Thanks for all the reviews, and if I get some for this chapter I really hope I'll have enough time to answer them. ;)
Twenty-five
"Well, well, well, without doubt this is the most confusing and complicated case I've come across in my entire career."
Shaking his head, the white haired wizard in the pin-striped robes and a tie that matched the colour of his dark blue eyes, extracted some sheets of paper full of printed script from the thin file he had been leafing through, closed the folder and put it on top of several others, older and much more voluminous ones, sitting in a neat pile on the right hand side of his polished desktop. He put the papers down on the desk pad before him and straightened them; then he looked up, removing his gold-rimmed reading glasses and focusing on the three people in front of his desk.
"Mr Smith, you have applied for admittance into the wizarding community of Great Britain on account of your recently discovered ability to do magic..."
His blue gaze concentrated on the man in the middle, who reacted with an almost imperceptible nod. The reading glasses were put on again and the official consulted the papers.
"Your magic has been confirmed by several trustworthy witnesses and you have passed the written wizarding test with outstanding results, which is absolutely amazing. Nobody has accomplished that so far..."
He looked at another paper in front of him, shaking his head in admiration.
"So your becoming a member of the wizarding community of Britain is only a matter of signing this form..."
His forefinger, slightly gnarled with arthritis, landed on another paper.
"...and paying the administration fee. However,..."
The official sat back in his chair and eyed the three people in front of him with an expression of mild reproach.
"...what makes proceedings complicated is the fact that according to the particulars concerning your identity you are in fact Severus Snape, who has been presumed dead since the Battle of Hogwarts. Your identity has been checked in the Ministry registers and confirmed by several high-ranking witnesses."
His gaze now travelled to the man and the woman sitting next to John.
"According to your statement here you would prefer to keep the Muggle name John Smith in order to avoid the attention and curiosity connected with the personage of Severus Snape."
John nodded.
"You understand that by doing so you forego your entitlement to an Order of Merlin, First Class, as well as to your pension as a war hero."
Again, John nodded. The official sighed.
"This is all very well and perfectly understandable, but as, on the other hand, you would like to retrieve the memories you presented to Harry Potter during the Battle of Hogwarts..."
The pinstriped man leaned closer towards John, fixing him with a severe stare over the rims of his spectacles, and putting his hands together in concentration, fingertips joining fingertips.
"...this means that instead of completing the process with a straightforward administrative act we need to make a detour. First, we have to stage your resurrection as Severus Snape, thus enabling you to retrieve the memories, which have been charmed in such a way as to allowing none other but the true owners – either you or Mr Potter – to touch them. Afterwards we must use an 'oblittero' spell on the register and let Severus Snape rest in peace again. Then you'll begin your life as John Smith and we can enter your new name in our lists. This is not only extremely time-consuming an act, it also means that you must pay the administration fee twice."
"I know – can you just get on with things," John said impatiently.
"Very well, Mr Snape – it is my duty to point this out to you," the official replied with offended dignity and handed over one of the papers.
"It's alright, Mr Toadbury; Sev...John is well-informed about the procedure, we've talked it over in detail," the tall black man sitting next to John tried to placate.
"Be that as it may, Mr Shacklebolt, I must follow the rules. Now, Mr Smith, or Mr Snape rather, if you will please sign here...this is the confirmation that Severus Snape is still alive."
John took the proffered quill and signed his old name rather awkwardly. He had not used either signature or quills for quite a long time. The official took the document back and handed over another one, surveying both papers with something bordering on disgust.
"Paper," he said, shaking his head, "paper and computer script. Some of our people have also given up quills in favour of biros and felt-tips, and the use of computers is becoming more and more common here at the Ministry. What, in Merlin's name, has our world come to? What is wrong with quills and parchment?"
He looked at his visitors challengingly, and when there was no reaction, shook his head again and pointed at the paper.
"With this document, Mr Snape, you can go down to the Department of Mysteries and retrieve your memories. The official there will be obliviated immediately afterwards so that he won't remember having met you. Mr Shacklebolt here will accompany you, showing you the way and performing the obliviate."
The two men pushed back their chairs and made to rise.
The official turned to the third visitor.
"Would you like a cup of tea while we are waiting, Minerva?"
