6 Talking to Snape

The prospect of finding and addressing the famous Severus Snape had given Helene sleepless nights. She had imagined various scenarios of contacting him, scheduling a minutely prepared meeting and convincing him to gladly give up his sheltered life and offer his help. But none had involved spotting him in his garden on her first day in the village and starting a spontaneous conversation.

So Helen found herself overwhelmed by her own courage and didn't quite know how to go on.

Meanwhile the man had turned, walking towards the garden gate, frowning. His face clearly bore the expression 'This better will be good'. Helen swallowed, wiped her suddenly sweaty hands on her jeans and cleared her throat.

"Hi! I'm Helen, I'm a healer at St. Mungo's."

His face became stony.

"What do you want?" His voice was gravelly, like that of a heavy smoker.

"I'm researching Wolfsbane and..."

"Who told you about me?" His tone was dangerously calm.

"Minister Shacklebolt himself," Helene replied with a confidence she didn't feel.

"Did he now?" Snape said softly, but his face was like thunder.

"Actually, it was more of an accident, me learning about you, I mean I..."

Raising his hand to stop her, Snape opened the garden gate rather vehemently.

"Come inside, I don't think you want the whole village to listen in to this conversation."

He turned and started walking towards the cottage. Helene remained rooted to the spot. She couldn't quite believe her luck. Snape had not been pleased about her visit, but neither had he told her to get lost right away, he was actually inviting her into his house. This certainly was a good sign. Now it was up to her to make the best of this opportunity, she silently prayed she had inherited some diplomacy skills from her father, she would really need them now.

"What are you waiting for?"

Snape's rough voice tore her from her musings and set her feet in motion.

The back door led to a narrow hall. Wellies and hiking boots neatly lined up, raincoats and jackets on pegs on the walls. Helen followed Snape past the kitchen door into the living room.

"Sit", he ordered.

Obediently she sat down on the edge of the sofa, which was beige with a floral design that matched the curtains, and strewn with various cushions. Helen guessed that Snape's mother was responsible for the furnishings of this room.

"I intended to make myself a cup of tea when you turned up."

Snape's tone of voice left no doubt of how much of a nuisance he considered her presence.

"Now I have to offer you one, too, I presume. Would you like one?"

Helen almost laughed at this blandness.

"Yes, please, I'd like one very much," she replied politely.

Her host grimaced and left for the kitchen.

Helen used his absence to let her eyes roam. The room had a comfortable, lived-in atmosphere with just the right mixture of tasteful furnishings and casual clutter - she'd feel at home here. One wall was covered with bookshelves filled to the breaking point; venerable looking tomes were competing for space with paperbacks. Two armchairs next to the cast-iron fireplace, a small TV set and a stereo tucked away in the corner, next to two of those typical narrow IKEA shelves full of CDs and DVDs. More books, newspapers and magazines stacked beneath the coffee table. There was no trace of anything magical in this room. Had Snape given up magic all together? If this was the case, then...

"Tea."

Snape returned, carrying a tray. He plonked a mug with the teabag still in it down on the coffee table in front of her, together with a tray with milk, sugar, a spoon and a tea bag tray and retired with his own mug to one of the armchairs.

"Well, then, why are you here? What exactly is it you want?" he demanded, cradling the mug in his hands as if wishing to warm them.

Helene busied herself pulling the teabag out of her mug and depositing it on the little teabag tray – light green with polka dots. Then she added some milk to her tea and stirred. Without looking at him she could feel the tension and impatience rise.

"I do not wish to waste all afternoon on this conversation. So, out with it, madam."

Helene took a deep breath. Merlin help her, it was now or never.

"Mr Snape, as you probably know, many children were attacked and bitten by werewolves during the war."

She paused, waiting for a reaction, but there was none. Ok, right, go for it, Helene.

"So, nowadays we have a lot of children who are werewolves. They are prescribed wolfsbane to ease their transformation, but the potion has a lot of negative side effects for children. I'm sure you know that."

This time there was a small inclination of his head.

"As there is no alternative to the potion other than making them suffer the full transformation, we have been trying to modify it for the last two years."

This time he raised an expecting eyebrow and took a sip from his mug. Helene sighed.

"Without success. The modifications either made the side effects even worse or rendered the potion useless."

A small smirk on his lips.

"We're running out of time, because I'm sure the grant we received for the research won't be renewed. There won't be a big enough market for a modified potion once the children have grown up. My boss told me that you had done some work on wolfsbane back in your time at Hogwarts, so I thought that perhaps..."

"I'd have the solution ready for you?"

He laughed mirthlessly and set his mug down on the small table at his right.

"Oh no, Madam Healer, I came up against a multitude of dead ends then, exactly as you did. It's a very complex potion indeed."

He tilted his head back and frowned at the wooden beams of the ceiling.

