Disclaimer: see chapter one
2 Work
When he arrived at the Ministry, he went into the telephone booth which was normally reserved for visitors and not to be used by Ministry employees. To be able to enter the proper entrance he would had to overcome some protective magic wards, and that was out of the question for the former Potions professor. Three years ago he had lost his all of his magic abilities and had to give over his wand to the Ministry. To the squib registration office, strictly speaking, because since then, Severus Snape had officially been registered as a squib. 'Snape, registry,' he spoke into the receiver. The elevator took him down into the entrance hall where he showed his Ministry badge to the officer on duty before he crossed the open space with purposeful strides to the stairs which were leading to the basement.
The house elves greeted him cheerfully, as always. 'Good morning, Sir. Nothing unusual, Sir. Hope you had a good night, Sir. We wish you a good day, Sir.'
He bid them a good morning as well and sat down at his desk. On his in-tray were three files. One was from Auror Longbottom's office, the other two came from Potter. A lot of enquiries came from Potter. Judging from the sheer number of files he asked for, Potter seemed to be quite busy and also thorough in his work. Severus signed the three lists of files the two Aurors required and handed them over to the elf on duty who hurried to give them to his assistant elves in turn who would collect the corresponding files.
Basically, this was the only thing he was supposed to do for his work and he was quite sure the Ministry had invented this routine especially for him. There was no reason why it should be important for these lists to be signed or to supervise the house elves. As he was void of magical powers he didn't have any real control over the elves or what they did anyway. Severus had never bothered to ask somebody what the point of his presence in the registry basement really was. Because he knew why. They didn't only need him doing this job as a subterfuge for paying him this ridiculous high salary. He was sure that they wanted to keep him busy and, what was more, under control. A wizard who had lost his magic and, on top of it, had once been on 'the dark side', was potentially dangerous. Although not in possession of any magical potency anymore, let alone dark magic, theoretically, he could still try to renew old connections to plan acts of revenge against the Ministry, it's employees or even muggles. He wasn't doing anything like that, and why this deadly boring occupation should actually keep him from doing it if he had chosen to was beyond him.
Over the years he had spent in the registry basement he had found a variety of occupations to fill his time. For once, he read a lot. Novels, poetry, theatre plays, also academic literature on magical matters. But that had been during the first months. At some point, when he had given up hope that he would get his magic back, he had stopped reading all the potions journals. It was just too depressing to read about the interesting projects other potion brewers were running, if you knew that you would never be able to participate in any way. As most of the potions also required magic at some stage of their development, he couldn't brew them anymore. Otherwise he would have been able to keep his teaching job, or more likely, any other job that had to do with potions, because, as most people who knew him guessed correctly, teaching had never been his favourite occupation.
He also read a lot of the records down here. Most of it was boring administrative stuff, some minor criminal records, but in general not very exciting. He had never found records about the important Death Eater cases or connected families, let alone his own file of which he was sure a copy existed somewhere in the Ministry. But this kind of material would of course be classified. He didn't fool himself in that respect. They would never trust him so far as to give him access to classified records.
When he wasn't reading, he very often fell asleep. But he could count on the house elves for that matter. They would always wake him up for lunch break or if it was time to go home. He was sure that they reported on him but he didn't care. He had found out very soon how far he was allowed to go considering his working morale. He had come late on purpose, sometimes even as late as lunch time, gone very early, some times even as early as lunch break. Nobody seemed to care or even notice. He had only found out that he had probably overstepped the line when he had stayed at home for several days because he had decided that it was definitely more comfortable to sleep in his bed and read on the couch than at work. Finally, that had earned him a Ministry owl from the personnel department, but only after he had been absent for over a week without giving notice to anybody. It had told him to fill in a sick leave form and had wished him well, but he knew now that simply staying at home wasn't obviously an option and that the Ministry would probably not tolerate such behaviour.
