who were already stationed outside. I didn't know them, but they clearly knew who I was, as they didn't even blink when I passed them by and entered the cottage, closing the door carefully behind me for a moment of privacy before Snape's arrival.

It was cosy. That's the best way to describe Snape's temporary prison. It had a small sitting room with a fireplace and robust, old-fashioned wooden furniture. To the right was a small kitchen and beyond the kitchen a flight of stairs that led to the first floor where I figured the bedroom and bathroom was located. I looked around, wondering where would be the best place for us to have our talks and decided upon the large, dark brown kitchen table. I made my way over and was pulling out my parchments, quills and notes when I heard the door to the cottage open again.

There he was. Escorted by another two Aurors different from the ones who were guarding the cottage came Severus Snape, still in his prison uniform, back straight and face unreadable as he stepped inside. He took in his surroundings – including me – and didn't say a word. The Aurors, however, were all business, practically shoving him into the living room before looking expectantly at me. I quickly dropped what I was holding and hurried over.

"Miss White," said one of the Aurors, shaking my hand briskly. "We were told you might be here. You've spoken with him before," he nodded in Snape's direction, using the word "him" as if he was barely even a person, "so we won't bother with introductions. However we need to make sure you understand the workings of the spells we are using to ensure your – and the surrounding area's – safety."

"John Fredrickson explained it to me," I said.

"Perhaps he did," said the Auror, "but you need to understand the specifics. At least concerning the spell cast to protect you. For the duration of his stay Snape will not be able to do anything to you unless you give him permission. Not even speak to you." He went quiet and looked pointedly at me, waiting. Finally he said, "Which means you'll actually have to give him permission to talk if you're ever going to interview him."

"Oh!" I felt like an idiot. I turned to Snape and said, "You can speak to me. Whenever you like," I added for good measure.

"How generous," he drawled.

The other Auror – the one who'd been quiet – nudged Snape roughly in the back.

"It's simple, but you have to be a little alert when it comes to this spell," continued the first Auror. "If you do not give him permission it might cause serious harm." He didn't look as if that bothered him at all. "Remember you also have the possibility of revoking said permission whenever you feel like it. If he's rude you can actually shut him up," he added with a poorly concealed grin.

Snape gave a snort, earning him another nudge.

"When it comes to the rest of the spells they won't really concern you," said the Auror. "It's the same basic principle: If he tries to leave he'll get ill. Possibly die." He glared at Snape. "Get it? If you wanna live, you stay here." He turned his attention back to me. "If however, he by some miraculous occurrence manages to bypass the spells we still have Aurors stationed outside at all times. If he gets outside unharmed, he won't get far."

I nodded. "Loud and clear. He's still a prisoner. I can control him. He might get hurt and you'd love that. Are you through?"

In the corner of my eye I caught Snape darting a look at me.

"This is no laughing matter, Miss White," said the Auror. "He's a convicted felon."

"You think I don't know that?" I said. "That's kind of why I'm here in the first place. But he still has rights. I won't use the Constringo any more than I have to."

If he was surprised that I had figured out which spell was used, he didn't show it. Instead he nodded briskly, shook my hand again and shot Snape another, final look before turning to leave. The other Auror followed suit and soon after the door slammed shut. I was alone with Snape. For the second time, but now there were no prison bars separating us. I actually took a step to my right, putting the sofa between us. It was supposed to be subtle, but I was sure he noticed. He even raised an eyebrow.

"Alright," I said, drawing a deep breath and not allowing myself to panic – yes, Bess, you're alone with a mass murderer, but he can't harm you, remember? – I instead gestured to the kitchen. "I've been preparing for our first talk. Perhaps you'd like to settle in first? Or … I don't know, take a shower?"

The second I said it I felt stupid. I didn't mean to suggest he needed one; I didn't think he did, but I had no idea how often they were allowed to shower in Azkaban and I figured a nice, normal shower might be a good way to begin his stay here.

"Actually," said Snape, "a shower sounds … appealing. If you don't mind waiting."

"Not at all," I said, returning to the kitchen. I sat down in one of the chairs and began flipping through my files again. "It'll give me some extra time to get ready. We'll begin today, but if you're tired we won't be talking for too long. I'll be back here tomorrow, we can start properly then."

"We can start properly today," said Snape, glancing up the stairs, probably scoping out the bathroom. "I have also been preparing."

