A/N Thanks as always to all my lovely reviewers :-) You people are great!
Couldn't do it without your encouragement.
By the way, I wrote the starting scene of this chapter in a state of pre- exam stress - or distress - so it's a bit peculiar. Anyways I've decided to leave it in. This story might yet turn out a little darker than the previous one. But maybe not. Anyhoo on with the show, and thanks again for your very welcome and encouraging comments :-) And yes, Snape's whiskey *will* be making another appearance…if not in this story then certainly in the next!
Chapter Three
Severus Snape lay curled on his side, body trembling violently with fear, with anguish, with agony. With the knowledge that this dreadful pain was only just beginning and would get worse and never stop…the Dark Lord stood over him as he shuddered, wand raised, mad eyes fixed in hatred upon his betrayer as Snape writhed helpless before Voldemort's fury. The Dark Lord moved closer still, looming over the prone figure, his wand poised, and all around him Snape could somehow hear and see and feel the presence of all those innocents, those men and women and children, who had died by Voldemort's hand and by the hands of his followers, by *Snape's* hand, murdered by his own foolish helpless lust for power, for recognition, for adoration…
All he had received was torment and suffering and endless, boundless, self-destroying guilt…Snape had paid for his crimes against humanity with his soul, but he would pay for betraying Voldemort with his life.
The Dark Lord, stooping, an evil grin on his face, stabbed his wand forward, thrusting it into Snape's stomach as though trying to destroy him from the inside outwards…Snape felt the foul pressure of the wand's cold tip against his belly…but he would not die with his eyes closed in terror, a mewling whimpering animal. He would die gazing cold and aloof into those hated eyes. As the wand prodded forward again Snape threw back his head and opened his eyes wide.
Minerva McGonagall stood over him, prodding him unceremoniously with the end of a spoon.
"Come on, wake up! It's almost half past nine, you lazy devil!" Snape, still half caught in the horrors of his dream, clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle a cry and flung himself back, shivering, snapping his eyes shut again. As the sense of nightmarish unreality faded, humiliation and disgust at having revealed so much of himself to a colleague set in. Snape kept his eyes closed tightly, too ashamed and embarrassed to look at McGonagall. He felt her pressure on the sofa and the slight warmth of her against his legs as she sat beside him. He imagined, with increased self- hatred, the cold look of scorn upon her face, the thoughts that must be going through her head… a grown man! How pathetic! the derision in her tone as she told him icily to pull himself together…
All that he actually perceived, however, was a light warm touch on his shoulder, then on his wrists as McGonagall gently pulled his hands away from his face. Opening his eyes slowly, he lifted his head momentarily to her face. It was full of anxiety, not scorn, her brow furrowed in concern. When she spoke it was softly and without judgement.
"Are you all right?" He swallowed, gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, then slowly looked up once more.
"Yes." Would she understand? Was it possible to explain that after all these years the nightmares had never abated, that they never would, that the only thing he could use to stop them was a dreamless sleep potion - which could only be taken once a month and inevitably wore off too soon, leaving him prey to those hideous images every time he tried to rest? Snape had been concerned when he realised that the potion's effects were reaching their end, but he had hoped the dreams would not return so suddenly and so horribly.
At least she wasn't laughing or sneering at him, though…perhaps he could trust her after all with his fears…
He was about to speak when she patted his hand in brisk comfort and handed him the spoon she still held. Snape froze, blinked. It was going to be one of those days…they always started in a surreal manner…
"I made you some porridge." McGonagall explained. It's getting cold."
Snape uncoiled himself with difficulty, wincing as his spine crackled. With a matronly air that reminded him of Madam Pomfrey McGonagall grabbed Snape by the shoulders and planted her knee in the small of his back. He yelped, but was able to straighten up without toppling over.
"Thank you very much." He growled. McGonagall shrugged as she led the way to the table.
"By the way," she said offhandedly as he sat down and eyed the greyish lumpy stuff she had prepared with suspicion, "d'you want me to give you a charm to ward off those nightmares?" He glanced up. She was gazing at him in an intense worried sort of way which didn't match her casual tone.
"Albus said we weren't to perform any unnecessary magic." Snape reminded her, spooning up some porridge and regretting it. McGonagall continued to peer at him as though he were some mysterious specimen in a zoo.
"I'd hardly call it unnecessary. How do you ever sleep with that sort of thing going on?" And Snape, who would have poured his heart out to her ten minutes ago when she wasn't listening, refused to answer.
