A.N.: Sincerest gratitude to my beta, amylouise, for going over this. Have I mentioned how wonderful she is? She's honest without being brutal, encouraging, but not demanding, and possesses an uncanny ability to spot missing and misplaced commas! I've just discovered her hidden talent: spotting my glaring Americanisms. She's a godsend!
Chapter 4: Making Progress
Severus stood from the slouched position he'd held resting against the driver's door of the Volvo as she rounded the corner of the building and headed over to him.
"I hope you fared better than I did," he muttered as he opened her car door for her. She was touched that he was acting the gentleman but knew better than to acknowledge it. That would guarantee he'd stop doing it.
She nodded, but waited until he was seated before continuing. "I did. There was a letter from your father to Albus, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot." She started the car, backing carefully out of the space.
He eyed her sharply. "What did it say?"
Hermione regretted the fact that she had so little to tell. "I couldn't read much of it. Privacy charms blurred most of the information. When we get home, I'll write down all that I could read. There might be something in it you'll recognize that meant nothing to me or the Ministry." She could see he was disappointed. "So, did you find anything useful?"
He sighed, holding up a single sheet of notebook paper less than half filled with notes. "I'm not sure any of these are the people I'm looking for. Their names are not terribly unique."
"Any nearby? We could check them out if we're close," she suggested.
He shook his head. "I checked out the only local one before I contacted you. There wasn't anyone around, but I suspect they're probably at work. I'll Apparate to their location this evening to check again."
Hermione frowned. "Why don't we give the list to the investigator and see if he can track them down? They're Muggles, after all. Then we can go visit Dumbledore's portrait this afternoon."
His closed expression warned her he wasn't comfortable with her suggestion. "What is it?" she asked gently. When he didn't answer, she sighed and dropped the subject. They drove silently home, the snowy landscape a colorless, blurry background to their private thoughts.
Hermione set to copying down all that the letter to Dumbledore had revealed as soon as they arrived home, deciding that Severus would eventually bring up the topic of visiting Hogwarts, if that was what his internal conflict was about, or contacting the investigator when he was ready to broach it. She could hear him making their lunch in the kitchen – she hoped her china would survive the experience.
She waited patiently until she heard the tea kettle whistling and made her way to the kitchen, copy of the letter in hand. She laid it at his place setting upside-down, suspecting he might want to study it privately without her scrutinizing his reactions.
They ate without conversation until Hermione took her plate to the sink.
"You may contact the investigator and give the list to him," he said as he handed her the sheet of notebook paper. She noticed he had added several names since she'd seen it in the car. "I'll go to Hogwarts alone." He retrieved the letter Hermione had copied for him from the table on his way out of the room.
The investigator wasn't in his office when she called, so she left a message on his machine. She heard Severus Disapparate a short time later and decided it was as good a time as any to reply to her cousin's e-mail that she'd put off. It was a rehash of topics they'd covered many times before: How have you been? Have you heard from your parents? Have you met anyone?
Hermione was well aware of the clock ticking down on her entrance into her family's social network. Technically, she didn't have to marry. She could become an altruistic eccentric, spending the family fortune on war orphans, art galleries and museums, or Grandfather's favorite: donate to universities or hospitals so that a new wing/library/lab would be given the family name. She'd lost count of how many there were now.
But Hermione was not one for the limelight. It seemed all the options she was to choose from were destined to force her to face the public in some fashion. She didn't have a clue how she was supposed to fit into this world, with no history or background in it since she was eleven. Everyone who graced the social pages had their entire life on display to be picked apart by the masses. She didn't have anything that could be picked apart, and that in itself was a problem. Investigative reporters would be relentless in trying to find something to fill their columns. Rita Skeeter had nothing on the Muggle paparazzi.