I swallowed and he smirked. Then he headed off up the stairs and I made myself relax. He'd been preparing. For what, his own questions? What would he be asking me? It was bound to be personal, otherwise there was no point; he'd made it clear enough he wanted this deal to get a hold of my "darkest, dirtiest secrets", to use his own phrasing. I could only hope he wouldn't jump straight into the nastiest stuff. Start simple, like my favourite colour or something.

Yeah, right. I was delusional. Shaking my head I instead focused on my work, charmed my quill to take dictation and began looking over my questions. Soon I heard the sound of the shower upstairs and for ten minutes I sat waiting, listening. Finally the water was switched off and I heard him moving about up there. I hesitated, then decided to make some coffee to have ready for when he was done. Show of good faith.

It took another ten minutes before he came back down the stairs, his hair damp, still wearing the striped prison uniform. He didn't look as pleased as I would've hoped.

"No good?" I asked as he sat down, immediately reaching for the cup of coffee I'd poured for him.

"Shower? Yes, good," he nodded, eyes closed as he took a sip. "Stepping back into this uniform? Not quite as pleasant."

"Oh," I said. "Did you think …?" Had he hoped they'd provide him with different clothes? Normal, civilian clothes?

"No." He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Never mind. Shall we begin?"

"Yes," I nodded, putting my own coffee cup down and making sure my quill and parchment was ready. I put on as professional a face as I could muster and began my very first interview with Severus Snape. "Okay, so. You're Severus Snape, born January 9th 1960. That makes you forty-three years old. Right?"

He grinned, but didn't answer.

"What?" I said, indignant.

"Nothing," he smirked. "Apparently this will work out quite nicely for me. If those are the sort of questions you'll be asking then it appears I will be staying here indefinitely."

I huffed and refused to let his insult get to me. "Well?" I simply said.

"Very well. Yes," he nodded.

"And you were a Death Eater during Voldemort's first reign. A loyal Death Eater," I added. "But you claim you turned spy for Dumbledore before his fall and remained a spy throughout the second reign. You've stated all of this in your hearings."

I wasn't asking, so he didn't reply. He merely inclined his head. I flipped through my papers and found the dates of the court hearings I'd decided to focus on during our first talk. Whatever he replied to my questions regarding this would tell me whether or not he could in fact be telling the truth. After all, four years ago the Wizengamot and the Aurors had gone to a lot of trouble to ensure he was guilty. They hadn't convicted him for nothing; they had in fact proved he was lying. Or at least that's how it appeared.

"During the hearing on May 1st 1999 the Wizengamot decided your claim would be tested," I continued. "With Veritaserum. You agreed and took the serum the following day, May 2nd. Then you proceeded to tell a very different story – you said you were a Voldemort follower. A true Death Eater. Under the influence of Veritaserum." I looked at him sceptically. "That's my next question, Snape: If you were Dumbledore's spy, as you say you were, why wasn't that the 'truth' you told when you'd taken the serum?"

He actually smiled. I couldn't understand why at first; it took me a moment to realize he probably thought I'd actually asked a relevant question.

"I don't know," he replied. "I know Veritaserum, I'm positive I recognized the taste. Yet when I drank it I found myself compelled to lie. I stood there and spoke the truth – or so they believed – when in fact I had been tricked. After that nobody would believe me, least of all about the false Veritaserum."

"You …" I distantly heard my quill scribbling eagerly, but I couldn't take my eyes off Snape. "You're saying they framed you. Had you drink something that made you lie. I hope you realize how serious an accusation that is."

"I do, yes," he said, then added, "Do you, Miss White?"

I nodded, not in answer to his question but as an acknowledgement of his claim.

"Alright," I said, "for now let's say I believe you. Who do you think was behind framing you? And why?"

"Over the years I made quite a few enemies," replied Snape. "Many of them could not – would not – believe that I was innocent. I know there were several people who would have gone to great lengths to ensure my conviction. Though as I don't know who brewed the serum nor who brought it to my cell I couldn't say for certain who was behind it. As for why, well – like I said, I had a lot of enemies. Remember I was a Death Eater during the first reign. And let's face it, I'm not exactly pleasant."