The morning passed slowly. The professors were waiting for a communication from Dumbledore giving them instructions about where to start looking for the Wainthrops and their immensely useful list of Death-Eaters. Snape had suggested that the first port of call should be the other muggle agents, but Dumbledore had vetoed this, not wanting to endanger the muggles' lives any more than was necessary. He'd rather endanger ours instead thought Snape, unfairly. Dumbledore's idea sounded rather suicidal to Snape: contact the only Death-Eater they did have a name for and try to weasel information out of him, without revealed their identities. It occurred to Snape that he would most likely be recognised by this nefarious individual, who went by the incongruous name of 'Ted' and owned a greengrocer's somewhere in Camden Town. But Dumbledore assured the potions master that their suspect contact was no longer working for Voldemort. He had come seen the error of his ways, like Snape himself, and was only hiding out among muggles because he feared the Dark Lord's wrath. 'Ted' was, it seemed, a rather bewildered, dimwitted little git who had followed Voldemort in the first place only because he was too afraid to refuse. But Snape was not by nature a trusting man; he had far too often found that the most charming and innocuous of people could be the most dangerous. And vice-versa. Snape remembered vividly how the fearsome Crabbe, Lucius Malfoy's vile bodyguard at Hogwart's, had been reduced to tears by the then head of Slytherin house, professor Salazia Sollander, following an incident with a Hufflepuff girl and a rabbit.
Snape was startled out of his reverie by an exclamation from McGonagall.
"It's here!"
"What is?"
"Albus' letter."
"Surely the headmaster wouldn't draw attention to us by sending an owl in the *morning*?" Snape argued.
"It isn't an owl." Replied McGonagall, opening the window to let in a small brown bird. "It's a thrush."
"How original." Snape sighed. "What does it say?"
"It isn't a *talking* thrush, Severus!"
The potions master rolled his eyes. "What does the *letter* say, woman?"
McGonagall unrolled the piece of parchment she had taken from the bird and read aloud:
"My dear friends and colleagues, I hope this note finds you both well, and that you have settled in to your accommodation. My apologies for the small size of the apartment, it was the best that could be secured at short notice.
On the basis of recent intelligence, I can tell you that Mr. Ted Mason, formerly known as Octavian Mont-Strepping, resides at number forty-six, the High Street, Camden Town. It is the little flat above the greengrocers. I can assure you that Ted is not a threat, but he may take some persuading before he is willing to give you any information. Please use any means necessary - within reason! - to gain his assistance.
The bird will await your report. I wish you both luck.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore."
"The die is cast, then." Muttered Snape. McGonagall, folding the note, looking at him thoughtfully.
"You really believe this Ted Mason might not be what he seems?"
"Dark wizards are rarely stupid when it comes to self-preservation. It seems to me that Mason would betray us in an instant if he thought it might benefit him. And if he was offered a bribe by the Dark Lord's agents…"
"He would take it?" McGonagall gasped.
"Whatever else he may be, this man is, or was once, a Mont-Strepping. My family was once on intimate terms with the Mont-Streppings. The family consists almost entirely of dark wizards. I knew one of them well at school - Augustus Mont-Strepping, he was in the year above me, vile little git he was as well. Not a decent bone in his body nor a decent cell in his brain. In fact, he was very nearly sorted into Hufflepuff. Anyway, the point is that Gus, like all his foul family, have never been known to refuse a bribe of any sort, especially monetary, although they already have more money than sense. Quite disgusting really. Willing to crawl to anybody if it pays."
"Yet Albus appears to trust him."
"I think it more likely that the headmaster has no choice. Except for the other muggle agents, Mont-Strepping - or Mason - is the only one likely to have any helpful information. It would be remarkable if he didn't know the identity of at least a few of the Death-Eaters on that list of the Wainthrop's. There's a good chance he known something about the couple's fate as well. Mont-Streppings always keep their ears to the ground. They aren't bright, but they snuffle up information like Nifflers, and are happy to sell it to anybody. Not an ounce of integrity."
"Why do I get the impression that if we have to interrogate this person I'll be the good cop?" McGonagall sighed. "You seem to have it in for this Mont-Strepping already. Don't tell me - his brother cheated you out of your pocket money at poker?"
Snape looked up sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Only that you clearly have a personal grudge against this man's family."
"My grudges are my own business."
"Not when they might affect this mission. If it's something serious, Severus, I want to know about it. Don't forget that you are still my subordinate, even outside Hogwarts. I will allow nothing to jeopardise this mission!"
Snape flinched slightly. McGonagall was going into her strict-teacher routine. He hated it when she spoke to him as though he was one of her pupils rather than a teacher and head of house.
