Chapter 1
There were some half-bloods in Slytherin and thus Severus' knowledge about Muggle Social Services was not as outdated as it could have been. In his youth a Social worker had been making infrequent rounds on all Spinner's End houses, because everybody there had suffered from the mill's closing. Fortunately she had caught Tobias Snape in a rather benevolent mood, and sober.
"You think I cannot do my duty for my family!" he had bellowed.
"You have been paying taxes this many years, Mr Snape. The allowance and the child benefit are your due. If you do not take it you are giving treasury a gift. That is mighty generous of you, but hardly necessary!"
Eileen Snape had not been of use during the visit, the concept was completely alien to the Pureblood witch. Eventually Tobias had relented and signed the appropriate forms. Times had been better for a while, until his father's drinking had worsened with the acceptance that neither would the mill open up again nor was other work to be found in the area.
Nowadays social workers would visit a family when alerted by teachers, neighbours or the police. Dumbledore would have made sure that the Ministry of Magic couldn't interfere with Harry Potter's placement with his relatives, but the Muggles should have noticed something at least. Glamourizing himself, just in case somebody choose to interrogate the staff later, Severus Snape went to Little Whinging's Social Services. He presented himself as a friend of Harry's parents who was only now returning from over-seas, claiming that the Dursley's behaviour on his visit had raised questions. Severus kept his questions deliberately vague and poured all his acting skills into the role of the slightly concerned acquaintance.
"Here, let me see, Harold James Potter." The social worker was drawing up a file on her computer.
"Interesting. There should have been-, mhm, ah, yes, that is one of Ms Charkov's cases."
"Where can I find her?"
"Oh, I am sorry. She has been on sick leave for some weeks. The case should have been reassigned but I cannot find here to whom."
Skimming the woman's thoughts Severus got the impression that Ms Charkov suffered from some sort of illness called burn out. He wondered whether this was the result of Obliviation. Promising to call back later Severus left the building and searched for the nearest post office. He found only one Charkov in Little Whinging and decided, rather than call first, to surprise her.
The neighbourhood was varied and lively, a welcome contrast to the cookie clutter world of Privet Drive. Snape took the four floors up to Ms Charcov's flat in an unassuming building whose staircase smelled of cooking. A Hominum Revelio showed a single occupant in the flat, but he had to lean on the bell for close to ten minutes before some shuffling and muttered curses could be heard. The door opened only little bit. It was enough however to make him take a step back from the stale and rancid air drifting into the staircase. He could not make anything out of the social worker but matted hair and a suspicious mien.
"Ms Charkov?"
"What's it to you?"
"My name is Severus Snape. I need to speak to you about Harry Potter."
The woman seemed to pale even more.
"No comment."
She made a movement to close the door but Severus had his foot positioned.
"Get dressed! We're going to the pub."
"Fuck off, you wanker! I am going nowhere with you!"
"Ah, good, there's some spirit left. I'll wait here."
She tried to shove him out of the door.
"Ms Charkov, I can help you. Please get dressed and come with me."
The social worker backed off, the rattle of a key could be heard and the door was thrown open. The woman looked dreadful: matted, unwashed hair long grown out of whatever haircut it had been, pallid skin, a stained oversized sweater and neon green leggings that might have fitted three sizes ago.
"Fuck getting dressed. Let's go."
Thankful to have got her out of her flat Severus turned back to the stairs. Ms Charkov's appearance might get them some stares but not as much as near Privet Drive. And wearing some faded jeans, a Clash-t-shirt and his father's old leather jacket he would not win best-dressed awards himself.
The corner pub was decidedly seedy but the social worker had steered him towards the most remote table outside. Severus went for two pints and ordered jacket potatoes as well. Putting the glasses on the table he sat down across from the woman. Out in the daylight she looked even more ill but at least a spark of indignation kept her upright.
"Isn't it a bit early for a pint?"
"Don't tell me you have slept. Therefore a beer is all right for you."
Her muttered thanks were nearly inaudible. Severus prayed for the meals to arrive soon as her breath was truly horrid. He concentrated on her hands, which could be called elegant if her nails weren't bitten until drawing blood and her fingers stained with tobacco.
"Blimey, 'elen! You look like 'ell! I finish at seven, I am coming over and you'll open your bloody door or else!"
Ms Charkov managed a grimace and a disgruntled `Yeah.´ Severus nodded towards the waitress who had brought their food and was glad that someone was caring what happened. During their meal he spun the tale of long-absent friend of Harry's parents and told the social worker about the school fair and the conclusions he had drawn from the boy's appearance and behaviour. After a minute Charkov's professional pride made her take an active interest in his story and she asked questions that made it apparent that she knew her job.
