The interrogation room was small and square with no windows, and vividly reminded Severus of the cell where the Dark Lord had imprisoned him and Potter three, no, almost four years ago. The association was making him nervous but he fought it as hard as he could hoping the aurors were not misinterpreting his unease. After hours of rapping out the same questions, Chiswick and Phelps had left him immobilised under the supervision of an eagle-eyed colleague, presumably afraid he would try to use some nefarious potion secreted about his person. There was something odd about young Phelps' attitude, and the name jogged his memory as being more than just an ex-student.
The situation was unbearable. He felt utterly powerless, yet again. Life had been going so well lately, his relationship with Remus had been a great source of comfort, and now this nonsense had spoiled everything, before he had even managed to tell the blasted werewolf how he felt. He had been a coward, a tongue-tied idiot, confused and too embarrassed to say that stupidly simple thing - "Remus, I love you", and now it was too late. He would probably never see Remus again.
The freezing charm was making his knee stiff, his throat ached from all the speaking they had forced him to do (not to mention the constant infuriating demands for repetition!), he was sticky and malodorous having been refused permission to shower before he was brought here, and the claustrophobic box of a cell seemed to be getting smaller with every creeping second. He was in big trouble. He now realised just how much he had relied on the protection of Dumbledore. He had been forgiven for his terrible mistakes, spared Azkaban, given a job and a home, and the old man had frequently defended him whenever he came under scrutiny from Fudge or his lackeys. But Albus was gone now. He was on his own. There was no one to help him.
…….
Toyle & Trubbil was a highly specialised potions ingredient shop, accessed via an inconspicuous green doorway on the deserted street corner where Diagon Alley tapered off into Knocturn Alley. Few lingered in that grey area, the jolly shoppers from Diagon finding the dinginess unsettling, the Knockturners shunning the revealing shafts of sunlight filtering in from their bustling neighbours' street. There was an ingredients shop in Diagon Alley, supplying most student and family potions requirements, and also one lurking in the murkier depths for the witches and wizards who kept their faces covered as they requested unsavoury items. Toyle & Trubbil was much smaller than either of these, stocking only the highest quality or rarest items for the IMP researcher or the true perfectionist.
The bell above the door tinkled as Chiswick and Phelps entered, flashing their credentials to the dark haired young witch behind the counter. She peered at them suspiciously.
"Our Licence to Sell Hazardous Magical Ingredients is fully up to date and the inspectors who came last month gave us a commendation for careful working practices," she stated before either of them could speak.
"I'm sure they did," commented Auror Chiswick in a friendly tone. "May I speak to one of the owners, please?" The girl called through a side door, wrinkling her pug-like face in apparent disgust. She hated Ministry officials. It was their fault she was reduced to working in a shop like some common wench, the powers-that-be having confiscated all her family's assets for alleged war profiteering – as though no one else had benefited from the war! The aurors had all been promoted, decorated. Shops and service providers had hiked their prices, and people had made a fortune selling protection amulets, gravestones, healing potions and in a hundred other ways. But they automatically resented the old Slytherin families, of course. The self-righteous hypocrites.
"Mr Toyle! It's the filth…I mean, two aurors want you!" She gave them a nasty smile and leaned against the wall, watching to see what happened.
A man of about sixty wearing a stained apron entered with a businesslike step, removing his elbow-length dragonhide gloves to shake their hands.
"Mr Toyle, we would like to see the documentation for all you recent sales of octurvice, please," Chiswick continued pleasantly.
"Octurvice?" he whistled through his stained teeth, "Haven't had any of that in for…ooh…must be a year now."
Phelps raised a sceptical eyebrow.
"And why is that? I thought this shop prided itself in obtaining the rarest of ingredients."
"Indeed we do, sir. But last summer was so wet our sources lost their crops. Very delicate plant, octurvice - hates the rain. This year would have been much better I should imagine, but no one has ordered any so I don't know. Once harvested, it doesn't keep for more than a few hours, so I don't get it unless it's specifically requested by the Institute or a private customer."
"Such as Severus Snape, for example?" suggested Phelps mildly. Toyle looked sharply between the two aurors. The young witch was glaring from the back of the shop, her arms folded across her chest.
