Chapter One -The Red Dress
It was the fourteenth of August in the year 2031. Severus Snape stared out of the high window at the trees below. Beneath him and out of his view, people were moving. He could hear snatches of conversation in raised voices and occasional shouts. He stepped closer to the window to get a better view, curling his fingers around the bars. He was too hot – hot enough to be conscious of the cord around his neck; hot enough for the metal bars to afford some cool relief to his hands. He lent forward, letting his sweating forehead rest against the hard iron.
He caught a glimpse of a woman walking away, disappearing under the trees. A young witch, slim, with shoulder length black hair. She wore a red dress. Is it the same red dress, he asked himself. Fool, no of course it isn't, he sneered. This red dress is dark and has tiny white spots, not discernable from this distance. That red dress – the red dress – was years ago. It must long ago have been disposed of. It was unpatterned. And scarlet. Worn by a witch with lighter hair. A witch younger than the one below. Decades ago. Forty-two years ago!
The bars at the window made a pattern on the bare floorboards. The wooden floor was worn, marked and lined as though by the scraping and dragging of devices across it. It was a utilitarian room.
Conscious of the echoing sounds of his footsteps, Severus Snape moved away from the window and sat down in the only armchair the room had to offer. He stretched out his long legs and crossed them at the ankles. He was letting his mind wander back forty-two years. 1989, he mused; that's when it all began. A sunny day in July and I hadn't received my Apparating licence…
Generally speaking Professor Severus Snape took no interest in the arrival of the post owls. A sarcastic and unpopular wizard, he had no family, no friends, and never received so much as a birthday card. But today he watched with increasing disquiet as the handful of owls swooping over the breakfast tables deposited letters to most of his colleagues but nothing to him. Seated on his left, Professor McGonagall could sense his unease. He had been growing gradually more edgy throughout the last week of term. And now it was Saturday, the last of the students had departed yesterday and the school had closed for the summer holidays.
McGonagall had never actually liked Snape; he was too acerbic and unfriendly to be likeable. His looks didn't flatter him, either – greasy black hair framed a sallow face and glittering black eyes which, except when they flamed with anger, often held a studied fathomless emptiness. He was, however, a most talented maker of potions, a competent House Master, he had a sense of duty, and, since his teaching appointment over a decade ago, he had never let the school down in a crisis. McGonagall had a certain deep-rooted regard for him as she had for all of her colleagues. She also remembered him as a pupil; a greasy-haired youth, dark in looks and character, cunning, desperate to prove his abilities, and, when it suited him, hard-working to the point of obsession. Very much a typical Slytherin in fact, McGonagall thought. And now at the relatively young age of thirty-three, he was already the proud and pompous Head of Slytherin House.
"Anything wrong, Severus?" she asked.
"My Apparating licence" he grumbled in his deep, drawling voice. "I completed the renewal form a month ago. My new licence should be here by now. I was hoping to be in London by tomorrow."
"Take the train" she retorted, speaking of the Hogwarts express which departed each weekday morning from Hogsmeade Station and arrived in London by the early evening.
"No thank you" he snapped. "There won't be one until Monday. And it's a drag of a journey, it takes all day!"
"Stay here, then." She was terse almost to the point of rudeness with him at times which was usually no more than he deserved.
Snape made no reply. Minerva McGonagall, many years his senior, was Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was also Head of Gryffindor House and Professor of Transfiguration. Snape remembered her (with feelings bordering on trepidation) from his own school days at Hogwarts. She had been young then, mid-forties, which was not as young as he was now, but certainly young in wizarding terms. McGonagall, a tall, elegant and very accomplished witch, was equally short tempered and quite capable of putting the likes of Severus Snape in his place. Almost invariably she spent her summers at Hogwarts. Dedicated and hard-working, it seemed she had little need for relaxation, or diversion. Her lips compressed with distaste as she pondered the likely reason for Snape's haste to get to London. Since his appointment to Hogwarts in the late 1970s, this notoriously prickly wizard never appeared to have a girl friend or to be emotionally close to anyone, but there were rumours that he satisfied his considerable carnal needs in the fleshpots of the capital as often as possible.