Her parents managed to dodge the media frenzy when they went into dentistry. Their London practice was staffed with enough dentists that they really didn't need to be there, and they often took off to remote villages in poverty-stricken countries whenever they had the urge and donated their services to those in need. It was magnanimous enough of an endeavor to satisfy Grandfather Granger and the board of directors, and it was boring enough that the public lost interest and didn't bother them. They had been known to stay away for months on end, so Hermione hadn't been too concerned about their extended sojourn in Australia during the war against Voldemort. Their decision to move there permanently after the war was barely a blurb in the financial section. They sold off the London practice and started up again Down Under, once Hermione had restored their memories, and donated their services to the needy below the equator instead. Grandfather was pleased, eventually, when they pointed out that his reach was now global.
Correspondence taken care of, she returned to the kitchen to read The Daily Prophet. Most days it went unread. Since the war, there was very little in it that interested her. Living a life split between worlds, she needed to read it occasionally to keep herself current, otherwise she wouldn't be able to follow conversations with Harry and Ron when they managed to find the time to visit – which wasn't often.
Ginny kept Harry quite busy now that he didn't have the demands of the war on his time anymore, and Ron had taken to his celebrity status as though it was his god-given right to make a spectacle of himself. When Hermione refused to participate in his ridiculous attention-seeking behavior, he stopped inviting her to go along. She followed his drunken antics in the newspapers with a great deal of anxiety at first. They had an ugly row when he impulsively brought one of his fans back to Hermione's house without thinking. He moved out the next week. She now looked back at the whole experience with a sigh of relief – she'd succeeded in escaping a potentially sticky spot when she extricated herself from him, and they'd stayed friends to boot.
The private investigator returned her call when he arrived at this office, and Hermione faxed the list to him rather than reading it off and having an error occur in the transfer.
She'd just hung up the phone when an owl arrived with a letter. She didn't recognize the owl, undoubtedly one for public use at the owl post office. It was an announcement – an engagement announcement. Apparently, Neville had finally managed to ask Hannah Abbott The Question. And she'd agreed! She was so happy for him; after the trials he'd had to endure in his life, he'd finally come into his own. She wondered how his Gran was adjusting to this new vibrant and strong Neville.
She wished she could go and celebrate with them. Or with Ron and Harry. Or even with Luna and Ginny. But she realized she wouldn't even know where to find any of them right now. Harry and Ron would be in Auror training somewhere. Ginny and Luna were still at Hogwarts, in the final stretch before their NEWTs. She doubted she would be welcomed at Augusta Longbottom's residence – the woman wasn't exactly known for her hospitality.
For the first time, she perceived just how isolated she had become.
If it weren't for Severus, she'd be classified a recluse!
That was a depressing thought. How had she managed to become this anti-social, lonely person? Her thoughts reverted to her first year at Hogwarts – how she had been ostracized by nearly everybody for being too uptight, too bookish.
Neville had been there for her then, before Harry and Ron. She had spent more of her time back then crying in her crimson-canopied bed, avoiding the snide remarks from her classmates in the common room, than she'd spent in the library in her later years. Wouldn't that surprise some people? But they didn't know, because she never told anyone how terribly lonely she had been. And now, she feared she might be falling back into that horrible place.
Well. Nothing for it then. It was time for a bath – or some ice cream. Maybe both.
Where was Crookshanks?
Severus appeared at the Hogwarts gates dressed exactly like he'd always done. His cloak billowed out behind him in the bitingly cold breeze. He tapped his wand on the lock, and it clicked open. Minerva hadn't removed him from the wards then. He sighed and straightened his shoulders. At least the students should be in classes at this time of the afternoon. He didn't relish the stares and whispering he would have had to endure from the students and staff if he'd come during lunch.
It was difficult coming back here. It would have been impossible with Hermione along. Nearly all his best and worst memories dwelt in this place. After the war, he'd thought never to return to it. If not for Albus, he'd never have taught a class. It was not a pursuit he'd envisioned for his life. His was not a temperament suited for dealing with hormone infested imbeciles whose only thoughts were food, sex and Quidditch.