He was right, but there was the ghost of a grin on his lips and I suspected he was teasing me. I couldn't imagine why; he obviously didn't like me. Perhaps it was just the sheer pleasure of being outside of Azkaban that actually made him tolerable to speak with. Or the coffee. He was still drinking it; still taking quiet moments with his eyes closed.

I busied myself with pouring another cup while I pondered my next question. His story was weak, putting it mildly. Which again made me wonder: If he was such a gifted liar, why serve such bad lies? Unless they were true?

No, Bess, I said to myself, guilty until proven innocent in this case.

"Okay, so that incident was what turned you into 'the liar'," I said, flipping through my papers again. "But I was looking at the court transcripts and I couldn't find anything about Pensieve usage. Didn't they look at your memories?"

At that he actually gave a sad smile. "I'm not sure you know exactly how a Pensieve works, Miss White …"

I glared at him, offended by his assumption, but he ignored me.

"Though removing one's memories and storing them for Pensieve use is easy enough, one inevitably runs into trouble when one attempts to remove said memories twice. I remember all of the events from my past, but most of the memories from my work as a double agent had already at that point been copied from my mind. It could not be done again, there was no – how shall I put this? – no extra copy for them to take out. Memories that have already been copied and removed once can't be taken again. An impractical flaw, but there you have it."

"I've read about that," I said. "You can't remove memories a second time without risking brain injury, it's a real strain on the mind; sometimes you won't even be able to find the memories even if you know what you're looking for … Oh, I see."

He nodded and I actually saw him looking slightly impressed that I knew this. I didn't suppress my proud smirk and instead ventured on, saying, "But to whom did you give those memories before the hearing? I'm sorry, but that sounds rather reckless."

Snape sighed and took another long sip of his coffee before replying.

"Harry Potter," he said. "I gave them to Harry Potter. He accepted them, and to the best of my knowledge he watched them and learned the truth of my role as a spy. He could easily have verified my story in court. But, as you know …"

I gave a small gasp. Harry Potter's heart attack.

"He died," I said. "He died before your trial, so he never testified. But you're saying he would have, you're saying he could have supported your claim?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. And supplied the memories as well, hopefully. But I do not know whether he kept them. And if he did I don't know where they are today. But that phial of memories, Miss White, could prove my innocence. It contains everything the Wizengamot would need and it would render my Veritaserum confession worthless."

"That's why you made it part of our deal that I would have to try and prove your claim," I said. "You actually think there might be some proof out there. You believe Potter might've saved that phial of memories."

He shrugged, replying even thought I hadn't asked an actual question. "Perhaps. Hopefully. But obviously I was never given a chance to go search for it. You can."

I nodded, taking it all in. If this was true then Snape's story made more sense. It would certainly explain why the Wizengamot had convicted him. Perhaps it was actually possible that two horrible events beyond Snape's control – the fake Veritaserum and Potter's heart attack – had resulted in his imprisonment. No wonder he was bitter. No wonder he was pissed.

If it was true, I reminded myself. If it was true.

I downed the rest of my coffee, drew a deep breath and gathered my things. It hadn't been a long talk but it had given me a lot to think about. A lot I needed to work my way through if I could continue this line of questioning with the conviction that all I'd heard in the last hour was actually most likely true.

"I think that's enough for today," I said. "I'll have to spend tomorrow morning fact checking some of this stuff, but I'll be back here before noon."

"Very well." He steepled his fingers and looked expectantly at me. "Now. I believe it is time for me to ask my questions. Six, if I have counted correctly."

"Six … you counted?" I gaped.

"Of course."

I inwardly cringed but refused to let him see my discomfort. "Fine. Go ahead, Snape. Ask. Whatever you like."

"Thank you. I will." He leaned back in his chair and appeared to be thinking.

"Come on," I said, fidgeting, "you said you'd been preparing. You have your questions ready, just get it over with."

He chuckled, inclined his head indulgingly and leaned forward again, resting his elbow on the table, entwining his fingers in front of me.

"Very well, Miss White," he said. "First of all. When were you born?"

"January 11th," I replied. "1974."

He nodded. "Which would make you … Twenty-nine. Good. What are your parents' names?"

"Lillian and John White," I replied.

"And your mother's maiden name?"

Damn it. It was almost as if he knew. I briefly wondered if he hadn't in fact been checking my background before coming here. But if he had he wouldn't have asked about my date of birth. So this had to be just a nasty coincidence.

