Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.
The Ministry of Magic, Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, London, July 1997 (24)…9:40 a.m.
The morning of their final day in the city, Snape floo'd to the Ministry. He'd been summoned by Mason Gumboil. Gumboil, a former Auror and Hit Wizard, was now the Interim Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He claimed he needed Snape's version of his interactions with Andromeda Tonks at the Riddle House for the public record.
Snape arrived twenty minutes before he and Gumboil were supposed to meet, but the Auror didn't open his office door until 10:47 a.m.—forty-seven minutes after their scheduled meet time.
"P-P-Professor Snape?" said Gumboil's secretary, her stutter triggered by her embarrassment at her boss's behavior. She had dutifully offered Snape tea after he'd been waiting ten minutes, twenty, and then thirty. Her stutter had worsened each time, despite how politely he'd refused, hoping to put her at ease. "He'll s-s-see you n-now."
Snape nodded and got to his feet. He was livid, but he knew it would be pointless, possibly dangerous to show it.
According to Kingsley, Gumboil had not been the first choice to head up the DMLE. The battle had created a dearth of seasoned Aurors who possessed enough practical experience to lead the department, and as Kingsley couldn't simultaneously serve as the Minister of Magic and acting head of the DMLE until a more agreeable head was found, the selection committee had settled on Gumboil—and he knew it. He also knew that they had no real expectation of him getting anything done. Consequently, he'd decided that so long as he was able, he aimed to take advantage of the privileges his position allowed, including ordering Snape to the Ministry.
Despite having never met Snape, Gumboil—like his dead mentor and hero, Alastor Moody—despised and mistrusted the Potions master. Snape had no prior knowledge of the man, but he had dealt with men like Gumboil all his life. During the run-up to, and after their arrival in London, the old Auror had made an absolute nuisance of himself.
Gumboil's first summons came a week after Harry woke from his coma, information Snape chose not to share with Harry and Draco. Then, once the trials were scheduled, Gumboil had demanded that Snape forgo the trials to make himself available for questioning early Monday morning. When Snape refused, offering to make time later in the week, subsequent summons threatened him with fines, travel and employment sanctions, and ultimately, jail. But, again, Snape knew that men like Gumboil often resorted to impotent threats because they either lacked the authority or, most often, the audacity to carry out those threats.
After getting wind of his behavior, Kingsley called a meeting with Gumboil. When asked about the encounter, the minister's secretary had denied overhearing Kingsley threaten Gumboil with castration—"Political castration," Suzy clarified—if he didn't drop the power trip. After, Kingsley sent word to the Leaky Cauldron assuring Snape that meeting with Gumboil wouldn't take long.
"Snape," Gumboil said, eyes still on the parchment he was supposedly perusing.
"Gumboil," Snape drawled.
Gumboil looked up. "That's Auror Gumboil, Snape."
"Ah, well, if we're observing the courtesies, do call me Professor, or Deputy Headmaster."
Gumboil scowled. His bushy, unruly brows shifted, giving him the appearance of great horned owl. "As you're here to answer questions related to your connections with You-Know-Who, I'll call you whatever I damn well please. Be grateful I'm sticking with Snape."
Snape settled on the chair in front of Gumboil's desk. Other than the one Gumboil was using, it was the only chair in the room. Flimsy and made of pine, it was foldable with no arms. It had a single one-inch slat along the top of the backrest, which left a wide-open gap between the slat and the seat. In short, it was more a torture device than a piece of furniture, which Snape assumed was the point, but he was no stranger to discomfort. He crossed his legs and rested his loosely clasped hands against his stomach as if he were reclining on a throne.
"Shacklebolt probably told you this wouldn't take long," Gumboil said, through his equally unruly mustache, "but it'll take as long as it takes, understand?"
"Perfectly," Snape said.
Gumboil narrowed his eyes as if he'd expected a different reaction. Snape sighed inwardly. He knew that regardless of what he said, Gumboil's attitude would likely be as nasty at the end of the meeting as it was right now. He consoled himself with the knowledge that the sooner the meeting was over, the sooner he and the boys could leave London.
They had wanted to come with him.
"No," Snape had said. "When I return, be ready to leave."
Harry balked. "Why can't we come with you, then leave together?"
"It'll be easier for me to get in and out alone, Harry," Snape said. "Few people, if any, will want to stop me. If you're with me, there might be no end to people wanting to talk."
Harry had reluctantly agreed.
"Right, then," Gumboil muttered. He shuffled a few pieces of parchment, then using his wand, tapped a crane feather quill, which jerked upright so that its tip settled against a fresh sheet of parchment. "When did you first go the Riddle House?"
The quill scratched out what Snape assumed were Gumboil's words.
"November, after the Prophet reported that Andromeda Tonks had been taken."
"Mrs. Tonks was your contact within the house?"
"She was."
"You had a relationship with her prior to these meetings?"
"We knew of each other but had never met."
"Any notable contacts amongst the Death Eaters?"
"Bram Nott. Charles Davis when Nott was unable to meet."
Gumboil chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Charles Davis, eh? Another turncoat – Oh, don't think I agreed with anything that gray-skinned freak stood for, but in for a penny, in for a pound. You either believe in something or you don't. All these former Death Eaters switching sides. Must have been hard to keep track."