His foolish choices as a young man had put paid to any great career he may have had, though. His desire for Lily Evans, illogical as that desire had been, was the start of the decline that had been his life so far. As a boy, he had no reason to believe Lily wouldn't be his in the end. They were friends, close friends, who told each other all their secrets. And Lily was an affectionate child, always hugging and holding hands. It was really no wonder he fell as hard as he did for her. Never in his life had he been so easily accepted, until Hermione. The other children at his Muggle school made fun of his odd clothing and strange appearance and behavior. Lily overlooked those things, treating him as though he mattered.
In the end he hadn't mattered, though. Once Lily discovered in their fourth year how attractive the other boys thought she was, she flirted shamelessly. Still, Severus couldn't let go of the dream. She'd come back to him someday, he was sure. His Lily was sweet and kind, and she loved him, he knew she did. Only he never was able to distinguish the difference between kinds of love. Love was love, wasn't it? How wrong he turned out to be.
The wards had alerted Minerva to his arrival, and she was in the Entrance Hall waiting for him when he opened the great front door. She looked glad to see him, even as she appeared to be somewhat apprehensive.
"Severus, it's good to see you," she smiled gently as she took his hands and clutched them warmly within her own. "I trust Miss Granger is treating you well?"
"Indeed. I must admit she has been far more generous and accommodating than I had any reason to expect," he agreed, inclining his head.
Minerva chuckled. "Hermione has always had a healthy respect for her teachers. I'm surprised she hasn't driven you to distraction; I imagine she's overcome your intimidation tactics by now and is busily picking your brain."
"Actually, no. I have found her to be respectful of my privacy. She rarely intrudes unless it's important, and her friends have been mercifully absent, for which I am eternally grateful." Now that he thought about it, it seemed rather odd that Potter and Weasley hadn't been to visit once in the weeks since he'd moved in.
Minerva smirked. "They aren't joined at the hip, you know," she admonished playfully. "So, is this a social visit, then?"
He frowned, suddenly unsure of himself. "I need to speak with Dumbledore's portrait. I hope it isn't an imposition?" he asked, only then realizing he probably should have owled ahead. He could see the brief disappointment she tried to hide.
"Of course not," Minerva tutted. "He's been asking about you," she added. "I believe he's tormented with what he asked of you during the war, as well he should be." There was a fierceness in her tone, and Severus could well imagine the discussions that had gone on in the Head's office since she'd taken the position.
She accompanied him to the gargoyle, offering up the password, "Haggis," and the revolving staircase appeared. "Please join me for tea in the teacher's lounge when you've finished," she proffered, grasping his forearm lightly before he headed up. "I could use some good conversation for a change."
He very much doubted he'd be in a disposition suited to genial discourse after his discussion with Albus, but he could hardly refuse her offer. "Certainly," he agreed with a nod of his head.
The anxiety of entering the Head's office after nearly a year built steadily as the stairs carried him upward. His less than stellar stint as Headmaster was an ugly stain on his teaching career, his exit a mark for which he would be forever remembered – the most dastardly of Hogwarts headmasters.
Entering the room was, therefore, a bit of a shock. Evidently his visit had been heralded, as the inhabitants of each and every portrait struggled to a standing position and proceeded to applaud him. He was uncomfortable with the acclaim, but it was better than the alternative, he supposed. He flushed under their praise, his head bowed until the cheers quieted.
"Thank you," he mumbled. "That was quite unnecessary, I assure you. Now, if you don't mind, I'd appreciate a little privacy to discuss a few things with Dumbledore," he asked politely, watching as the portraits emptied of their occupants.
When it was clear they were alone, he glanced up at Albus' face. The old man wore a proud smile, incongruously framed by tears running unchecked down his bearded cheeks. "Severus, my dear boy! I'd begun to despair of ever seeing you again," he chided.
"Don't be ridiculous," Severus scoffed. "My portrait will hang in here someday. You will have me as a captive audience in perpetuity. Your machinations assured that, at least." He wasn't sure how he felt about being a permanent part of the austere group of former headmasters and headmistresses, now that he thought of it.