"Yes, he often orders items from us. No octurvice though. Orders his supplies by owl, that gammy knee makes it awkward for him to come here in person. Bloody You-know-who still ruining lives."
"Hmm," said Phelps non-committally. "May I see the details of his last order, Mr Toyle?"
"May I ask why?" the shopkeeper's voice had an edge to it which had not been there before.
"We are investigating the murder of Lucius Malfoy," declared Phelps smugly. He knew this was stretching the truth somewhat, as no one had been able to find any hard evidence of foul play. Yet. But he knew that the average businessman hated to be involved in illegal activity. Mr Toyle seemed a little put out.
"Pansy, would you fetch the last letter from Professor Snape please?" The sulking witch disappeared into the back room and returned a few minutes later with a piece of parchment. Toyle read it aloud before showing it to the aurors. "Here we are. 28th July. Seven whole dead Taiwanese flobberworms, fresh not dried, to be delivered by return of post."
"That's all?" Chiswick demanded incredulously, scrutinising the cramped handwriting and return address.
"Yes," said Toyle and Pansy simultaneously. After a little more snooping around and an unilluminating look at the ledger – illegible to all but the privileged few capable of deciphering Pansy's shorthand – the aurors left.
Mr Toyle and Pansy frowned at each other in the empty shop.
"They think he killed Draco's dad," she said grimly. The shopkeeper nodded.
"Hmm." He cleared his throat and
continued in a neutral tone, "It was lucky you forgot about the
order which Professor Snape placed in mid-August. The one for all
those toxic ingredients. They might have got the wrong idea."
"Oh
golly gosh. How stupid of me. It completely slipped my mind."
"Mine too. Forgot all about it."
"We ought to contact them and let
them know," she carefully examined her fingernails.
"They
looked frightfully busy to me," he carefully examined his.
"You're right, we shouldn't disturb important Ministry work."
"No."
"Not for something so
insignificant."
"Absolutely not."
They exchanged a grim smile.
…….
After Remus had answered a series of awkward and downright impudent questions, he was allowed to leave, and headed straight for the only sensible place to head in a crisis, the Burrow. Molly had immediately contacted Arthur and Tonks, who leapt into action and found out certain key facts. Firstly, Severus had not been arrested or charged, merely held for questioning. Secondly, the 'Malfoy Murder' theory had been suggested by an Azkaban guard who had been present at the final meeting between the condemned and his old friend, and found their behaviour to have been suspicious. A handful of people at the Ministry, disgruntled at the way Lucius managed to avoid his due punishment, possibly also on the wrong end of Severus' malicious teaching methods in their youth, had decided it was worth investigating, while the majority couldn't really care less. Besides, Malfoy and Snape always acted suspiciously. Old habits died hard.
"I think the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is a bit bored lately," Arthur admitted, looking rather ashamed through the floo. "Certainly the overriding feeling is that whatever happened in the cell that night, the upshot was that Malfoy has been neutralised, and since he died before receiving the Kiss, there is no need to waste taxpayer's money on feeding and sheltering his soulless body. Kingsley's on night shift this week, he'll be there at seven on the dot to sort it all out."
"See," Molly reassured Remus, enveloping him in one of her patented motherly hugs, "It will be all right."
Remus was grateful for the overwhelming display of support, and wished he could believe her. As a werewolf, he had fallen foul of the Ministry's pig-headedness on numerous occasions, and knew that the Dark Mark on Severus' forearm would always make him a target for those who had suffered at the hands of his former colleagues, irrespective of any later heroism. He probably should have been nicer to the students while teaching at Hogwarts, too, Remus mused. Being ritually belittled and labelled incompetent twice a week for seven years of your adolescence could leave a person scarred for life, and thirsting for a stab at revenge. Making entire generations hate your guts was not a sensible insurance policy for the dotage of a childless person. But then, Severus had not believed in laying plans for the future, preferring to nurture the pain of the past whilst expecting the manifestation of the grim at any moment. Remus hung his head. Poor, damaged, darling Severus. If they managed to get out of this, he vowed to devote the rest of his life to making Severus happy.
…….
