The Interview

Monday July thirty-first dawned bright and clear and it was forecast to be warm, occasioning much moaning from those due to go back to work after a spectacularly un-summer-like weekend of cloud and drizzle. Children everywhere, however, were delighted to get a proper day outside during their holidays, and as Severus Snape locked up the front door of his Spinners End home later that morning, he could hear excitable laughing and shrieks coming from the playground as children gathered to their nearest approximation of a park to enjoy the sunshine. It was the same park in which he had first spoken to Lily, and the tree was still there, and the swing set. It reflected more on the poor level of service his local Council provided rather than any latent sentimentality – the swings had been rusty and uncomfortable even then.

Given the number of people out and about, he had to pick his moment carefully to disapparate. When he was quite confident there was no-one to see him – he didn't attract as much attention from his neighbours these days anyway, they were becoming more accustomed to their odd, quiet, bachelor next door (although it was agreed between his neighbours that, of any house on the street, his was most likely to be the one with frozen body parts in his fridge) – he vanished with a barely audible crack.

McGonagall was waiting for him at the gates of Hogwarts, as promised, at eleven am sharp. She was dressed in full witch's attire to commemorate the event, including her pointed hat. The moment she laid eyes on him, her face split into a wide smile and she declared, "Severus! Can it be?!"

He inclined his head, offered the merest of smiles in return and paused to take in the scene before him. The wrought iron gates with their winged boars, the winding path up to the castle, the road to Hogsmeade, the brambly, wild-flowered edge of the Forbidden Forest – it hadn't changed, of course it hadn't, it would take a supreme arrogance to think that time or anyone had any kind of effect on the permanence of this place. Hogwarts carried on steadfastly with or without him.

"Minerva," he said, and didn't assist with what seemed to be tentativeness from her about a greeting. She approached him boldly, then faltered right before the normal moment for an embrace, and instead stuck out her hand. He shook it.

She looked up at him and her eyes scanned his face. She would find it aged, which was not just the result of time. While a wrinkle or two betrayed his forty-fifth year, and he was discovering an increasingly steady arrival of grey in his temples and whiskers, it showed mostly in his eyes. They had seen far, far too much. But what she said was: "By the goodness of Merlin: here you are, back from the dead, and you don't look a bit different."

"Thank you. Yes, well the phoenix must burn to emerge, said someone; however you are being kind. I'm well aware that the rigours of time are showing. You, however, are immaculate."

While she brushed off the compliment, her eyes danced a little. "But you are skinny!" she declared, standing back. "Look – your coat just hangs. Come along, come along I will order us some tea and scones."

She ushered him through the gate which swung shut behind them and commenced up the path, only to be suddenly apprehended by a strange, leggy, tufty-furred. grey-coloured dog who loped up towards them and wagged its long tail slowly. "Oh, this is Fisk, Hagrid's new dog," McGonagall explained, giving it a halting pat on the head. "Fang passed not long ago," she added under her breath.

"What is it? Some kind of greyhound?"

"It's a deerhound. My father had them, they're very popular around these parts. They don't drool, so that's an improvement."

Just then there was a roar, and all three jumped. It was coming from further up the path around a corner, and the tremor of pounding footsteps was accompanied by a bellow: "SEVERUS!" Hagrid appeared, not quite at a run, but with strides long enough that his beard flew behind him and his great ring of keys jangled alarmingly. A flock of sparrows startled into the air.

"Hello Hagrid -," Snape had time to say before the giant grabbed him in a hug that lifted him clear of the ground.

"How be on, yah great apeth?!" hollered Hagrid. "Where's you bin to? We all but buried yeh! I cried for days, yeh heller!"

"Ah, well, I'm - oof!"

Hagrid half cuffed him, half hugged him again, and then rubbed a tear away roughly from the corner of his eye as he held Snape at an arm's length. Fisk watched it all with a goofy grin. "But seriously, Sev'rus – are y'awright? Are you all in one piece?"

"Yes, thank you Hagrid, in a single piece," replied Snape, straightening his coat.

"Will yeh join me for a whisky la'er? In me hut? I wan' to hear all your adventures. An' tell you off for lettin' them Death Eaters ruin this school. In fact, thinkin' on it, I don' figure I've talked to yer proper since Dumbeldore -,"

"That'll do, Hagrid," said McGonagall. "Severus can talk to you in due course. We have an appointment at the minute."