Breakfast over, the table gradually emptied as the staff wandered off, some to pack for holidays, some to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade, some merely to relax in the sunny school grounds. McGonagall was talking quietly to Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, who then lent forward to speak past her to Snape.
"Severus, if you are stuck for a means to get to London, Cornelius Fudge is dining with me tonight. He is travelling back by private train from Hogsmeade – an overnight sleeper – special executive service for the Ministry. If you explain your plight, he may offer you a lift. You could be in London in time for breakfast tomorrow morning."
"But I still won't have my licence, Headmaster" Snape simpered, his velvet voice betraying a trace of a whine.
"By the time you want to Apparate back, it will no doubt be here. Or perhaps you could visit the Ministry and collect it. You have paid the fee? You have got the receipt? Well then, why worry? You are allowed to Apparate – it's only a renewal after all – a formality."
"Thank you, Headmaster." Snape's voice was silky. The Headmaster's reasoning was faultless.
But the Head of Slytherin did worry, and not without cause. He was a former Death Eater, which meant he had once been a close supporter of Lord Voldemort, the darkest wizard to have lived in the latter half of the twentieth century; whose crimes still caused those who remembered those dreadful days to shudder. During that time Snape had actually changed sides and turned spy against Voldemort, helping to bring to justice many of his Death Eater colleagues. The risks he had run in playing double-agent were enormous. As a result Dumbledore had vouched for him before The Ministry's Council of Magical Law and Snape had not had to stand trial for his crimes, thus escaping a sentence in Azkaban, the infamous wizard prison. Dumbledore had then offered him a job at Hogwarts and Snape had begun to rebuild his life. Since those dark days however, Snape was wary of doing anything which might cause him to run foul of the law, even something as apparently trivial as Apparating without being in possession of a current licence.
But when, later that day, he spoke to Cornelius Fudge the then Minister for Magic, Fudge agreed with Dumbledore, so Snape put aside his worries and accompanied the Minister on the overnight sleeper. They breakfasted on the train and arrived at Kings Cross at twenty to nine the following morning.
"Got a chauffeured car here, to take me to the Ministry" Fudge said. "I can drop you off on the way. Where are you bound for? Diagon Alley suit you?"
"Yes. Thank you, Minister" Snape replied in his oiliest voice.
But it wasn't Fudge's Ministry limousine that awaited them in the bright summer sunshine. Looking slightly embarrassed, his chauffeur Phelps sat in the front passenger seat of a scarlet Mercedes four-seater convertible. The hood was down, revealing next to him a young girl of about nineteen. She had chestnut brown hair tied back in a high pony tail, flawless, lightly tanned skin, and the face of an angel. Snape found himself in danger of becoming entranced.
"Oh no" he heard Fudge groan.
"Minister?"
"My grand-niece. She's staying with us for a few days" Fudge grumbled. "Phelps, what is all this?" He made a gesture of irritation towards the red sports car.
Phelps took Snape's overnight bag to store in the car's boot and started to explain. Smiling impishly, Fudge's grand-niece turned her large hazel eyes on them. "Don't blame Phelps, Uncle. I twisted his arm. He's giving me a few tips on wizarding driving. And I'm learning my way around London; after all, I'm going to need to, aren't I! Now – where to, gentlemen?"
But Fudge wasn't satisfied. "Have you bought this?" he barked at the girl, his quivering hand still pointing to the car.
"No, no! Borrowed it. It's Dieter's" she replied carelessly. "I've got to return it before five o'clock, otherwise I pay him a forfeit. Now – where are we going?"
"The Leaky Cauldron, first. And I don't like you getting mixed up with the likes of Dieter Brandauer" Fudge said tetchily. He gave a sigh of exasperation.