It was a widely accepted fact that institutions with long and distinguished histories resented any meddling from outside authorities, such as law-enforcers from the Ministry. Diana Chiswick had originally asked some of her colleagues to deal with the Institute of Master Potioners aspect of the investigation, but as soon as she mentioned IMP, the whole office had become very busy with various tasks she swore had not been classed as important moments before. So they had been forced to come themselves. Now she understood what the fuss had been about. The condescending way that the reception staff were all smiling at them was rather disturbing, and the intrusive high-level security checks frustrated the aurors at first, until it was explained that with all the strange concoctions being developed and tested in the area, Funny Things were known to happen to those unaccustomed to absolute reliance on their instincts.
"We are fully trained aurors," snorted Phelps disdainfully. "We have expert reflexes!"
One of the visitors' services wizards smiled that good-natured but patronising smile again.
"Yes, but you're not potioners." Chiswick started to ask what on earth he meant by that when an intercom box on the wall buzzed and announced an incomprehensible message. The grinning wizard thanked the disembodied voice and turned back to the guests. "Professor Hayashi is at the Singed Eyebrow Knut Distortion Contest. I'll take you over there."
"The what?"
"Monday afternoon tradition," was all he would say. He led them out of the reception building and across the ancient courtyard, passing through a low stone archway and into what must have been one of the laboratory areas, judging by the frequent scorch-marks, patchwork walls and high numbers of reconstruction-wizards in protective clothing. The young potions master saw them staring and began a little commentary.
"On your right you'll see Delta Block, which is where the Wolfsbane potion was invented in 1984, and was one of several areas used by the late Albus Dumbledore for his research into the twelve properties of dragon's blood. Straight ahead of us is the Nicholas Flamel Building, undergoing major repairs now for the ninth time this year after a couple of Bronze Standard students blew the roof off while gauging the flammability of erumpent insulin two weeks ago."
"How dreadful! Taking the entire roof off!" Chiswick couldn't help but exclaim.
"Not really, Ma'am," the young man replied, "It turned up just outside Salisbury station yesterday lunchtime. It should be back to normal before long. Now please take care. We're passing Lambda Block, the medications department," he hastened his footsteps and looked around fearfully, "This section is the most common area for the occurrence of Funny Things."
"Yes, what exactly do you mean by 'Funny Things'?" demanded Phelps uneasily, hurrying to keep up.
As if to demonstrate, a dense cloud of purple smoke materialised from nowhere and began hovering ominously above their heads. At the panicked squeak from their guide, the small convoy broke into a run, as tiny yellow rubber ducks began to rain quacking down onto them.
"Bloody healing students!" yelled the young fellow. "Whatever you do, don't swallow any ducks!"
The aurors clamped their mouths shut, wondering whether they should demand a full and detailed explanation with diagrams and official witnesses, or whether they were better off not knowing. Either way, now was not the time.
Eventually they dodged through a doorway an found themselves outside the stone walls of the Institute, thick enough to make Hogwarts look like an interestingly-shaped canvas tent. Directly in front of them was a small cluster of cauldron and book shops and a battered-looking old pub proclaiming itself to be the "Singed Eyebrow". A poster on the wall advertised the IMP Halloween Cocktail Contest. Phelps could not repress a shudder at the thought.
The Knut Distortion Competition was obviously over, people were laughing and comparing performances, and strange smells hung in the air. There also appeared to be a shiny bronze goat on the pool table, nonchalantly munching at the green baize while a harassed-looking barmaid tried to push it off.
Sitting at a table in the corner of the room was a small Japanese witch of about a hundred years of age, whom the aurors instantly recognised as the greatest living potions master in the world and Director of the Institute, Professor Hayashi. She was gathering up what appeared to be a hefty pile of winnings and preparing to leave when Chiswick and Phelps made their respectful approach.
"Professor, it is an honour to meet you," Will bowed and showed his credentials.
"What?" she shrieked. "Oh no, the law! What have those horrible healers been up to now? Not more Funny Things?"
"Er, no, Madam. Not as far as I am aware. The Ministry would like your assistance in a murder investigation." The glare she was giving him could have pierced lead. A few nearby students began paying attention. Phelps swallowed, suddenly understanding where Snape had learned his intimidation techniques. Forget Voldemort, this woman was not even five feet tall and almost had him in tears. "I would like help in interpreting the scientific notes of one of the Institute's fellows, who we are currently interrogating at our headquarters." The pub fell devastatingly silent. Scores of eyes were focussed on them. Professor Hayashi appeared to be very angry indeed and Phelps suddenly had the distinct impression he was in big, big trouble.