Albus chuckled delightedly. "Better companions than you and Minerva I could hardly have hoped for," he admitted, eyes twinkling merrily.
"I've come for a reason, Albus," Severus began, settling into the chair across from Minerva's desk, directly in view of Dumbledore. "It's about my father."
Albus collected himself, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief, his glasses resting at the top of his forehead. He gestured for Severus to continue, his eyes no longer twinkling but sharp and attentive.
"As I'm sure you are aware, my mother is due for release from Azkaban soon. In the meantime, I've been trying to locate my father. I've not heard from him since I joined the Death Eaters, and I'm certain my mother will wish to be reunited with him upon her release," he explained. "Miss Granger has been helping in my search recently, and a visit to the Ministry turned up a letter he wrote you shortly after my mother's incarceration. I'd be interested in any information you can share from that letter that may help me find him."
The earnestness of Severus' appeal struck Dumbledore in a way he hadn't been affected since the younger wizard first turned to him to plead for Lily's safety. Perhaps the taciturn man was ready to move on with his life, finally putting his regrets aside and dealing with the outcome of the war. Regrettably, he had nothing of use to impart.
"Ah, yes, I vaguely recall such a letter. I remember turning it over to the Ministry for safe-keeping in the event of my death, so that your father could be contacted upon your mother's release. But as you know, a portrait is only a shade of the person, and I really have no further information to give you. I am sorry, my boy. Perhaps if you were to contact Kingsley Shacklebolt, he would be able to retrieve the letter for you," Albus' portrait suggested gently.
Disappointment clouded Severus' face. "Unfortunately, the letter ended up in Vital Records, where they've applied a Privacy spell to it. Only you or my father would be able to read it now, and since you're dead and my father's a Muggle, that letter is now worthless. Miss Granger saw the letter and copied it for me, but there weren't any usable details left uncovered," he divulged.
"Don't lose faith, Severus. I've found Miss Granger to be surprisingly resourceful. If she's helping you in your search, have no fear. She'll find him," Albus coaxed encouragingly.
Severus left the tower shortly afterward. Making his way down to the teacher's lounge, he recalled the many times Hermione had solved a complicated problem. From deciphering his riddle in her first year, to the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, to something as mundane as getting his Muggle birth certificate, she was a solution-seeking dynamo. It was the very reason he sought her out in the first place. He couldn't help but feel somewhat hopeful.
Minerva served tea while regaling him with gossip of his former colleagues and students, since he'd been out of the loop for so long. He listened politely, nodding and commenting when required.
"How is Miss Granger, Severus? I know she took her parents' rejection quite hard. Has she brought it up with you at all?" Minerva asked.
"She's adjusting, I believe. She's had some moments where it is obvious she's missing them, but overall she seems to be coping well. It helps if she's busy, as I'm sure you recall," he said.
Minerva nodded. "I do," she said, "and that brings up another topic I wanted to discuss with you." She sighed. "I'm old, Severus. I have trouble keeping up with my Head duties and teaching at the same time. I've been thinking of apprenticing Hermione in Transfiguration to prepare her to take over for me. Do you think she'd consider it?"
His stomach plummeted. Hermione's future loomed large, from the prospect of meeting her family's demands to finding rewarding employment, and now this. He knew his feelings in the decision mattered not at all, but he couldn't help hoping that somehow he'd be a part of it in some way. He forced that thought down as far as he could.
"I honestly don't know," he answered. "She hasn't seemed interested in finding a career, from what I've seen, but that could all change very quickly. I can't imagine that she would be satisfied remaining idle for much longer."
Minerva exhaled, relieved. "Would you suggest it to her? Or maybe hint at it? If she's got no interest in it, I don't want her to feel obliged to accept just to appease me. I know she loved this old castle, and she'd be a perfect fit, but I could find someone else if she isn't interested."
"I'll see what I can do," he offered. He hated to crush Minerva's hopes – he knew precisely how difficult her job was.