The tea had a greyish hue and a single tentative sip convinced Vivian that it was indeed undrinkable. She almost gagged and put the mug on the table with a violent bang that made the liquid slop over the rim. Looking for something that would be able to rid her taste buds of the disgusting dishwater flavour, she reached for the small packet of biscuits that had come with the tea.
What were they thinking, even if this cafe merely served as camouflage for the entrance to the Scottish Ministry of Magic and all the other patrons were Aurors in mufti they could have the decency to sell drinks that tasted acceptable. On the other hand,...Vivian frowned at the offensive mug, following this new idea...they certainly didn't want the place teeming with unsuspecting Muggle customers, so perhaps there was a purpose in the foul tasting liquids innocently labelled tea and coffee.
The biscuits were ordinary ginger nuts and Vivian struggled with a mouthful of spicy dryness, wondering if asking for a glass of water would be safe.
She decided to risk it; and when the water arrived, she examined it carefully, checking the colour and the smell of the liquid before taking a deep gulp. It tasted like water, plain tap water. Vivian let out a deep breath of relief and looked at her watch. Half an hour since she had arrived, thirty minutes...to her it seemed like an eternity.
How long would it take John to become a fully-fledged wizard again and deal with his memories? Hard to tell...she might as well get some work done. Emptying the glass and pushing the mug to the far side of the table while mopping up the spilt tea with a paper napkin, she unpacked her laptop and switched it on. When she started to type, the soft clicking sound of the keys seemed overly loud and looking up she realized that apart from the soft background music the room was silent. All the conversations had stopped, all the faces had turned towards her, watching her suspiciously. Silly wizards, Vivian thought furiously. Had they never seen a Muggle with a laptop before? Clenching her teeth, she tried to ignore the stares and concentrated on her work, fervently hoping that John would come back soon...
The young man couldn't help staring open-mouthed at the tall, thin man in front of him. It was HIM, no doubt about it, it was Severus Snape, his old potions master, the bane of hundreds of mediocre Hogwarts potions classes, the notorious Death Eater turned spy whom everybody had believed dead. He looked different, healthier and younger, despite the grey strands in his hair. Moreover, he was better groomed, clad in a well-cut dark blue suit, his hair less greasy and tied back in a ponytail. The large nose, however, was unmistakable, as was the characteristic forbidding posture with his arms crossed severely in front of his chest, making one feel like a timid first year again... The young man caught Snape's sardonic eye and felt his cheeks grow hot, berating himself silently for his stupid, childish and impolite behaviour.
After all, he was an ambitious Ministry official now, well on his way up a promising career ladder, not a student in awe of a terror-inspiring teacher any longer. Even if the man in front of his desk was the famous Severus Snape, returned from the dead, wanting to retrieve the equally famous memories that had originally been stored in the Department of Mysteries in London for three years and were now waiting for their rightful owner in the much smaller Scottish Department of Mysteries here in Edinburgh.
The soft chime of a bell sounded and a small purple box materialized somewhere near the ceiling, gliding smoothly down onto the desk at the command of the young man's slightly trembling wand.
"Here you are, Mr...eh....Professor....eh...Snape," he stammered, pushing the box towards his former teacher.
"You have to confirm the reception of the object with your signature, Sir," he added and pointed at a quill and a large tome open on the desk. His former teacher picked up the box and signed his name in the book. Then he and Kingsley Shacklebolt turned to go.
"Good bye, Professor Snape. It's... good that you... survived," the young man said, blushing a deep shade of red at his bravery.
Snape looked over his shoulder and answered with a curt nod. His companion turned round, his hand hidden in the pocket of his robes. He looked hard at the young man, who remained standing, staring into space, his eyes glazing over instantly. Shacklebolt's wand came out of his pocket and performed a quick spell over the page of the book on the desk. Then the two men left.
"I have arranged for a pensieve and a spare office," Skacklebolt said when they had reached the stairs. "It's on the next floor, first door on the right. You know what you must do. When you are ready, join me in Toadbury's office."
John nodded and went upstairs.
The red light started blinking – unexpectedly and much too soon, as always. 'Low battery status' – the irritating warning popped up on the screen, giving Vivian just enough time to save her work before the screen went black. With a sigh, she snapped her laptop shut and put it in its bag. She glanced at her watch. An hour since she had started working. What was John doing, what was taking him so long?