"You…people…are holding one of my fellows?" she spat into the silence of a crowd of people holding its collective breath. "Who?"
"I am not at liberty to…"
"Who?"
she ignored him.
"The matter is currently…"
"Who?"
The Director was standing inches away from him, looking upwards and
boring holes right through him with relentless dark brown eyes.
Phelps swallowed.
"Severus Snape."
Up to that point, the crowd had been merely interested in the proceedings. Now hostility was pouring from every corner of the room, and Chiswick's trained eye could see many hands reaching for their wands, and even more worrying given the circumstances, many fingers pulling crystal vials of various liquids from hidden pockets. Somewhere a dog began to growl. Clearly, the Institute had collective loyalty issues. Hayashi's eyes never left the young auror's face.
"I see," she said quietly. Chiswick began to wonder if she should be calling for back-up, when Hayashi took a step back and seemed to address the crowd as well as the aurors. "I will take care of this," she declared, eyes glittering. "Personally." Lots of smirking and nodding greeted this statement, and the throng parted as the Director led them out of the Singed Eyebrow, pausing to drop a tiny amount of a clear solution onto the goat. Seconds later, it bleated once in alarm, then shrank suddenly back into a shiny bronze knut. Phelps decided he wanted to go home.
…….
"Yes, I remember Will Phelps," said Percy, sitting down stiffly next to Remus at the Weasley kitchen table. "He was in my year. Ravenclaw prefect. His dad killed himself before he was born, during the first war, but there was supposed to have been something wrong with the suicide note."
"Wrong? It was a fake?"
"Well, he had been an auror, and was in charge of the raid on a suspected Death Eater stronghold when Lucius Malfoy's father was killed." Percy glanced at his mother for confirmation. Molly nodded, continuing the story.
"It was all covered up of course.
The Malfoys claimed the whole thing was a farce, and that he was
completely innocent. It made sense that Lucius would have wanted
revenge. Apparently Jim Phelps ingested hemlock and left a note
saying he couldn't stand the horrors of the war any longer."
"What
was wrong with that?" asked Remus, puzzled. He had felt that way
himself at times, though he would never admit it. Well, maybe to
Severus.
"He signed it with his real name, 'Jeremiah'," said Molly grimly. "All his life he had been known as Jim. Even to his parents. There was no way he would use that name. It would be like Tonks signing herself as 'Nymphadora'."
"I see. But he definitely wrote the note?"
"Yes, no doubt about it. But it would have been the perfect way to show he was being forced to write it against his will."
"Forced by Lucius Malfoy?" things were beginning to slide into place in Remus' mind.
"No way of telling," Percy interjected. "He was way too clever to leave clues. But Will was convinced he had been responsible. He blamed everything that went wrong in his life on the fact that he'd never met his father. I remember Flitwick lecturing him within an inch of his life for hexing Draco in his first week at school. I imagine Lucius took a dim view of that and leaned on Dumbledore."
Remus suddenly felt very old. Would the past ever stop ruining the present? William Phelps had obviously convinced himself that Malfoy was the root of all evil, and had been dying to see him receive the Kiss. He supposed that in Will's eyes, he had escaped justice once again, and the next logical step had been to transfer his thirst for revenge to the man who may have given him the easy way out. There was also the possibility… Remus hated himself for even entertaining the thought, but he was certain that it had crossed Phelps' mind. Jim Phelps had been killed by poison, a good six months before Severus switched sides. Would Lucius really have dirtied his hands by performing such a deed himself?
Misinterpreting his look of total despair, Molly hugged him again.
"You really love Severus, don't you?" she asked, smiling gently. Percy shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Yes," said Remus firmly, fighting back tears. "I love him. Despite all his faults."
…….
Auror Chiswick was beginning to have serious doubts about this investigation. She had not liked the expression on Professor Hayashi's face one bit, as the potions legend had taken charge of the scrupulously filed notes in Snape's library and laboratory. They made absolutely no sense to the aurors, so they had little choice but to seek help from the Institute, but now Diana was wondering if it would be best to just forget this whole thing.