"Very well." He snapped. "If you wish to know so much…I dislike the Mont-Streppings because of their association with my family. Enough?"
"Hardly. What heinous thing have these people done to you?"
Snape shuddered. "We used to…have parties together, I remember them from childhood. Polite, boring cocktail parties." He closed his eyes, paling at the memory. "There was a ridiculous number of Mont-Strepping children. I used to have to…play with them." He closed his eyes. "Horrible experience. They had less intellect between them than a mentally impaired flagstone. And there was an aunt…" with his eyes closed Snape could not see McGonagall struggling not to laugh. "a big, fat woman," he continued, faintly. "Mildred. 'Call me Aunty Millie!' she used to say. And she'd pinch my cheek and tell me I should eat more. And then, when I got older…when I was sixteen…" a violent shiver went through Snape's whole body. "The matriarch of my family - my grandmother Livia - and Aunty Mildred got together and…and…"
"What did they do?" McGonagall whispered, her hand to her mouth - hiding a smirk.
"They betrothed me to the eldest Mont-Strepping daughter." Snape almost groaned. McGonagall fought back a cry of laughter.
"What happened?" She asked.
"I escaped, of course. Weaselled out of it. The girl was awful - not so much her appearance, but her personality. She was one of those fluffy, kittens-and-daisy-chains sort of girls. She wore pink frilly robes and a nightdress with little teddy bears on it. I despised her. She adored me; I suppose nobody else would have her. Followed me about for three weeks yapping about our engagement. Then inspiration struck - I introduced her to Lucius Malfoy, she fell for him, cancelled the engagement, and I got off scot-free, though Lucius didn't talk to me for six months afterwards." Snape concluded triumphantly. "Now perhaps you understand just how appalling the Mont-Streppings really are."
"What a tragic tale of young love." Murmured McGonagall.
"It was most traumatic." Agreed Snape, so seriously that his companion could hold back no longer- she burst into gales of laughter. Snape gazed at her balefully.
"You did ask." He muttered.
"Oh, Severus." McGonagall exclaimed, wiping her eyes, "I sometimes think you'll be the death of me."
"Let us hope," he replied grimly, "that Octavian Mont-Strepping will not be the death of us."
A/N Will out heroes finally get the information they're looking for? Will Snape refrain from stomping 'Ted' into the dust? Find out in Chapter Four! :-)
By the way, I wrote the starting scene of this chapter in a state of pre- exam stress - or distress - so it's a bit peculiar. Anyways I've decided to leave it in. This story might yet turn out a little darker than the previous one. But maybe not. Anyhoo on with the show, and thanks again for your very welcome and encouraging comments :-) And yes, Snape's whiskey *will* be making another appearance…if not in this story then certainly in the next!
Chapter Three
Severus Snape lay curled on his side, body trembling violently with fear, with anguish, with agony. With the knowledge that this dreadful pain was only just beginning and would get worse and never stop…the Dark Lord stood over him as he shuddered, wand raised, mad eyes fixed in hatred upon his betrayer as Snape writhed helpless before Voldemort's fury. The Dark Lord moved closer still, looming over the prone figure, his wand poised, and all around him Snape could somehow hear and see and feel the presence of all those innocents, those men and women and children, who had died by Voldemort's hand and by the hands of his followers, by *Snape's* hand, murdered by his own foolish helpless lust for power, for recognition, for adoration…
All he had received was torment and suffering and endless, boundless, self-destroying guilt…Snape had paid for his crimes against humanity with his soul, but he would pay for betraying Voldemort with his life.
The Dark Lord, stooping, an evil grin on his face, stabbed his wand forward, thrusting it into Snape's stomach as though trying to destroy him from the inside outwards…Snape felt the foul pressure of the wand's cold tip against his belly…but he would not die with his eyes closed in terror, a mewling whimpering animal. He would die gazing cold and aloof into those hated eyes. As the wand prodded forward again Snape threw back his head and opened his eyes wide.
Minerva McGonagall stood over him, prodding him unceremoniously with the end of a spoon.
"Come on, wake up! It's almost half past nine, you lazy devil!" Snape, still half caught in the horrors of his dream, clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle a cry and flung himself back, shivering, snapping his eyes shut again. As the sense of nightmarish unreality faded, humiliation and disgust at having revealed so much of himself to a colleague set in. Snape kept his eyes closed tightly, too ashamed and embarrassed to look at McGonagall. He felt her pressure on the sofa and the slight warmth of her against his legs as she sat beside him. He imagined, with increased self- hatred, the cold look of scorn upon her face, the thoughts that must be going through her head… a grown man! How pathetic! the derision in her tone as she told him icily to pull himself together…
All that he actually perceived, however, was a light warm touch on his shoulder, then on his wrists as McGonagall gently pulled his hands away from his face. Opening his eyes slowly, he lifted his head momentarily to her face. It was full of anxiety, not scorn, her brow furrowed in concern. When she spoke it was softly and without judgement.