He knew for sure when a Ministry social worker turned up the next day to enquire about his health, and interpreted it as a warning for having overstepped an invisible line. Consequently, he had gone back to work the day after. Not that this kept him from coming late occasionally, sleeping at his desk or reading his private books. From his point of view, anybody who was forced to do (well 'doing' wasn't even an appropriate expression, because he didn't really do anything) such boring work had a right to act as he did. Especially since he had no choice. He wasn't in this position of his free will. Being confronted with the choice between staying at St. Mungo's, permanently drugged with tranquilizing potions or being content with this job at the Ministry and a nice salary while living as a squib in a muggle environment, he had chosen the latter.
Three year ago, after the Dark Lord's downfall, he had received the Order of Merlin together with the other members of the Order of the Phoenix. Shortly after the ceremony Ministry officials had approached him and told him that he was supposed to have the Dark Mark removed from his forearm and that they would bring him to St. Mungo's for the operation which would be only a routine thing. If he had only known... He should have been more suscipious about it, expecially since he was known to be someone who trusted hardly anybody. But although he knew that his magical tattoo had been conjured by very powerful dark magic, and wouldn't probably be easy to remove, he was somewhat glad that the healers seemed to have found a means to remove the much hated evidence of his former connection to the dark side.
After the procedure he thought differently. It had turned out to be a total desaster. Not only that the anaesthetic hadn't worked properly and it had been excruciatingly painful when they had cauterized the tattoo, above all it had been the reason why he had lost all of his magical abilities and turned into a squib.
He had found out very soon after he had woken up in the ward, after the anaesthetic had finally hit his system and sent him to sleep for hours. They had left his wand on his nightstand, as it was the general custom in wizarding hospitals. He had tried a simple spell and it hadn't worked. He had tried again and again and but still nothing had happend. He had tried different spells and incantations. Nothing. At first, he and also the healers had thought that it would only be temporary, probably due to the medication or whatever. But when days and finally weeks had passed without a change in his condition, it had become quite clear what was wrong with him. They hadn't allowed him to leave the hospital since they were expecting a somewhat extreme reaction from a wizard who was told that he would be a squib for the rest of his life.
And react he did. He had simply lost it, had ranted and shouted like mad and had finally attacked the healer who had told him the final diagnosis. It had taken five people to bring him down to the floor. While the three nurses and two healers had suffered several broken ribs and black eyes, he had ended up tied up in bed filled up to the brim with tranquilizing potions for weeks. At some point, when the medication had worn off they had asked him, if he would cooperate and live as a squib and take this job at the Ministry. He hadn't really cared about details at that moment, he only wanted to get away from it all, to get some peace and perhaps the opportunity to put an end to his miserable life without anybody interfering.
When he had finally moved in his flat, he had slept for days, only woken up once every day by the Ministry's social worker who brought him food. The elderly woman had been very kind, had never asked stupid questions or urged him to talk about his problems as he would have expected from a social worker. She had just watched him eating, asked if he needed anything and had gone. Then she had started giving him directions about how to deal with all the muggle devices in his flat. After two weeks she had given him the dates for his 'integrating into muggle society' classes and showed him all the shopping facilities in the neighbourhood.
At first, it had been the peace and quiet of his flat which had calmed him down a great deal. He had started going shopping on his own very soon and had found out that muggle life could be very interesting. He had begun to deal with his situation as a challenge. A challenge to show the people from the Ministry that he wasn't going to crack and give up but that he was determined to blend into the non-magical world as good as a genuine muggle. After four weeks they had asked him to start working in the registry, but he had received his wages before that and had found out that shopping could also be a very rewarding activity. Shopping and buying furniture, the television set and his expensive surround system. Severus Snape had found out about muggle music.
In his first weeks he had tried out a lot of the muggles' cultural activities like cinema, theatre, concerts and the like. With his inappropriately high wage he could very well afford all that and didn't need to restrict himself to free museum or library visits which were also part of his leisure time activities. In general, he had found that all very interesting, but it was only when he had gone to a concert to listen to music of the great baroque composer Bach, when it had struck him. This man's music, who had lived over 250 years ago, had somehow touched his heart and, above all, made him want to live on to listen to more of it. It was just then that he had realized that he had somehow given up on the idea of putting an end to his life. In fact, the only way he would have preferred to do it would have involved potions of a very complex quality who could only be brewed with magic, and that, obviously, was not an option.