"So – nothing?" She felt despair descending on her like a big, black cloud.

"Nothing."

Helene stared at him, hoping he would say something more to mitigate his harsh word, but he just kept staring at the beams.

"Oh – oh, okay, I see." Her disappointment was tangible. So that was it, then. She had found the famous former potions master, he had granted her an interview, she had felt on the brink of success. And now this. A textbook example of an anticlimax. Children would continue to suffer for many more years before their bodies were old enough to stomach the Wolfsbane potion. Unless... A flicker of hope in the darkness of his 'nothing'. He would probably refuse and kick her out of the house, but it was worth a try.

"But...perhaps ... if, I mean, if you could agree to, if it would be possible for you to..."

"Agree to what, Madam Healer? Come to the point!"

Helene took a deep breath.

"We could work together. Combine our research, you could join our team. You didn't have the chance to do actual trial runs with your modifications at Hogwarts, right? Both you and us must have used different approaches and when we put them together and use the means of testing we have, maybe we can come to a breakthrough..."

"No."

"But..."

"No."

"Those sick kids suffering – is it all the same to you?"

"No, Madam Healer, it certainly isn't. I may have the reputation of being a cold-hearted, cruel bastard, but I can assure you I'm not. However, I'm not prepared to give up the way of life I've worked very hard to achieve for a useless undertaking."

"You can't be sure it's useless, can you?"

"After all the research I did back in the days, I'm quite sure that I can."

"You haven't even asked about our research. Wouldn't you like to see what we have done?"

"There is only a limited number of ways to modify wolfsbane without rendering it useless. Believe me, I've tried them all."

"With respect, Mr Snape, the methods of healing and potion-making have developed and improved since your time. We may have found an approach which could prove successful if we worked on it with our combined expertise."

"No, Madam Healer!"

Helene huffed, giving vent to her anger and frustration. For a long moment they stared at each other.

Then Helene decided to attempt a new strategy.

"You're co-authoring cookbooks," she said, "Muggle cookbooks." She made sure there was a good dose of derision underscoring her words.

Snape's mouth twitched and he gave a slow, dignified nod.

"Well, is that what you want to do for the rest of your life? All your knowledge, all your expertise, all your skills wasted! Do want to continue like this for years and years to come? Do you really think..."

Snape interrupted her, laughing, a loud, unrestrained sound full of genuine mirth.

Helene stopped mid-sentence, offended.

"What?"

"Madam Healer, I don't need your career advice. If you want to know: I want to continue living my life in peace, far away from the shenanigans of the wizarding world."

"But cookbooks!"

"We are quite successful, you know."

Helene rolled her eyes. Yes, they were successful indeed, Snape and his mother. Shacklebolt had finally told her about the former potions master's new occupation and a quick foray into the realms of the Muggle internet had clearly shown that the books were best sellers and had their own website. From there Helene had learned that Eileen McClure had started collecting village recipes some years ago and had sold them at summer fetes. The idea of writing them in the style of potion instructions had been her son's contribution, meant as a joke at first, but people had liked it. One of the booklets had found its way into the hands of an editor who had been delighted with the style and offered them a contract. Officially, the author of the books was Eileen McClure, Snape's name was not mentioned anywhere, although it was he who put the recipes collected by his mother into writing. A qualified wizard, of course, could spot the signature style of a potions expert, but the Muggle buyers simply thought it an excellent joke. People loved the books and happily sliced and diced ingredients, making sure they had the correct size and performed the given number of clockwise and anti-clockwise stirs obediently.

"But you are a potions expert! One of the best!"

"That's history, Madam Healer."

"Rubbish, Mr Snape. If you ask me, you're wasting your talent, your knowledge..."

"You're repeating yourself. And I don't ask you. I ask nobody. I just want to be left alone."

Helene sighed in exasperation. They stared at each other again. Finally Helene sighed deeply.

"You really don't want to help us, do you?"

"Ah, the penny dropped! I've been trying to get this message across for the last fifteen minutes," he said sarcastically.

Helene shook her head.

"Right, I see. It's no use talking to brick walls. Thank you for your time, Mr Snape. And for the tea. "

She gathered her shoulder bag and made to get up.

Snape's reply was a dismissive gesture with his right hand. His eyes were on the ancient beams of the ceiling again. He didn't look at her and didn't bother to get up.

Impolite bastard, Helene thought.

"I'm off, then. Don't bother, I can find my way out."

She rose, and with a last glance at his impassive form made for the door. She opened it, grimly intentioning to bang it shut behind her, when she found herself face-to-face with a thin, elderly woman carrying a huge, very wilted looking potted plant.

For a moment the two women just stared at one another. Helen was the first to recover. With a quick 'excuse me' she took a step to the right and hurried down the garden path.