"I really hoped you'd come back as well, Severus. I know you despised teaching, but if you wanted the headship back, I'd do my very best to get it for you," she pleaded. "These old bones just aren't recovering from the war as well as I could have hoped. I'm looking forward to a long retirement, lounging on a beach somewhere, someday very soon."
As much as he'd wanted to reject the suggestion outright, he promised to think about it. He had entertained a secret desire during the quiet years between Voldemort's deaths to actually earn the helm in his future. The way he'd attained it, however, soured his dream. But if Hermione was to come back here, then he'd like to be here as well. He didn't want to think about what that made him. Stalker? Pedophile? Pathetic, certainly. He noticed he wasn't succeeding very well at pushing those thoughts away anymore.
He left Hogwarts with more questions than answers.
He Apparated directly into the kitchen. The house was very quiet and the shadows of the late afternoon were claiming most of the room, which was odd. Surely Hermione hadn't left. A glance at the key rack at the back door confirmed both sets of car keys were still hanging there. He made his way into the sitting room and found Hermione curled up asleep on the sofa, an empty ice cream carton on the side table.
She was wearing a bathrobe and slippers. The knotted tumble of hair had come loose from its clip and was covering most of her face. A closer look revealed tear tracks dried on her flushed cheeks. The pile of wet tissues should have tipped him off sooner, he realized. Amid the clutter he spotted the announcement, picking it up and reading it without even thinking about it.
So, Longbottom was engaged. He had to admit the boy had matured reasonably well during his final year at school. He still flinched, however, whenever Severus entered the same room. He didn't suppose the boy would ever get over that. Why his engagement would upset Hermione so much, he couldn't fathom.
He put the envelope back where it had been and picked up the empty carton and spoon, intending to return them to the kitchen. The sound of the spoon sliding against the cardboard container startled Hermione awake, and she sat up abruptly. It took her a moment to comprehend where she was and Severus' location standing next to her.
"Um ... sorry. I'll clean up," she muttered, making to rise and trying to gather the cloud of tissues. Avoiding eye contact, she missed the quirked eyebrow as he watched her.
"I never realized you harbored such tender feelings for Mr. Longbottom," he sneered. "How disappointing it must be to find he has offered for another." He hated how spiteful his words sounded, even to his own ears, and wondered why he was acting as if he was the spurned lover all of a sudden.
Hermione snorted, amused. "It's called a pity party, Severus. I was feeling lonely when I realized I wasn't able to celebrate with any of my friends, as they all have lives that don't include me anymore," she sighed. "I don't begrudge any of them their happiness. Besides, it's my own fault. I'm the one who dropped out of their sphere, not the other way around. The shock of Neville's announcement got me thinking about my own circumstances, and I started imagining myself as a hermit surrounded by cats." Her lip curled in disgust at her own piteous behavior.
"I, for one, have never minded being left alone," he admitted. "I find most people tedious to be around for very long, present company excepted." He was surprised to find it was true; Hermione's friendship was beginning to be very important to him.
Hermione smiled cheekily at him. "I bet that hurt to admit." Then she frowned. "But you're right. I'm finding more and more that I desire your company above all others. I hope we can remain friends in the future."
He grunted, which she took as an affirmative. "You are still, and will remain, an insufferable know-it-all," he said, but it lacked his customary vitriol. He turned on his heel, carrying the empty carton to the kitchen. Hermione smiled fondly at his retreating back.
As it was still relatively early, Hermione went to change in her room, discarding the wad of tissues along the way. The telephone rang as she emerged.
After answering it, she covered the mouthpiece. "Severus? Pick up the extension in the kitchen. It's Mr. Gibson, the investigator, on the line," she called out. She heard the unmistakable click of the line being picked up.
"Go ahead, Mr. Gibson, Severus is on the line now," Hermione said.
"I've located three of the people on your list so far. The first two had no information, but the third one said he'd run into your father a few years back in Leeds. Said he was working as a delivery truck driver for an office supply outfit, didn't remember the name, but he seemed well and in good spirits. I thought you'd want to know. At least now I have a lead. And I'll continue checking the people on the list," Mr. Gibson told them.