And with that they were off, gliding effortlessly through the traffic. Snape settled into the cream leather upholstery and studied the young witch. Although obviously having fun, she paid close and serious attention to Phelps's instructions and drove with a smooth self-assurance as though machines were second nature to her. Her scarlet sun dress matched the sports car and showed off her slender but surprisingly muscular body. Apart from the skimpy dress that no doubt cost a small fortune, she wore neat gold ear clips in the shape of saw-toothed leaves and a gold wristwatch of the kind only seen in advertisements in glossy magazines. Melissa officinalis, Snape thought, as he studied the shape of the ear clips which reminded him of the herb Lemon Balm. He therefore subconsciously nicknamed the witch Melissa. A rich little spoiled bitch, Snape decided, as Melissa reversed smartly into a small parking space by The Leaky Cauldron, beating a white Vauxhall Astra for the only free slot.
Silently, Fudge seethed with anger. Hans-Dieter Brandauer was an Unspeakable, employed by The Department of Mysteries where he did something clever, technical and hush-hush. He was a young, blond, German with the grace and strength of a ballet dancer and the morals of a pole cat. He had the sort of handsome-but-cruel face witches fell for. He was, in Fudge's opinion, exactly the sort of wizard his grand-niece must be protected from.
"Well, she's quite a proficient driver; it wasn't too traumatic" Fudge said, as Phelps handed Snape his bag. "Taking her to the ballet tonight. Swan Lake. That'll keep her quiet for a few hours. Hope we don't run into Brandauer. Don't worry about your licence, Severus. Have a word with Octavia Pinerro in Magical Transportation. I'll tip her the wink. Just Apparate home when you're ready, licence or not."
"Thank you again, Minister" Snape gushed.
Snape watched them go, his eyes lingering on the girl's slender neck. Rich little bitch, he mused again. But somehow all too soon the car had melted into the traffic and he had lost sight of her.
Snape passed quickly through The Leaky Cauldron, strode down Diagon Alley and arrived at his club, The Mephistophelean, a discrete establishment in Di Vios Alley. The club was ideal. The bathrooms were stocked with good quality toiletries, members' spare clothing could be stored, and laundry and valeting services were provided, so he need arrive with only the minimum of luggage. The dining room and bar were adequate so he didn't even need to eat out. He arranged his few belongings in his room and threw himself down on the bed. What now, he thought. Gringotts Bank and then – The Sultan's Pestamal perhaps.
The Sultan's Pestamal was a hamam, or Turkish bath. Like Snape's club it was discrete, expensive and strictly wizards only. One could spend hours sweating away ones worries in the hararet and enjoying the invigorating massage. And supplementary services were, of course, available. For an additional fee the masseuses would perform various sexual services. When availing himself of these Snape always selected the most beautiful young witches to minister to him, however he was aware that young wizards could also be called upon, but this had never been to his taste.
In tribute to its accommodating attitude to licentiousness, The Sultan's Pestamal was often referred to as The Sinan Bin amongst the Dark Wizarding fraternity – a jocular reference to the Anatolian architect Mimar Loca Sinan, who designed many hamams and hundreds of other important Islamic buildings. Snape visited 'The Sinan Bin' and stayed there until five o'clock, skipping lunch and returning to his club to change for dinner. He dined in the club dining room and had an early night, taking a potion for Dreamless Sleep to ensure no horrors would creep out of his Death Eater past to disturb him.
The following day Snape browsed the shops of Diagon, Knockturn and Di Vios Alleys, lunched in The Leaky Cauldron and contacted Madam Mimi's Escort Agency to book some company for the next few evenings. That night he dined at Mario and Luigi's, a smart and very fashionable Italian restaurant run by a couple of slightly camp, middle-aged Italian wizards who employed a flock of snake-hipped young waiters. His escort for the evening, a beautiful golden blonde witch who said her name was Angelica, arrived at the restaurant punctually at eight o'clock, and proved witty, sociable and quite adventurous. She was fully up to Madam Mimi's usual standard of immaculately groomed, well educated and young-but-worldly attractive companions.