Her own tale was a sad one. Until last year Social Services had its files mainly on paper. When the change to digital was finished half a year ago Helen, who until then had taken pride from the fact that she was a diligent, effective and shrewd professional whose emotions had not yet hardened and who, at age 29 and eight years with Social Services was now getting her first thank-you-letters from former cases on whose lives she'd made a positive impact, noticed something. Upon looking over her cases on the computer she had been appalled by her oversight of Harry Potter. Reading his file she felt that she had wronged the boy grievously. She made numerous attempts to rectify her mistake but somehow never made a visit. Doubts and self-reprimand had led to depression and her present sorry state.
"Ms Charkov, despite what you told me, I am sure you did nothing wrong. I will explain in a minute. For now – will you consent to be my wife?"
She was quick, but not quick enough for Severus Snape who caught the hand about to slap him easily.
"How dare you mock me! You filthy miserable bastard!"
The enraged woman made a move to leave but Severus took both her hands and forced her to sit down again.
"Sorry, that came out the wrong way. Please let me explain. I am under a confidentiality agreement about what I want to tell you. I am allowed to tell my wife, my kids and my fiancée. That is the loophole. You can break our betrothal after we've talked and I am safe."
He watched for a while incredulity and her desire to help Harry Potter (and herself) battling.
"All right, I agree to be your wife. This better be good if I am making a fool of myself in front of a total stranger."
"It is complicated, please bear with me a little longer."
Severus let his wand slip from his sleeve.
"This is my wand and I am a wizard. And so is Harry Potter, who is important for various political opponents in the wizarding world. I think that somebody put a geas on Harry Potter's file and possibly on his person to make him un-noticable for Muggles – that's non-magical people – and their authorities. You somehow managed to break this geas when his file was put on computer."
Helen's mouth closed and opened in rapid succession and her struggle to take everything in was visible.
"Please tell me you're having me on!"
"No, that I cannot. Are you afraid of mice?"
"No."
He Transfigured her ciggies into a mouse, long enough for Helen to be sure of what she'd just seen, and then back before Levitating her pint glass. (The necessary privacy charms he had cast earlier wandlessly.) Severus had put Ms Charkov down as a realist and a cynic and therefore was surprised by her degree of acceptance. The reason for her behaviour became clear when she made a move to touch his wand. He felt uneasy with this – for a wizard touching his wand was more intimate than somebody touching, well, his other wand – but allowed it. Her touch drew tiny silver and green sparks.
"Oh. That felt like baboushka!"
"Baboushka?"
"My great-grandmother. I stayed with her as a child quite often. Sometimes, when she would feel my forehead when I was sick it felt like touching your wand. People would call on her for her herbal remedies, and sometimes she took them to the dining room and was sort of singing to them. When I told my father, who is a scientist, he told me off and wouldn't let me visit anymore."
"It seems that your baboushka is a witch, maybe not a formally trained one, and that you may be what we call a Squib, a person from a magical family who has not developed magic herself. That would explain why you know about Harry Potter at all, because that geas was likely designed to deflect Muggles."
Charkov still looked a little dazed but all in all telling her about magic had gone well, thanks to her great-grandmother.
"Right. Do you think we have to act immediately concerning Harry Potter? I am asking because if there is a way to keep him safe until I am back to work and we can do everything above board that will be better for him in the long run. I am thankful that you found me and will likely have some questions for you but for now I want to go home, have a long shower and see my doctor, to write me off sick-leave."
The woman seemed to have found her spunk again.
"I too think that whatever is done has to be done above board. And I need more time to find out the wizarding side about his placement. Let me stress again that with you lies no fault at all. The man who likely put the geas on Potter's file is the most powerful wizard in Britain. It is a small wonder that you managed to find out about his existence at all. I would like to do more checks on you, to ascertain your levels of magic, if you'll allow."
"First things first. Thank you, Mr Snape, for telling me about Harry Potter and about magic. How am I to reach you?"
"By telephone."
This drew small laugh from Helen.
"How prosaic! No moonbeams or vanishing post-its for wizards?"
"We do have paper-aeroplanes for inter-departmental messages in the Ministry of Magic."
"Ah. All right. I hope to be back at work after the weekend and I will make the visit to the Dursley's my first priority. Expect to hear from me from Tuesday onwards."
They parted ways, Helen Charkov feeling better than in weeks and Severus Snape glad to have found an ally.