After due thanks, they hung up. Hermione sought Severus out, wanting to discuss what Mr. Gibson had discovered. She was confused at his disgruntled demeanor when she found him pacing.
"What's wrong? I thought you'd be pleased," she asked.
"He's been on the case for one bloody day and found leads already," he groused. "I've been looking for more than fifteen years!"
"Well, I imagine he's got tons of experience in this type of work, probably has connections built up over years of doing just this kind of thing. I'm not really that surprised, truthfully. If we were searching in the wizarding world, I'm certain you'd have been equally successful," she added, trying to placate him. "Anyway, I'm sure we'll get a written report of how he went about his search. It's part of his job, to document his movements, in order to validate his fees."
His mood suitably soothed, he dropped heavily into the chair by the mantle. "I wonder why I hadn't thought of hiring a Muggle investigator before this," he admitted.
Hermione sat on the sofa facing him. "There wasn't any reason to, before. If it hadn't been for the condemning of his house, he'd have made contact with you there, and all this could have been avoided. Although I'd have missed out on becoming friends with you," she confessed.
He tried to smother his grin, but she saw it and grinned back.
"So, how did your visit to Hogwarts go?" she asked, changing the subject.
He sighed, dreading the upcoming revelations. "Dumbledore's portrait doesn't remember much about the letter, other than forwarding it on to the Ministry shortly after receiving it. It is only a shade of the man, after all, so not everything he knew is transferred to the canvas."
"That's too bad," Hermione commiserated.
Severus waited a beat, then plunged in. "I had a talk with the Headmistress while I was there. She's looking for a Transfiguration apprentice to take over teaching her classes. She said she's looking to retire." He watched her carefully for any signs of interest and was both relieved and disappointed when he saw none. "She also offered to try to get me reinstated as Headmaster if I wanted it."
Her eyes flicked to his in mild alarm. "Do you want it?" she asked breathlessly.
"Possibly," he acknowledged. "It would depend on what other offers I get," he added. "I can't live off you indefinitely, after all." He smirked mischievously at her.
Oh, but you could, she thought, eyes glinting merrily. "I suppose not. After all, how would it look to the neighbors?" she agreed with a cheeky smile. "What other offers have you had?"
He looked away. "No promising ones. I've been contacted by some disreputable sorts who wanted potions made for them, but nothing I'd risk Azkaban for."
"Well, you can stay here as long as you like. As I've said before, I've more money than I'll ever spend, so it's not a hardship having you here. Plus, it keeps me from becoming a recluse."
As it was the second time that day she'd mentioned it, Severus did something he'd never done before. "Come on, we're going out tonight," he stood, offering her a hand up.
She started, hesitating, before taking his hand. "Where are we going?" she asked, bewildered.
"Diagon Alley," he said, Summoning their cloaks. He wrapped his arm around her and Disapparated them away.
The bustle of people in Diagon Alley making their way from place to place was enough to brighten Hermione's spirits considerably. They walked leisurely down the main thoroughfare, looking in storefront windows, commenting on the wares displayed. Several people stared at the two of them, walking arm in arm, but none dared to approach or comment.
Spotting a sale at Flourish and Blotts, Hermione coaxed him into the store. She smiled at the smell of new books that assailed them when they entered. They perused the shelves, discussing authors and topics on offer as they meandered, picking up books and putting them back as they debated the merits of each one. Half an hour later, they had made their selections and left the store with their purchases.
"I'm rather famished," Severus admitted, steering them toward the Leaky Cauldron. "Let's get something to eat."
Once they had settled at an empty table near the front that let out on Muggle London, Tom came and took their orders. They sat quietly a few minutes while Hermione reflected on the times she'd come here with her parents at the start of each new school year to do her school shopping.
She suddenly gasped, stunned.
"What is it?" Severus turned toward the entrance, not seeing anything to be concerned about.