"Are you all right?" He swallowed, gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, then slowly looked up once more.
"Yes." Would she understand? Was it possible to explain that after all these years the nightmares had never abated, that they never would, that the only thing he could use to stop them was a dreamless sleep potion - which could only be taken once a month and inevitably wore off too soon, leaving him prey to those hideous images every time he tried to rest? Snape had been concerned when he realised that the potion's effects were reaching their end, but he had hoped the dreams would not return so suddenly and so horribly.
At least she wasn't laughing or sneering at him, though…perhaps he could trust her after all with his fears…
He was about to speak when she patted his hand in brisk comfort and handed him the spoon she still held. Snape froze, blinked. It was going to be one of those days…they always started in a surreal manner…
"I made you some porridge." McGonagall explained. It's getting cold."
Snape uncoiled himself with difficulty, wincing as his spine crackled. With a matronly air that reminded him of Madam Pomfrey McGonagall grabbed Snape by the shoulders and planted her knee in the small of his back. He yelped, but was able to straighten up without toppling over.
"Thank you very much." He growled. McGonagall shrugged as she led the way to the table.
"By the way," she said offhandedly as he sat down and eyed the greyish lumpy stuff she had prepared with suspicion, "d'you want me to give you a charm to ward off those nightmares?" He glanced up. She was gazing at him in an intense worried sort of way which didn't match her casual tone.
"Albus said we weren't to perform any unnecessary magic." Snape reminded her, spooning up some porridge and regretting it. McGonagall continued to peer at him as though he were some mysterious specimen in a zoo.
"I'd hardly call it unnecessary. How do you ever sleep with that sort of thing going on?" And Snape, who would have poured his heart out to her ten minutes ago when she wasn't listening, refused to answer.
The morning passed slowly. The professors were waiting for a communication from Dumbledore giving them instructions about where to start looking for the Wainthrops and their immensely useful list of Death-Eaters. Snape had suggested that the first port of call should be the other muggle agents, but Dumbledore had vetoed this, not wanting to endanger the muggles' lives any more than was necessary. He'd rather endanger ours instead thought Snape, unfairly. Dumbledore's idea sounded rather suicidal to Snape: contact the only Death-Eater they did have a name for and try to weasel information out of him, without revealed their identities. It occurred to Snape that he would most likely be recognised by this nefarious individual, who went by the incongruous name of 'Ted' and owned a greengrocer's somewhere in Camden Town. But Dumbledore assured the potions master that their suspect contact was no longer working for Voldemort. He had come seen the error of his ways, like Snape himself, and was only hiding out among muggles because he feared the Dark Lord's wrath. 'Ted' was, it seemed, a rather bewildered, dimwitted little git who had followed Voldemort in the first place only because he was too afraid to refuse. But Snape was not by nature a trusting man; he had far too often found that the most charming and innocuous of people could be the most dangerous. And vice-versa. Snape remembered vividly how the fearsome Crabbe, Lucius Malfoy's vile bodyguard at Hogwart's, had been reduced to tears by the then head of Slytherin house, professor Salazia Sollander, following an incident with a Hufflepuff girl and a rabbit.
Snape was startled out of his reverie by an exclamation from McGonagall.
"It's here!"
"What is?"
"Albus' letter."
"Surely the headmaster wouldn't draw attention to us by sending an owl in the *morning*?" Snape argued.
"It isn't an owl." Replied McGonagall, opening the window to let in a small brown bird. "It's a thrush."
"How original." Snape sighed. "What does it say?"
"It isn't a *talking* thrush, Severus!"
The potions master rolled his eyes. "What does the *letter* say, woman?"
McGonagall unrolled the piece of parchment she had taken from the bird and read aloud:
"My dear friends and colleagues, I hope this note finds you both well, and that you have settled in to your accommodation. My apologies for the small size of the apartment, it was the best that could be secured at short notice.
On the basis of recent intelligence, I can tell you that Mr. Ted Mason, formerly known as Octavian Mont-Strepping, resides at number forty-six, the High Street, Camden Town. It is the little flat above the greengrocers. I can assure you that Ted is not a threat, but he may take some persuading before he is willing to give you any information. Please use any means necessary - within reason! - to gain his assistance.