At that, Hagrid stepped back and beamed, absently dropping a great hand repeatedly on his dog's head. "Ah, still, it's great ta have yeh home, Severus."

Snape coughed and nodded, then he and McGonagall resumed their hike up the path to the front entrance, as Hagrid stepped aside to let them pass. Snape was reflecting on Hagrid's words, realising the jagged nature of time, that despite the eight years' worth of recent history he'd accumulated in his own mind, as far as Hogwarts was concerned, his story had stopped in ninety-eight. They would pick up where they'd left off, and yet it was discombobulated by almost a decade of mellowing, as if his Death Eater days were a wayward, adolescent phase that was almost endearing in retrospect. While he was thinking, the Whomping Willow coming into view in vibrant leaf, McGonagall pointed out and chatted about the new greenhouses that had been installed, the expansion of some of the dorms to accommodate the increase in roll. And then she stopped, just before the courtyard of the castle and paused, looking up at the enormous structure. He followed her solemn gaze.

"She took a terrible beating, Severus," she murmured. He could see she was looking at massive scars and patches in the stone, gaping holes, whole turrets still in ruin, scaffolding and struts propping up walls.

"I remember it burning," he concurred quietly. The castle had seemed to scream.

"Fixing the fire damage was easy. But we've reached the limit on what we can magic by way of repair. We've been rebuilding ever since. We've an army of builders on site, especially over the holidays. It's costing the Ministry a mint. She's just so big and so auld."

"She's still standing."

"Aye. And in some respects, the rebuilt parts are stronger and better. But I – I'll be honest I was greetin' when I first saw it." A look of abject despair was on her face.

"That would have been a lot to take on by yourself."

"Yes," she said, and then her eyes sharpened. "And where was my right hand man?"

"Sacked, Minerva," said Snape in response, holding her gaze. She looked stricken, but he gave a slight smile and raised a brow, and she relaxed. In fact she chuckled.

"Oh yes. I forgot." She looked at him a bit archly, a bit ruefully. "That'll be another whisky session, explaining that one."

They entered the castle and again took a moment as Snape was assaulted with memories. The light, the smell, the echoey wideness – everything was the same. The endless kilometres he'd trekked across these flagstones, up and down those stairs, he could almost hear the bedlam of dining students in the Great Hall.

"Her bones were still good, thank goodness," murmured McGonagall, looking about her as well, up to the towering, cathedral ceilings. "We had to replace all the stained glass in the Renaissance windows."

To the slightly plaintive note in her voice, he said, "I'm sorry I wasn't here to help."

"You're here now, that's all that matters." A terse smile.

Snape's eyes dropped to Slughorn's Stairs, his way to the dungeon. Unexpectedly, he felt a sharp longing to go there right now, to see his old office and his old classroom. He hadn't realised how he'd missed it. He could have found his way blindfolded.

"Right now, though, we're on our way to the Headmaster's Office. Dumbledore's dying to see you." And McGonagall stepped away briskly.

He felt a jolt at the name, at her poorly chosen words; too late he caught himself imagining the old wizard sitting behind his desk. Of course she meant the portrait. Here they were, almost ten years since…since…and still unable to accept that the old Headmaster didn't walk amongst them. When Snape played the game of Greatest Regrets, the evening at the Astronomy Tower was still number one. It didn't matter: all the logic, all the reasoning, all the intellectual arguments and rationalisations. They didn't matter. His Greatest Regret – even above calling Lily a mudblood – was agreeing to kill Dumbledore.

Together they went to the Headmaster's Tower and from there the office. Along the way, various portraits recognised Snape and made comments of surprise and welcome. Snape noticed certain rooms, doors, corridors roped off or barricaded. Whole sections of wall were devoid of art or tapestry. At the Headmaster's Office, the gargoyle admitted McGonagall without need for a password and they ascended the spiral staircase, Snape once more flooded with memories of the times he'd used them. So many. When he'd held the Headmaster post, he'd grown to loathe them, they came to represent a twist away from normality, to isolation, to a kind of prison. He'd felt such an imposter but at the same time burdened with a depressing responsibility, not in charge and yet with the weight of the castle upon him. "How do you feel about these stairs?" he asked McGonagall.