She cast Muffliato around them hastily. "I can't believe I hadn't thought of it before!" Hermione exclaimed. "Severus, did your mother ever bring your father to Diagon Alley?"
"Of course," he answered, confused as to where she was going.
"Then he knows about the Leaky Cauldron!" she continued excitedly.
"But he's a Muggle," Severus stated, dumbfounded.
"Yes, but once he'd been inside, it was no longer hidden from him. I know my parents could see it once Professor McGonagall brought us here the first time. Don't you see? It's a connection to the wizarding world that he didn't need you or your mother for!"
Severus paled as the implications finally set in. He glanced around the room looking for Tom, but didn't see him, and supposed he was in the kitchen getting their meals together.
Hermione saw his anxiety and reached out to grasp his wrist. "Let's wait until the place clears out some, all right? We don't need to have your family history show up on the front page of the paper."
Severus nodded. There were no empty tables, so he figured they were in for a long wait. His attention was drawn to the entrance to Muggle London, watching the hoards of people passing, their breaths puffing out in clouds in front of their faces in the cold air, oblivious to the pub hidden from their view. He noticed one or two who seemed to actually see it, though, and was encouraged by that.
A waiter brought out their meals a short while later, but a glance at the bar confirmed Tom hadn't left the building. Hermione went up to the bar to speak with him, leaving Severus at the table to wonder what she was doing. She returned with a Firewhisky and a butterbeer.
"Tom said his helper will tend bar tonight, and he'll meet with us in the back after the dinner crowd disperses," she told him as she set the Firewhisky in front of him. "Drink that. You look like you're about to jump out of your skin," she admonished.
Severus took a sip, grimacing. "I don't usually drink this stuff," he admitted. "It tastes foul."
"Sorry. You looked as though you needed something bracing. What would you have preferred?"
"Brandy, or lacking that, wine." Seeing her move to stand, he grabbed at her arm. "This will do. It's probably better, anyhow. Faster acting," he conceded, taking another sip and starting in on his lamb chops.
They ate while they outlined the plan to gather as much information from Tom as they could without divulging too much. As Hermione had said, it wouldn't do to have Severus' most humiliating moments splashed across the pages of the Daily Prophet.
Two butterbeers, a Firewhisky, and a snifter of brandy later saw the last of the patrons clear out of the dining room. There were still a few lingerers at the bar, but Tom set his bar rag aside and motioned to them to join him in a back room.
Hermione elected to leave the questioning to Severus, as he was the one with the most experience in deflecting suspicion. She couldn't dissemble to save her life. Well, except for that time at Malfoy Manor, she remembered, fingering the scar at her neck unconsciously.
"Snape, Miss Granger," Tom greeted cordially, "what can I do fer yeh?"
"Do you get many Muggles in here?" Severus asked, getting straight to the point.
"Nearly every day," Tom admitted, eyebrows raised.
"Any that are alone?"
"Occasionally. Why? Yeh lookin' fer someone?"
"Yes, as it happens, we are. Miss Granger pointed out to me earlier that once a Muggle has entered this establishment, they can always find it again." At Tom's nod, he continued. "I've been trying to locate a Muggle man for some time and thought he might have come in here looking for me."
Tom thought hard for a few seconds. "No, can't say I recall anyone asking fer yeh by name. A man, yeh say? Could yeh describe 'im? Only, I get so many in here, it might help to narrow it down a bit."
"An older man, brown hair that may have gone gray, probably clean-shaven. He might have asked for ale," Severus suggested, remembering his father's favorite pub beverage.
No spark of recognition was in evidence, so Hermione offered, "He may have parked a delivery van outside."
"Oh, yes! I remember 'im. Comes in about once a month since the beginnin' of the year. Asked me to hold all the old Prophets for 'im, then he spends an hour or so readin' them over a meal before he leaves again. Good tipper," he added. "Seems like a nice enough fellow. That the guy yer lookin' fer?"