2 Work
When he arrived at the Ministry, he went into the telephone booth which was normally reserved for visitors and not to be used by Ministry employees. To be able to enter the proper entrance he would had to overcome some protective magic wards, and that was out of the question for the former Potions professor. Three years ago he had lost his all of his magic abilities and had to give over his wand to the Ministry. To the squib registration office, strictly speaking, because since then, Severus Snape had officially been registered as a squib. 'Snape, registry,' he spoke into the receiver. The elevator took him down into the entrance hall where he showed his Ministry badge to the officer on duty before he crossed the open space with purposeful strides to the stairs which were leading to the basement.
The house elves greeted him cheerfully, as always. 'Good morning, Sir. Nothing unusual, Sir. Hope you had a good night, Sir. We wish you a good day, Sir.'
He bid them a good morning as well and sat down at his desk. On his in-tray were three files. One was from Auror Longbottom's office, the other two came from Potter. A lot of enquiries came from Potter. Judging from the sheer number of files he asked for, Potter seemed to be quite busy and also thorough in his work. Severus signed the three lists of files the two Aurors required and handed them over to the elf on duty who hurried to give them to his assistant elves in turn who would collect the corresponding files.
Basically, this was the only thing he was supposed to do for his work and he was quite sure the Ministry had invented this routine especially for him. There was no reason why it should be important for these lists to be signed or to supervise the house elves. As he was void of magical powers he didn't have any real control over the elves or what they did anyway. Severus had never bothered to ask somebody what the point of his presence in the registry basement really was. Because he knew why. They didn't only need him doing this job as a subterfuge for paying him this ridiculous high salary. He was sure that they wanted to keep him busy and, what was more, under control. A wizard who had lost his magic and, on top of it, had once been on 'the dark side', was potentially dangerous. Although not in possession of any magical potency anymore, let alone dark magic, theoretically, he could still try to renew old connections to plan acts of revenge against the Ministry, it's employees or even muggles. He wasn't doing anything like that, and why this deadly boring occupation should actually keep him from doing it if he had chosen to was beyond him.
Over the years he had spent in the registry basement he had found a variety of occupations to fill his time. For once, he read a lot. Novels, poetry, theatre plays, also academic literature on magical matters. But that had been during the first months. At some point, when he had given up hope that he would get his magic back, he had stopped reading all the potions journals. It was just too depressing to read about the interesting projects other potion brewers were running, if you knew that you would never be able to participate in any way. As most of the potions also required magic at some stage of their development, he couldn't brew them anymore. Otherwise he would have been able to keep his teaching job, or more likely, any other job that had to do with potions, because, as most people who knew him guessed correctly, teaching had never been his favourite occupation.
He also read a lot of the records down here. Most of it was boring administrative stuff, some minor criminal records, but in general not very exciting. He had never found records about the important Death Eater cases or connected families, let alone his own file of which he was sure a copy existed somewhere in the Ministry. But this kind of material would of course be classified. He didn't fool himself in that respect. They would never trust him so far as to give him access to classified records.
When he wasn't reading, he very often fell asleep. But he could count on the house elves for that matter. They would always wake him up for lunch break or if it was time to go home. He was sure that they reported on him but he didn't care. He had found out very soon how far he was allowed to go considering his working morale. He had come late on purpose, sometimes even as late as lunch time, gone very early, some times even as early as lunch break. Nobody seemed to care or even notice. He had only found out that he had probably overstepped the line when he had stayed at home for several days because he had decided that it was definitely more comfortable to sleep in his bed and read on the couch than at work. Finally, that had earned him a Ministry owl from the personnel department, but only after he had been absent for over a week without giving notice to anybody. It had told him to fill in a sick leave form and had wished him well, but he knew now that simply staying at home wasn't obviously an option and that the Ministry would probably not tolerate such behaviour.