"Lillian … Rosier," I replied.

He eyes visibly widened. "Really," he said. "Rosier. Quite interesting."

I sighed exasperatedly and leaned back in my chair, wanting for the first time that day to get as far away from him as possible. At that moment I didn't give a crap about the book, I just wanted to leave. "That's three, Snape," I said. "Three to go."

"I can count," he said. "Now, Rosier … I had a different line of questioning all planned out, but now I shall have to take a detour. Lillian Rosier. Considering your age it is more likely he was your uncle – yes, he cannot have been your grandfather. Uncle it is." He glanced at me as if waiting for me to confirm it. I didn't give him the satisfaction.

"Ah, very well," sighed Snape. "I want to be certain. Was Evan Rosier your uncle?"

"Yes," I replied through clenched teeth.

"Hmmm." Snape leaned back again, arms folded across his chest, looking pensive. "I knew your uncle. Quite well, in fact. He was three years older than me, we attended Hogwarts together. Nasty piece of work," he added.

"I wouldn't know," I said. "I only met him once. He died in 1980."

"Yes," nodded Snape. "He very nearly took Alastor Moody with him. I remember it. That was back in the days when the Wizengamot still believed me." He sighed. "When Albus was there to collaborate my story."

His mind appeared to drift off and we sat in silence for a while. Inadvertently his interview had given me some information about him too and we were once again back to the question of his credibility. I remember thinking that if all of this was lies then Severus Snape was a gifted liar indeed. I couldn't understand how he would be able to keep track of it all.

"Well," said Snape, snapping me back to reality. "Now at least I will not have to ask in detail about your mother's family, as I know quite a lot about them. She must have been a few years older than Evan. I do not recall a Lillian Rosier from my school years." He raised an eyebrow at me and I glared at him.

"Ask," I simply said.

He glared back. "How much older than Evan is your mother?"

"Six years," I replied.

"Ah," he nodded to himself. "She had already finished Hogwarts by the time I got there. Makes sense. Very well, let's focus on your father's family then. There were no Whites in Hogwarts while I was there which leads me to believe he wasn't in fact a wizard. Am I correct?"

"Yes," I said. "Muggle."

"Interesting. Your mother was pureblood, her brother and her father were Death Eaters and yet she decided marry a Muggle. I can't imagine that sat well with the Rosiers. Let me see … Evan Rosier died in 1980, and I recall his father's death as well. What about your grandmother, is she still alive?"

I shook my head stubbornly at him. "That's question number seven. Save it for tomorrow, Snape."

"Come on," he snapped, "are you really going to be this petulant?"

"I'm no more petulant than you," I replied. "Tomorrow."

He bit back what I bet was a series of curses and instead straightened up, locking his gaze onto me. "Very well, Miss White. Tomorrow. I will most certainly prepare new, decidedly more intimate questions for our next session."

"Fine," I snapped, getting to my feet. "You'll get your pointless answers about my boring life and in return I get your truth. Tomorrow we get at it for real, Snape, so I suggest you get a good night's sleep."

"Likewise, Miss White." His voice was like ice.

I quickly gathered my things and was out the door in mere seconds. I basically ran down the street and didn't stop until I had turned the corner and no longer felt like small cottage was looking at me from behind. I didn't know what had gotten into me just then. Something about what he'd said – "decidedly more intimate questions" – had totally freaked me out. He'd already put me on edge by diving deep into my sordid family history; I couldn't stand the thought of him … diving into anything else.

I forced it all from my mind. Commanded myself to focus on what he'd shared that day. Then I nodded to myself, gathered all my willpower and ignored my own personal risk in all of this. It's worth it, I told myself.

I decided to head straight for the Wizengamot Libraries first thing in the morning. There I would double-check everything Snape had told me, yes, but more importantly I was going to find out exactly who brewed the Veritaserum four years ago and who brought it to him.

If he was telling the truth it meant that somebody at the Ministry had been lying.


Getting somewhere, plot wise.

At this point it gets a bit complicated so if any of you spot any plot holes, don't hesitate to let me know and I'll fix 'em. More coming very soon.

Also I have to say parts of this particular "arrangement" with Snape in the cottage is inspired by one of my all-time favourite SS/HG stories, This Present Darkness, written on Ashwinder by kizzy7. It was never completed (sadly), but it's still an amazing story.