Just because Hermione refused his help, it did not mean their contract was annulled. As long as he kept his distance from her, Snape could still help Hermione become an Auror. As much as he hated to admit, the collection of scribbles in Hermione's notebooks and careful plans had proved far more useful than he had imagined. From there, he realized that there had been a connection that linked both the Zabinis to the dead Vincent Crabbe and the casino. That connection had been the Flowerkeeper the Minister had ordered to set up the exhibit of Oasria roses. The week before the murder, Crabbe had been staying in the Grand Hotel and gambling in the casino with the Flowerkeeper. And where there was gambling, there were galleons. Millions of galleons. If Crabbe was murdered, it was out of revenge for winning something too valuable.
Granger had taken careful notes about the suspects. The Flowerkeeper was a kept man, noted by his photograph. He had also owned a collection of rare sculptures that were to be displieed among the roses the night of the opening. Perhaps one of the sculptures had been won by Crabbe and the Flowerkeeper wanted to murder him to retrieve his possession back.
Snape followed the trail of maps leading to the wizard's apartment and was almost too shocked to discover that the Flowerkeeper was none other than:
Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart.
His old colleague. A tacky collection of curtains and souvenirs littered the tasteless sitting room. Some poppycock he found during his famous travels. The man was a complete doozy- a boastful one at that who ran his mouth more than his wand. Snape puffed as he remembered one wonderful encounter at Lockhart's duel club where he had knocked the professor out senseless with his crown spell. If he were anything as foolish as before, finding out information of Crabbe would be easier than Expelliarmus.
Lockhart was in the shower. Evident by his incessant singing. He emerges wearing a speckled robin robe and leopard slippers. Upon seeing Snape sprawled on his couch, he yelps, searching furiously for his wand.
"Looking for this?" Snape holds up the wood. "Don't worry, I simply wanted to make sure you didn't make any rash decisions."
"How did you get in here?"
"Your agent let me in. Did you forget about our interview for the Quibbler this afternoon?"
The wizard straightened, brushing his hair back.
"Ah yes, the Quibbler. My adoring fans would like to see my harem where I…find inspiration for my books. Make sure to write about my latest one Lockhart: Singing in Salem."
Pompous boat. Snape pushed his spectacles down and mimicked writing in one of Hermione's empty notepads. The wizard went around the room in a most comical fashion, his crown jewels almost peaks from behind the robes as he imitated snatching the snares off the necks of the Salem witches and leading them to freedom.
"Mr Lockhart, our readers will be most fascinated however one wondering fan would like to know what sorts of rare treasures they could expect to see at your latest display at the Queen Mary Rose Gardens?"
"Well of course my inquisitive fans would like to know, but my latest collection is a big secret. I can only say that it will bewitch the eyes and ensnare the senses of their little eyeballs."
The words were well descriptive and stirred Snape's ears; maybe only because the words were his very own.
"Well Mr. Lockhart, our readers are…not so sure they will be able to come to the displie as it premieres the same weekend as the Prime Minister's famous Rose garden display. Now of course, we at the Quibbler would like to paint your event as being more important than some roses. If you could give our readers some eclusive content they could expect to see, then surely-"
"Right right. An excellent marketing scheme. How come I did not think of it myself. Ah right! I did! When I was publishing my first book I did an interview- right, you were asking?"
"The sculptures."
"Right! The sculptures I am displieing are exclusive head carvings of the original Salem witches murderously burned at stake. Of course, had I been alive then, none of this would have happened. However, I am very disappointed to say that my one famous sculpture had been sold to a friend."
The Flowerkeeper. Of course, now it all made sense. And perhaps Crabbe had been entangled with the plan or had won the sculpture from him and sold it.
"Leaving so soon? How about a cup of tea? Now during my travels to the Jungles of Amazon as I was wiritng my novel Airdiving in the Amazons, I had encountered a plant whose leaves produced the most wonderous drink-"
"I do not want to take up any more of your precious time. Mr. Lockhart. You are afterall busy man." He glanced at the writing desk in the corner, the ink in the well had all but set in stone from misuse. "But my readers will be itching with desire to read about the Stiches of Salem"
"Witches. And do not forget to mention my newest autobiography releasing next month: Lockhart- the man who defeated the Chamber of Secrets."
Obviously.
As he leaves the building, congratulating himself on the simplicity of the mission at the hands of Granger, he was leaves with a sinking feeling inside his chest. One he could not get rid of as easily as the feather boa Lockhart had gifted him upon his departure. One chance to make things right between him and the witch and he had mulled it up as well. Would she ever forgive him?
Deep inside, he knew she would not. Neither in the Afterlife, nor before had he been able to control his nasty temper around the witch. Of course she was insufferable as always and the years gone by had cemented this phenomenal ability to nag and gripe to no end. However she was quite resourceful and had been quite quick to overlook his tempter. But perhaps, it was also the thinks that he would help her secure her job back and not about her affections towards him. Surely this was right.
And really, none of it mattered because she was not at all responsible for his crass tone. It was all him and it had always been him. Rude, crass, snarky, greasy, disgusting. And now also undead and useless to everyone including himself. The sooner he completed his deal, the better. For good reason too. The contract with the Master would end in a week's time and she would be better off without him.
On the other hand, he knew exactly what he had to do.