She had booked a front row seat at Malfoy's execution, longing to see him as vacant and useless as her dear best friend and former work-partner Alice and her husband Frank, doomed to shuffle around St Mungo's closed ward like imbeciles, their minds in tatters. Needless to say, she had immensely enjoyed watching Bellatrix Lestrange get Kissed. But now there was an unpleasant niggling at the back of her mind reminding her that it was Snape's amazing Dark Mark potion which had made the capture of all that scum possible; so even if he had killed Malfoy, did it honestly make any difference? Snape had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, like Alice and Frank, her old boss Mad-eye and a handful of others. She had never been asked to join. Part of her was upset at this rejection – they had accepted a sadistic, slippery reformed Death Eater after all – but on considering the horrible things most of the Order had suffered through both wars, she was also a bit relieved. The war had been over for three years, but the loose ends left untied and endless recriminations kept it limping along. Perhaps it was time to let things lie.
Now young Phelps had discovered that Snape's lover was a keen gardener and had insisted on having a representative from the Ministry's Magifloral division inspect his Derbyshire home for any sign of octurvice, the poison-masking weed which was so crucial to his theory. Chiswick stepped out into Lupin's garden and beamed on recognising the herbology expert.
"Neville!"
"Hello, Aunty Diana," he smiled. Such a nice, polite boy, considering what he had been through. And obviously doing well in his job, too, if he was being consulted on such a matter! "Your colleague has been telling me all about the investigation." Was that a touch of ice in his tone? Will had obviously been going on about justice and revenge again, whereas Neville had always been keen to forget about his own unfortunate past.
"So, have you found anything, my dear?"
"I cannot see any octurvice leaves in this garden," he stated, rather formally, Chiswick thought. Good boy, to do things properly. Phelps was looking faintly annoyed.
"Are you certain, Longbottom?" Neville visibly flushed.
"Would you recognise a healthy, leafy octurvice bush if you saw one?"
"Er, no."
"Well I would. And
I don't see such a bush in this garden. Will that be all?"
Neville wished his honorary aunt good-day and stalked off. It's OK,
he thought to himself as he struggled to calm his racing heartbeat, I
didn't tell a lie. They never asked if I saw the shrivelled stump
of damaged bush struggling to survive. He smiled to himself.
Remus owed him a butterbeer. A very large one.
…….
Kingsley Shacklebolt, now head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, stormed through the corridors, wearing an expression which caused everyone in his path to scatter or press themselves into the walls to allow him to pass. He objected to being hauled into work well before the beginning of his shift; he objected to receiving an almighty dressing-down from the Minister of Magic; he objected to the idiocy of certain members of his team; he objected to Tonks' earlier implication that he could just wave his wand and sort it all out; but most of all, he objected to the headline in the Evening Prophet.
On reaching the office he bellowed for someone to fetch Chiswick and Phelps, immediately, or deal with the consequences. Kingsley was a mild man, most of the time, but like most gentle people, had the temper of a howling tornado on the rare occasions he allowed it to surface. The windows rattled as he bawled out Diana and Will, sending the rest of the department diving for cover.
"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE DOING!"
"Er…" began Phelps. He got no further as Kingsley slammed down a copy of the evening paper in front of him.
"READ THE HEADLINE!" he yelled. Diana swallowed and picked up the Prophet.
"'Harry Potter: Ministry is a 'Bloody Disgrace'!
Slayer of Voldemort Blasts MLE for Harassment of Disabled Potions Hero. Rita Skeeter gives full story of Ministry incompetence on p. 3, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 and 11, plus public discussion forum: 'Why aurors are useless' p.12-17'…"
"That will do, Auror Chiswick," said Kingsley, regaining his calm.
"But…" began Phelps.
"Enough, thank you," interrupted Shacklebolt smoothly.
"Sir…" Chiswick tried.
"I said enough. I want you both outside the Minister's office at eight tomorrow morning, in immaculately pressed dress uniform and toting an explanation good enough to keep her off my case. Now get out of my sight."
…….