His escort for the following night was a disaster. She was a slender platinum blonde, named Fiona and with a high-born and arrogant expression that rivalled Snape's! She had the largest and deepest blue eyes he had ever seen and he was utterly captivated by her, so much so that he suspected she was part Veela. Captivated or not, he was nevertheless his usual caustic self. They dined at the restaurant in The Necromancer, a five-star hotel near to Gringotts Bank. Partway through the meal, he threw out one of his typically dry and sarcastic comments and she threw something back in return; he suddenly found himself dripping in dry white wine and confronted by her retreating back! There were a few guarded sniggers from nearby tables. Snape's blistering eyes raked her shapely back as she walked away and he was tempted to pull out his wand and curse her, but with an effort he controlled himself. He slammed a handful of gold coins onto the table and left the hotel. He retuned to his club, took a sleeping potion and spent the following morning sweating out his anger in 'The Sinan Bin'. In the afternoon he had an altercation with Madam Mimi and eventually managed to negotiate a discounted fee, but much to his annoyance she refused point blank to dismiss the Veela witch. Snape, for his part, would not admit that his conduct was in any way to blame.
The next evening was not exactly a failure but nevertheless slightly disappointing. Snape had stipulated a witch who enjoyed classical music because he had booked seats for a concert. The witch who arrived, a black haired beauty by the name of Giovanna seemed to quite enjoy the Tchaikovsky ballet suite they listened to, but she appeared bored by Handel's Water Music. Later, he found that she was undeniably fun in bed, but in terms of the whole evening Snape was not altogether satisfied.
After a few experimental forays in his early years Snape never strayed into Muggle London. He had no wish to try to understand its electronic brashness, nor the mind set of its people, and he never felt at ease in Muggle clothes. Muggle women, no matter how good looking, seemed ill-educated and uninteresting to him. He had once tried to bring one back to Diagon Alley. When he met her, he had judged her to be adequately self-possessed and level headed, but the reality of the magical world threatened to unhinge her and he had to perform a memory charm and return her quickly to her normal surroundings. He had attributed her fear to the strangeness of his world – he had not realised how much his world-weary turn of phrase, and his eyes, which often held an unnerving hollow quality, had also undermined her confidence.
And thus Snape spent his summers until Diagon Alley thronged with students and their clamouring parents, which as ever drove him back to Hogwarts by mid-August. Whereupon he prepared for another round of endeavouring to teach Potions to devious Slytherins, defiant Gryffindors, unflappable Ravenclaws and compliant Hufflepuffs, until the Christmas and Easter breaks gave him an opportunity to slip away for a further day or two of relaxation. But no more than that. As Head of House, Snape had extra responsibilities, and some students stayed on over the Christmas and Easter holidays. Only in the summer did he habitually depart from Hogwarts for more than a couple of days.
But the limited routine was easily bearable, certainly compared to the darker aspects of his life. Although his personal life was running at a minimum, this suited Snape's needs. He had no emotional space for anything more complicated. Aside from his job he had another task which made romantic involvements inappropriate, and even without that consideration, he could still feel the pain of the one hopeless love affair he had ever embarked upon.
Life appeared to have settled into a tolerable pattern.
Yet within two years radical changes would take place. Harry Potter would arrive at Hogwarts. Voldemort would begin his second bid for power. And Snape would be swept up in a new round of danger; bouncing like a ping pong ball between his rôle in maintaining the safety of the school, the unique part he was to play in the final downfall of Voldemort, and his fury at being repeatedly upstaged by a disobedient pupil he couldn't even bare to look upon – Harry Potter.
Author's notes: Sinan Bin is a pun on 'Sin Bin' which is a fairly obsolete English slang term for a corrective or punitive unit, usually aimed at combating disruptive behaviour of youths. The Anatolian architect is certainly genuine.