The bird will await your report. I wish you both luck.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore."
"The die is cast, then." Muttered Snape. McGonagall, folding the note, looking at him thoughtfully.
"You really believe this Ted Mason might not be what he seems?"
"Dark wizards are rarely stupid when it comes to self-preservation. It seems to me that Mason would betray us in an instant if he thought it might benefit him. And if he was offered a bribe by the Dark Lord's agents…"
"He would take it?" McGonagall gasped.
"Whatever else he may be, this man is, or was once, a Mont-Strepping. My family was once on intimate terms with the Mont-Streppings. The family consists almost entirely of dark wizards. I knew one of them well at school - Augustus Mont-Strepping, he was in the year above me, vile little git he was as well. Not a decent bone in his body nor a decent cell in his brain. In fact, he was very nearly sorted into Hufflepuff. Anyway, the point is that Gus, like all his foul family, have never been known to refuse a bribe of any sort, especially monetary, although they already have more money than sense. Quite disgusting really. Willing to crawl to anybody if it pays."
"Yet Albus appears to trust him."
"I think it more likely that the headmaster has no choice. Except for the other muggle agents, Mont-Strepping - or Mason - is the only one likely to have any helpful information. It would be remarkable if he didn't know the identity of at least a few of the Death-Eaters on that list of the Wainthrop's. There's a good chance he known something about the couple's fate as well. Mont-Streppings always keep their ears to the ground. They aren't bright, but they snuffle up information like Nifflers, and are happy to sell it to anybody. Not an ounce of integrity."
"Why do I get the impression that if we have to interrogate this person I'll be the good cop?" McGonagall sighed. "You seem to have it in for this Mont-Strepping already. Don't tell me - his brother cheated you out of your pocket money at poker?"
Snape looked up sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"Only that you clearly have a personal grudge against this man's family."
"My grudges are my own business."
"Not when they might affect this mission. If it's something serious, Severus, I want to know about it. Don't forget that you are still my subordinate, even outside Hogwarts. I will allow nothing to jeopardise this mission!"
Snape flinched slightly. McGonagall was going into her strict-teacher routine. He hated it when she spoke to him as though he was one of her pupils rather than a teacher and head of house.
"Very well." He snapped. "If you wish to know so much…I dislike the Mont-Streppings because of their association with my family. Enough?"
"Hardly. What heinous thing have these people done to you?"
Snape shuddered. "We used to…have parties together, I remember them from childhood. Polite, boring cocktail parties." He closed his eyes, paling at the memory. "There was a ridiculous number of Mont-Strepping children. I used to have to…play with them." He closed his eyes. "Horrible experience. They had less intellect between them than a mentally impaired flagstone. And there was an aunt…" with his eyes closed Snape could not see McGonagall struggling not to laugh. "a big, fat woman," he continued, faintly. "Mildred. 'Call me Aunty Millie!' she used to say. And she'd pinch my cheek and tell me I should eat more. And then, when I got older…when I was sixteen…" a violent shiver went through Snape's whole body. "The matriarch of my family - my grandmother Livia - and Aunty Mildred got together and…and…"
"What did they do?" McGonagall whispered, her hand to her mouth - hiding a smirk.
"They betrothed me to the eldest Mont-Strepping daughter." Snape almost groaned. McGonagall fought back a cry of laughter.
"What happened?" She asked.
"I escaped, of course. Weaselled out of it. The girl was awful - not so much her appearance, but her personality. She was one of those fluffy, kittens-and-daisy-chains sort of girls. She wore pink frilly robes and a nightdress with little teddy bears on it. I despised her. She adored me; I suppose nobody else would have her. Followed me about for three weeks yapping about our engagement. Then inspiration struck - I introduced her to Lucius Malfoy, she fell for him, cancelled the engagement, and I got off scot-free, though Lucius didn't talk to me for six months afterwards." Snape concluded triumphantly. "Now perhaps you understand just how appalling the Mont-Streppings really are."
"What a tragic tale of young love." Murmured McGonagall.
"It was most traumatic." Agreed Snape, so seriously that his companion could hold back no longer- she burst into gales of laughter. Snape gazed at her balefully.
"You did ask." He muttered.
"Oh, Severus." McGonagall exclaimed, wiping her eyes, "I sometimes think you'll be the death of me."
"Let us hope," he replied grimly, "that Octavian Mont-Strepping will not be the death of us."
A/N Will out heroes finally get the information they're looking for? Will Snape refrain from stomping 'Ted' into the dust? Find out in Chapter Four! :-)