Severus was feeling so ill and miserable, he was convinced there must be a dementor lurking somewhere nearby. He was still completely immobilised, still under constant surveillance, and still convinced that whatever happened from now on, it could not be good. The pain in his leg was making him see stars, which was thoroughly irritating as all he needed to do was stretch it out by taking four or five paces around the room, his throat was so swollen he had started having difficulty breathing, his glasses had vanished leaving him with a thumping headache and he felt utterly wretched. He hoped Remus was not under suspicion. He hated the idea of him having to suffer something like this because of his association with Severus. At least Lupin had lots of friends who would vouch for him – unlike himself, who would be left to rot. He felt safe in the knowledge that whatever these idiots managed to do to him, Remus would probably be all right. He clung to the thought.
Bloody Lucius. Still managing to screw his life up, even after death. Bloody Ministry.
He tried to gauge how long it had been since the aurors' last interrogation. He was dizzy with hunger and dehydration now, so it must be getting on for evening. They could not just leave him here like this for much longer. Could they? No one would care what became of a nasty old Ex-Death Eater like him, so yes, the probably could.
A metallic sound behind him caught his attention, though he was unable to turn his head to look, he knew the door was being unlocked. People were speaking, and a wave of sweet relief washed over his exhausted body as he recognised one of the voices. He had never been so pleased to hear that stern Aberdeenshire accent.
"You there! Remove that binding spell at once, young man!"
"Er…" the voice of an uncertain guard.
"All right, lad, do as the Headmistress tells you."
"Yes, Minister Bones."
Severus felt himself falling forwards. He knew he should make an effort to at least sit up in the presence of the Minister of Magic but the room was swirling with crazy grey light and the floor felt deliciously comfortable, though it seemed to be pitching and tossing rather more than floors were supposed to. Never mind. Minerva would make his excuses, he hoped.
"Severus? Dear Merlin, Amelia, what have your people done to him?"
Snape decided that he couldn't be bothered to speak. Too much effort. Hurt anyway. Why were they making so much noise? Someone was cradling his head in their lap, and his drooping eyes could just make out a sea of garish green tartan before he blacked out completely.
…….
Severus awoke slowly and comfortably in his own bed. He was tired and his knee ached, but otherwise he felt very well, considering all he had just been through. Frowning in the cosiness of his soft cotton pillow, he began to wonder if it had all been some kind of terrible hallucination. He stretched carefully, before starting to reach onto the bedside table for his glasses when he was suddenly being held tightly, desperately, possessively by a warm body. Remus. Remus was safe! They both appeared to be safe. Remus was crying, rocking him like a child and muttering fervently.
"Remus?" he managed to croak, starting to get worried at the blasted werewolf's odd behaviour. "Is everything all right?" Lupin was crying and laughing at the same time. He relaxed his grip on Severus and held his face in both hands. In the dim light Remus looked frightened, teary and absolutely the most beautiful sight Severus had ever seen.
"Are you all right?" the werewolf demanded forcefully, scanning his face, presumably for signs of injury or distress. Snape nodded. Remus yanked him back into a fierce embrace.
"I am never, ever, letting anyone take you away from me again!" he clutched the black and white streaked head against his chest, stroking and kissing him with a desperate tenderness, all the while making promises of random violence towards those entities, real or imaginary, who threatened harm to his lover.
Severus was in heaven. Lying nurtured and safe in Remus' arms, he accepted the love, the passion, the death threats and the sense of possession with a giddy delight. Lovely, wonderful Remus was promising to care for him for the rest of eternity. It was glorious. Severus was smiling and crying and chuckling as he stared deeply into the emotional amber eyes. Now was the time. He had learned his lesson, he would not risk losing Remus before it had been spoken aloud. He had never said the words before, but now they were tumbling from his mouth, the perfect way to start the new chapter in his life.
"I love you, Remus. I love you, I love you, I love you."
…….
A/N: There you go. I think there will be an epilogue.
I thought that using original characters would be the best way to show everyone pulling together to help Severus, but I wasn't too interested in their development as people. I suppose I was trying to show that the war affected everyone in different ways.
Once again, thanks for the lovely reviews! You make my day, and I'm so grateful that you take the time to do it! Take care, SN x
PS But did he do it?