"Conflicted," she answered openly.

Upon entering the Office, McGonagall said immediately, "Albus! Look who's here!"

Snape's eyes came to rest on Dumbledore's portrait with a familiarity as if he'd done it hours, not years, ago. He'd done it so many times locked away in this room, it was like visiting an old cellmate.

"Severus!" exclaimed Dumbledore from within his gilded frame. "Welcome back to Hogwarts!"

"Sir," said Snape, and as he had with McGonagall, inclined his head.

"You are quite well?"

"Very well, thank you."

"Can you call me Albus?"

Snape paused. "I suspect not, sir."

Dumbledore laughed aloud delightedly. "Well then, it is like old times. We were quite beside ourselves when we received your letter."

"Where have you been, Snape?" demanded Phineus Nigellus, scowling.

At looking at the portrait of Nigellus, Snape noticed the portrait of himself. He propped and stared. "What is that?"

McGonagall came up with a swish of skirts and said, "Of course when we thought you were dead – well, it was only fair, you had been Head -,"

"Harry wanted it," said Dumbledore.

"We all did," said McGonagall quickly. "Only it's posthumous, so it – it's not magical."

"Potter wanted it?" repeated Snape in confusion. He took a step towards the portrait, for some reason deeply troubled by it. "But…how?'

"The artist used the picture taken for the Prophet. When your post was announced," McGonagall explained. "You must recognise it?"

"Yes, but..." he turned back to McGonagall and Dumbledore. "It's not…it doesn't…that's not a real one."

"You're not dead," said McGonagall simply.

"Thank you for reminding us!" said Nigellus sharply and the other Heads in their picture frames murmured irritably.

Snape stood straight. "With the greatest respect, I believe that portrait should be taken down."

McGonagall cast a quick look at Dumbledore. "Well, fine, we can do that, but don't be offended by it -,"

"I'm not in the least offended. But as you say – I'm not dead. And furthermore, I wasn't…that posting…I didn't seek it."

Dumbledore said quietly, "I think Potter wanted a way to acknowledge you."

Snape didn't speak, but there was a momentary aspect of grudging gratitude, then stern again. "Well I'm sure he'd understand my point of view now."

"Let's not dwell on that," said McGonagall, and invited Snape to sit opposite her at The Desk, which permitted Dumbledore to see and hear everything he said. Snape accepted the empty chair, and then a cup of tea as well as McGonagall poured herself one. This was number eight for the day for her, and given it wasn't even midday yet, wasn't boding well for staying on target.

After a short interval in which McGonagall tried hard not to stare at Snape over her teacup, she said, "Well! I must say, I never thought I'd have the pleasure of sitting across a desk from you again Severus. Of course a million questions cross my mind, but I don't think any of us can proceed until you answer this all pervading one: how is it that you are still alive?"

Snape knew this question was coming and had already prepared his answer. "I was left for dead, but persons I cannot name discovered me and took me to their infirmary. I owe my life to them, and I paid in dues, but part of the contract is that their secret is protected. More than that I'm afraid I can't say."

Dumbledore frowned: "Harry said you were already dead when he and his friends left you."

"I virtually was. It took expert care to resuscitate me. There wouldn't have been anything Potter could have done. He took…he got the message, and that was the priority."

"Why did Voldemort use his snake?" asked McGonagall, poorly disguising her repugnance. "Why not just use the Killing Curse?"

"I don't know," said Snape, and had nothing more to add. He'd wondered the same thing endlessly. If he hadn't been mistaken in assuming he needed to kill Snape to acquire the Elder Wand, he'd very nearly shot himself in the foot. A careless effort for Voldemort. The knowledge that the Dark Lord had disposed of him so ruthlessly for no reason whatsoever had cost Snape hours of post-traumatic sleeplessness.

"Well it's just as well he did, otherwise I doubt even these so-called experts would have been able to rescue you. Did you say an infirmary?" Dumbledore asked thoughtfully. .

Snape held Dumbledore's painted eyes for a moment that were disconcertingly alive-looking, and murmured, "I did. Thanks to them I have no impairment but I have been stitched back together so many times I sympathise with Frankenstein's monster in barely recognising what is original and what is repair. I feel fine."