She tapped her fingers on the table, fidgeting with nervousness. She had taken the day off, so there was time enough at her disposal, but being forced to wait here, in ignorance of what was going on in the Ministry was extremely nerve-racking.
She was just wondering if she should order another glass of water when the waiter appeared at her table, carrying a small tray with a teapot and scones.
"My apologies for this..." he jerked his head at the old mug full of cold 'tea'.
"I didn't realise...thought you were one of those dreadful Muggles..."
He put the tray on the table.
"This is on the house. Order from above..." This time his head jerked in the direction of the Ministry entrance.
"It's real tea. Same stuff we serve to the Minister."
Vivian bit back a sarcastic retort and smiled gratefully, wondering where in the Ministry the order had come from and deciding that it didn't really matter. Real tea and scones with butter and jam – there were worse ways to pass the time. She dug into her bag for the paperback romance she had providently packed, found the page she had marked and started dealing with the scones...
John was sitting at the desk, the pensieve in front of him, the empty bottle lying next to it. He had his cheeks cupped in his hands and was staring at the far wall.
His memories had not improved by viewing them a second time. What a man he had been! What a life he had led! Slowly unbuttoning the cuff of his shirt, he pushed the white fabric away from his forearm. The Mark – in spite of being dead now, faded, harmless, it still remained repulsive, menacing and vile. It would always be an ugly, disgusting and dark part of his body, reminding him of the mistakes he had made, the wrong turns he had taken in his youth and of the atrocities he had been forced to commit.
Despite its creator being dead there was no chance of it ever vanishing completely, neither naturally nor with the help of human healing skills.
The memories were part of him too, even if he had them destroyed, their shadows would stay with him forever. They were part of his personality; it was no use denying them. Thoughtfully he traced the outlines of the Mark with his forefinger, watching the ripples of contortions his finger created by stretching the soft white skin. Goosebumps appeared at his touch and he shivered. The memories – would he be able to cope with them? On no account did he want them stored at the Ministry, he didn't want these strangers to be in possession of a part of his mind. Destroying them, on the other hand, would feel as if some part of him was wiped out once and for all. So what did that leave him with? John straightened in the chair, raising his arms above his head, stretching vigorously. There was only one option – he would have to take them back, accept the man he had been, come to grips with his past – whatever that would mean for him. Did he have the strength for that? He groaned, running his hands through his hair, pulling the strands loose from the ponytail. He had no choice, he had to do it. And this time he was not alone, there was a small network of people who supported him, people he could trust, friends...and there was Vivian who loved and accepted him in a way others...even Lily... had never been able to.
With a determined movement, he picked up his wand. Murmuring the words he had practised over and over again during the last few days, he held it over the pensieve and watched in fascination, as thin, silvery strands started to emerge from the stone basin and attached themselves to the tip of his wand. Forcing his hand to stay calm he moved the wand to his head and pressed the tip to his temple, holding his breath, waiting for something extraordinary to happen; however, there was only a strange tingling of the skin and then the strands had vanished. He exhaled deeply and readied himself to repeat the action...
Themistocles Toadbury had come over to the visitors' side of his desk, and soon they were chatting comfortably, talking about their school days and exchanging information about the current situations and whereabouts of several mutual friends. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been called away by an urgent message some time ago.
Somewhere along the line the cups of tea were joined by glasses of old single malt whisky, which soon became responsible for a certain amount of brightness in hyperopic eyes and a soft blushing on elderly cheeks. The knock on the door interrupted Minerva McGonnagal's fond reminiscences of a transfiguration spell gone wrong which had turned their teacher's chair into a galloping horse. Reluctantly she turned towards the door.
"Enter," Themistocles Toadbury said, pronouncing the two syllables with great care.
The door opened and in came Severus Snape – no, John Smith, no, still Severus Snape, pale and tired looking, a small empty bottle in his hand. He put the bottle on the desk and turned to face the two older wizards, his lip curling slightly when he saw the whisky bottle.
"I'm ready. Can we go on?"
Minerva McGonnagal pushed up her spectacles and her white-haired companion returned to his seat behind the desk with slow, deliberate steps.
"Certainly, Mr Snape. If you...if you would give me the document, please..."