Severus glanced at Hermione. He could see she was struggling to contain a smile. "Probably," he answered. "When was the last time you saw him?"
Tom scrunched up his face, glancing at the ceiling. "'Bout three weeks ago, mebbe. My pile of Prophets is gettin' pretty big, so I'll be expecting to see 'im soon. Yeh want a Floo-call when he shows?"
"That would be appreciated," Hermione assented. "You wouldn't by any chance remember anything about the van? Possibly the name of the company he works for?" she added hopefully.
"No words on it, just some sort of symbol. It don't mean nothin' in our world, so I don't know what it refers to," he confided.
"Could you draw it?" Hermione suggested.
Tom got up, crossed the room to a table in the corner and collected a quill, ink, and a torn piece of parchment. He sat down and sketched a crude rendition of a logo formed from initials curved around each other.
"I think that's it, best I can recall, anyway," he said, pushing the sketch across the table to them. "It struck me as very like the patches on the Aurors robes, yeh know: M.O.M., Ministry of Magic."
As Hermione looked at it, she could see what he meant, though the initials were M.O.D.
"Thank you, Tom," Severus said, getting to his feet. He reached out, grasping Hermione's elbow to help her up as well, picking up the piece of parchment and stuffing it in his robe pocket with his other hand. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't alert the gentleman that we're looking for him when he shows up."
"'Course not," Tom scoffed. "I'm not a total idiot, am I? Don't rightly know what yeh want 'im fer, but if Miss Granger here's involved, can't be nothin' bad, now can it? Her best friend bein' Potter, an' all."
Severus nodded curtly and escorted Hermione out the back of the pub to Diagon Alley. His brusqueness alerted Hermione that he was disturbed about something, and as she replayed the last of the conversation in her head, she realized what had upset him.
"He didn't mean anything by it, you know. He wasn't trying to insinuate that you'd do anything bad to your father, only that he was aware of me being Muggle-born and with Harry being an Auror, he knew whatever business we have with your father, it had to be legitimate." She wound her arm around his back to comfort him, glad when he didn't push her away. She rubbed his back soothingly through his robes as they walked, feeling the tension easing away and only releasing him when they reached the Apparition point.
"We're really going to find him," he stated wonderingly, more to himself than to her.
She smiled. "I believe so," she agreed, before Disapparating into the sitting room at home. Severus appeared a split second later, and watched bemusedly as Hermione pulled out the last few days' worth of Muggle newspapers from the pile at the hearth. She started leafing through them quickly while kneeling on the floor.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Hermione glanced up. "Looking for that logo. If it's a national company, they may have an advert in the paper. Oh! Maybe we should check the telephone directory," she muttered as she got up off the floor and headed to the kitchen.
Severus shook his head, muttering to himself about flighty witches, before settling himself on the floor to look through the papers himself. He pulled out the Sunday edition with its abundance of glossy circulars falling out of it, figuring that was the best place to start.
Hermione came back in, leafing through the directory. "Nothing," she admitted. "Maybe the company doesn't have a branch in this area," she speculated.
She settled back on the floor, picking up where she had left off. They spent over half an hour meticulously scanning the papers.
"Here," Severus pointed excitedly at the paper in his hand. In the classifieds was an advertisement for a delivery driver wanted. "Middlesex Office Depot." The logo at the top confirmed it was the company they were seeking.
Hermione hummed noncommittally, frowning.
"What?" Severus asked.
"I seem to remember hearing of them before. Come with me," she stood, heading downstairs, "I want to check something out."
She sat down at the computer, thankfully still on, as Severus had made a habit of using it fairly often and rarely shut it down anymore. A few keystrokes, and Hermione's suspicions were confirmed.
"Twelve locations," she read off the screen in a small, defeated voice as Severus stood behind her, leaning over her shoulder. "It could take some time to track him down."
"At least we have narrowed it down considerably," Severus allowed, not letting Hermione's tone discourage him. "We'll pass this information on to Gibson in the morning. Let him earn his fees," he smirked at her.
Please review!