He knew for sure when a Ministry social worker turned up the next day to enquire about his health, and interpreted it as a warning for having overstepped an invisible line. Consequently, he had gone back to work the day after. Not that this kept him from coming late occasionally, sleeping at his desk or reading his private books. From his point of view, anybody who was forced to do (well 'doing' wasn't even an appropriate expression, because he didn't really do anything) such boring work had a right to act as he did. Especially since he had no choice. He wasn't in this position of his free will. Being confronted with the choice between staying at St. Mungo's, permanently drugged with tranquilizing potions or being content with this job at the Ministry and a nice salary while living as a squib in a muggle environment, he had chosen the latter.
Three year ago, after the Dark Lord's downfall, he had received the Order of Merlin together with the other members of the Order of the Phoenix. Shortly after the ceremony Ministry officials had approached him and told him that he was supposed to have the Dark Mark removed from his forearm and that they would bring him to St. Mungo's for the operation which would be only a routine thing. If he had only known... He should have been more suscipious about it, expecially since he was known to be someone who trusted hardly anybody. But although he knew that his magical tattoo had been conjured by very powerful dark magic, and wouldn't probably be easy to remove, he was somewhat glad that the healers seemed to have found a means to remove the much hated evidence of his former connection to the dark side.
After the procedure he thought differently. It had turned out to be a total desaster. Not only that the anaesthetic hadn't worked properly and it had been excruciatingly painful when they had cauterized the tattoo, above all it had been the reason why he had lost all of his magical abilities and turned into a squib.
He had found out very soon after he had woken up in the ward, after the anaesthetic had finally hit his system and sent him to sleep for hours. They had left his wand on his nightstand, as it was the general custom in wizarding hospitals. He had tried a simple spell and it hadn't worked. He had tried again and again and but still nothing had happend. He had tried different spells and incantations. Nothing. At first, he and also the healers had thought that it would only be temporary, probably due to the medication or whatever. But when days and finally weeks had passed without a change in his condition, it had become quite clear what was wrong with him. They hadn't allowed him to leave the hospital since they were expecting a somewhat extreme reaction from a wizard who was told that he would be a squib for the rest of his life.
And react he did. He had simply lost it, had ranted and shouted like mad and had finally attacked the healer who had told him the final diagnosis. It had taken five people to bring him down to the floor. While the three nurses and two healers had suffered several broken ribs and black eyes, he had ended up tied up in bed filled up to the brim with tranquilizing potions for weeks. At some point, when the medication had worn off they had asked him, if he would cooperate and live as a squib and take this job at the Ministry. He hadn't really cared about details at that moment, he only wanted to get away from it all, to get some peace and perhaps the opportunity to put an end to his miserable life without anybody interfering.
When he had finally moved in his flat, he had slept for days, only woken up once every day by the Ministry's social worker who brought him food. The elderly woman had been very kind, had never asked stupid questions or urged him to talk about his problems as he would have expected from a social worker. She had just watched him eating, asked if he needed anything and had gone. Then she had started giving him directions about how to deal with all the muggle devices in his flat. After two weeks she had given him the dates for his 'integrating into muggle society' classes and showed him all the shopping facilities in the neighbourhood.
At first, it had been the peace and quiet of his flat which had calmed him down a great deal. He had started going shopping on his own very soon and had found out that muggle life could be very interesting. He had begun to deal with his situation as a challenge. A challenge to show the people from the Ministry that he wasn't going to crack and give up but that he was determined to blend into the non-magical world as good as a genuine muggle. After four weeks they had asked him to start working in the registry, but he had received his wages before that and had found out that shopping could also be a very rewarding activity. Shopping and buying furniture, the television set and his expensive surround system. Severus Snape had found out about muggle music.
In his first weeks he had tried out a lot of the muggles' cultural activities like cinema, theatre, concerts and the like. With his inappropriately high wage he could very well afford all that and didn't need to restrict himself to free museum or library visits which were also part of his leisure time activities. In general, he had found that all very interesting, but it was only when he had gone to a concert to listen to music of the great baroque composer Bach, when it had struck him. This man's music, who had lived over 250 years ago, had somehow touched his heart and, above all, made him want to live on to listen to more of it. It was just then that he had realized that he had somehow given up on the idea of putting an end to his life. In fact, the only way he would have preferred to do it would have involved potions of a very complex quality who could only be brewed with magic, and that, obviously, was not an option.