John took a folded sheet of paper from the breast pocket of his jacket and handed it to the official, who held it in his left hand and picked up his wand, aiming at the paper. "Deleto,"he said and after three failed attempts, the paper vanished.
John took a deep breath.
"Well, that's that. And now, the next step: Mr Smith, welcome to the wizarding community."
With an exaggerated flourish he directed his wand at another paper.
"This document is valid now; your name will be added to the official register of wizards in Great Britain as soon as you have paid the fees. The cash desk is on the first floor, room 177, just follow the signs."
John took the document, and again his lips curled into an ironic smile.
"The fees...of course," he said, bowing slightly, his voice smooth and polite.
"Oh, Sev....John, I mean...you've done it! You've really done it. I'm so glad. Come here, my dear friend, a bit of celebration is in order, I think."
Minerva McGonnagal had got up from her chair, stepping forward a bit, her movements slightly insecure. Spreading her arms, she seemed intent on pulling her former colleague in an enthusiastic embrace. John, realising the danger, hastily took a step backwards and made for the door.
"Sorry, Minerva, no time for celebrations yet, I must pay the fees..."
Full of tea and scones, Vivian became so immersed in her paperback romance that she did not pay attention to her surroundings and even had forgotten to keep her eyes on the passage at the back of the cafe where the entrance to the Ministry was hidden. Suddenly the movement of someone sitting down at the opposite side of her table made Vivian look up from her novel with a start.
"John!" she exclaimed, dropping the book on the floor in surprise.
He picked it up, frowned at the title and handed it to her. Vivian looked at her watch.
"It took so long..."
John shrugged.
"A lot of red tape was involved..."
She looked at him closely.
"How do you feel... as a newly installed wizard?"
He snorted softly.
"Fine...Well, as a matter of fact, I don't feel any different at all..."
"Well, that's what we hoped for, didn't we?"
Again he shrugged.
"I suppose."
Once more Vivian eyed him critically. He didn't look 'fine', he looked worn out and tired.
"The memories...? Did you...?"
"I put them back where they belong."
His right hand touched his forehead.
"Good."
He nodded with a dubious frown.
"I hope so."
Vivian frowned back and exhaled deeply.
"Oh dear, ...not in the mood for celebrations, are you? Where are the others, by the way?"
He sighed wearily and waved his hand in the direction of the ministry entrance.
"Minerva was in a celebratory mood. I managed to slip away quietly. Vivian, look...can we just go home?"
His hand on the table made a half-hearted move to grasp hers, and he made no effort to hide the longing in his eyes. Suddenly she felt the urge to wrap him in her arms, hold him, comfort him, kiss him, and...
Feeling the heat rise in her cheeks and her mouth go dry, Vivian swallowed hard and picked up her cup, draining the last drops of cold tea to regain her composure and make her voice work.
"Home?" she repeated hoarsely, "yes, eh...absolutely, good idea. Your place or mine?"
For a short moment, he was at a loss for words, blinking helplessly. Then the corners of his mouth twitched.
"Well, since you ask...your flat offers more privacy than the convent, I think..."
Vivian felt another wave of heat in her face and made a show of stuffing her novel in her bag in an attempt to conceal her crimson cheeks.
When the heat had receded and she dared look at him again, his features were noticeably more relaxed, his smile had lost the strained quality. A quick nod of agreement and they pushed their chairs back, John reaching for the laptop and Vivian adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, when a commotion and a joyful shout at the back of the room made them stop in their tracks.
"John!" Minerva McGonnagal exclaimed, waving a tartan-clad arm, making all the heads turn and stare at them. John winced, muttering something rude under his breath and looking around for a possible route of escape. Finding none, he exchanged a quick glance with Vivian.
"Looks as if we can't avoid celebrations," he said grimly and sotto voce, facing the small group of people winding their ways through the chairs and tables with a scowl. Minerva, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley, all of them with happy smiles on their faces...
Vivian took his hand and squeezed it gently.
"Let's bow to the inevitable and face the music," she muttered with a sigh, and added, even more softly, "We can go home afterwards. It's only a pleasure deferred."
His arm went around her waist and he drew her close in brief consent, before surrendering to Arthur Weasley's congratulatory handshake.
Thanks to Ms Rowling for letting me borrow characters and plot.