"Remarkable," muttered Dumbledore. "Remarkable." From the way Dumbledore was studying him, Snape was relieved it was only his portrait he was conversing with. He formed the distinct impression that were his old Head still alive, the interrogation would have lasted longer – something appeared to have resonated, but the knowledge or memory was too indistinct.

"I have an interesting scar on my neck."

McGonagall's eyebrows shot up, and Snape humoured her by pulling down his cravat to reveal the ragged welt of shiny, healed tissue.

"Remarkable," uttered Dumbledore again, peering hard.

"Were you in the care of the healers for long?" McGonagall asked.

"Around eighteen months. The injuries didn't take long…I needed…time."

It was plain what he meant. The flicker of something grave crossed his eyes.

"Did you receive news in the infirmary? About Voldemort's defeat, the prosecution of the Death Eaters?" enquired McGonagall. "Did you hear that you were pardoned

"Not immediately. But in time I did, yes. The timing of the reprieve was actually a bit of a nuisance since it alerted the escaped Death Eaters that I was no longer to be trusted. I couldn't coax them out of hiding - ,"

"It was you!" exclaimed Dumbledore, looking very satisfied.

"It took a lot longer than it would have otherwise." Snape's expression was neutral as he divulged this information, unaware or indifferent to the months of newspaper intrigue the Prophet had capitalised on each time a missing Death Eater was mysteriously deposited in the care of the Law Department, at least twice – Rowle, Mulciber Jnr - to Potter himself. Of course, speculation had been rife that it was the missing Snape who'd survived against all odds, but Potter – aghast at the idea that he'd left Snape dying rather than dead – quickly shut the rumour down, preferring instead to insist that the Death Eaters had eliminated Snape's body as mitigating evidence.

"Could be an Order of Merlin in it for you," McGonagall commented, but Snape shook his head, somewhat wearily.

"It's all behind me now," he said. "It's in the past."

Scones with jam and cream arrived by elf at this point, and there was a short break in the conversation while McGonagall made arrangements to eat, but Snape declined.

"Are you quite sure," said the Headmistress, looking very concerned. "I shall arrange for some to go home with you. I don't think you're eating enough, Severus."

"I have missed the good meals at Hogwarts," admitted Snape. "Nobody ever went hungry."

"I do hope that's not the only reason you're coming back!" guffawed Dumbledore. "Although it is an excellent one."

"Yes – why are you interested in returning, Severus?" McGonagall asked, spooning jam onto a scone. "After all your adventures?"

He looked directly at her and said, "I enjoy teaching."

For a beat there was silence, and then McGonagall and Dumbledore both burst out laughing. Snape felt a slow heat rise up, but tried to keep his face neutral. He hadn't lied, exactly, but it was something he'd learned about himself the longer he wasn't teaching.

"You hate teaching!" declared McGonagall, going so far as to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye.

"That's not entirely true -,"

"You would have been an excellent teacher," chuckled Dumbledore, "If only it weren't for the students."

"I know I was sometimes strict -,"

"Tyrannical was the word I heard," muttered McGonagall.

"Not from Slytherins – from your lot."

"Next you'll be telling us you want to coach Quidditch."

"No," Snape conceded. "That would be a step too far."

"Och Severus – thank you for a decent laugh, I haven't had one in ages," said McGonagall, "but let's not pretend you've missed double-potions. I do appreciate this is an interview, but..well, you don't need to haver with me. Of course we welcome you back with open arms, there's no need to be insincere."

"Being a good teacher," chipped in Nigellus, "is a lot more than just standing in a classroom! Snape clearly missed all the other aspects."

"Yes, the meals, we've established that," remarked Dumbledore.

Snape's look was scornful and Dumbledore said, "And there's the Severus we know and love."

"All that notwithstanding," persevered Snape. "I am genuine in my assertion that I am ready to return to teaching. And I have been studying potioneering in Europe and the Middle East and feel I have a lot to offer the post."

"Travelling Severus? Ah, blessed are the curious for they shall have adventures," said Dumbledore, and even his painted eyes appeared to twinkle.

"Wonderful, Severus," re-joined McGonagall. "It is something I plan to do myself. Sooner rather than later."

"I took an opportunity."

"It is one advantage of being a wizard – it is easy to get lost for a while if need be. That's one of the reasons Voldemort branded his operatives, I daresay," said Dumbledore.