"I wouldn't know. I dealt solely with Davis and Nott."
"Why did Dumbledore trust you to do it?"
"I've never pretended to know Dumbledore's mind, particularly regarding matters of trust. Perhaps you should visit his portrait at Hogwarts. I'm sure he would happily provide you with a satisfactory answer. He does so enjoy scintillating conversation."
Gumboil cleared his throat. "What sorts of inroads did you make once you were back amongst your old Death Eater chums?"
"Obviously I'd hoped to gather vital information regarding the Dark Lord's plans. However, I proved to be more helpful to Andromeda and the children. They quickly became my main concern."
Gumboil chuckled darkly. "'The Dark Lord', eh? You say it with such ease, Snape. Hard habit to be rid of, yeah?"
"That is how I came to know him, just as I came to know Dumbledore as Headmaster Dumbledore, and you as Gumboil."
Gumboil reddened. "Don't get cheeky with me, boy!"
"Wouldn't dream of it."
"I'll have your arse in Azkaban before you can catch your next breath!"
"As you say." Snape plucked a bit of lint from his sleeve and flicked it onto the floor.
Gumboil slammed his palm against the desk, making the note-taking quill jump. He pointed a finger at Snape. "You think you're untouchable, don't you? Harry Potter's guardian, an acquaintance of the new minister. Got the goddamned head of Hogwarts, old and new to vouch for you if you ask! Yeah, after all you've done, you've got it made, don't you?"
Snape lifted his shoulder in a little shrug. "I've little reason to complain about my life. If there's nothing else, I need to go collect my sons."
"Speaking of…" Gumboil leaned forward in his chair. "You spent last summer with Harry Potter?"
"I did."
"He's a, er, good-looking lad. Yeah, when that business happened back in '81, his family's pictures were all over the paper. If I recall, his mother, Lily, was quite the looker, wasn't she? Hair the color of fire, yeah? But he looks just like his father, James, doesn't he?"
"Do you have any other questions about Andromeda or the Riddle House?"
"Before you spirited Potter away last summer, by all accounts, you two hated one another. But when you returned, you decided to adopt him. Why such a drastic change of heart? What went on all those months you two were gone?"
"I trained him, per Dumbledore's orders."
"Training, eh?" Gumboil's eyes turned flinty. "Anything, er, inappropriate go on between you and the boy? I mean, before you came back from wherever it was you went, your relationship with Potter—to hear people tell it—was damn near toxic."
Snape said nothing.
"Yeah, good-looking lad, Potter. I can see why you'd, ah, take him under your wing."
Snape stared at Gumboil, outwardly unemotional as the old wizard stared back, his expression greedy, ugly, and knowing. Nearly two minutes passed before Gumboil, realizing Snape wasn't going to say anything, snatched up the sheet of parchment the quill had been scratching on.
"How many people did your Dark Lord order you to kill over the last year?"
"None. I was relegated to menial tasks, such as guarding Andromeda and the children. The persona I employed barely ranked."
"Isn't it true that Dumbledore had no idea you'd been leaving Hogwarts?"
"No."
"So, he knew?"
"I believe he suspected."
Gumboil leaned back in his chair, resting his clasped hands on his stomach, mirroring Snape's stance. "How many people did you kill before you went running to Dumbledore back in '81?"
"What has that to do with –"
"Might give me a clue about your decision-making of late."
Snape sighed softly. "Would you say you're better equipped to make certain decisions now than when you were eighteen?"
"My grandparents raised me, and they were convinced I'd wind up in Azkaban before I turned seventeen." Gumboil shrugged. "I didn't, but they weren't wrong to worry. I was a bit of a villain back then. Drank too much, fought too much, skived off school too much—damn near got tossed out of Hogwarts.
"I wasn't the only one, and bloody hell, what else is there to do but stir up a bit of shite now and again at that age, eh? But we grow up, don't we? Become men, better men. Yet, there's plenty of blokes my age that are still so crooked they can't be made straight. Maybe they been that way since their da squirted them into their mam, maybe they learned it on the street, I don't know. But I do know that as villainous as I was back then, I wouldn't have taken anyone's life for a soulless, snake-faced killer who fancied himself to be superior."
"How nice for you," Snape said. He hadn't murdered anyone for Voldemort, either. Peter Pettigrew had been the first person he'd killed, but he'd be damned if he'd confess that to this lecher.
"When I was an Auror, I never cared why You-Know-Who tortured and killed, only that he did. Then in 1975, November, your mates butchered my grandparents in Belfast during one of their Death Eater routs. After that, you might say I acquired a rather deep, er, dislike for your Dark Lord and his disciples.
"I'll admit, every time we managed to bring one in, the urge to do something more than just bring them in was strong, but that's all I did, I brought them in. But, if someone else wanted to take out a little private justice on them we caught, I never stopped them."
"I am sorry for your loss, but in November 1975, I was fifteen, and I was in Scotland, studying for my O.W.L.s."
"My gran, she'd get letters about me from Headmaster Fortescue, and she'd say, 'Mase, you lie down with dogs, you're sure to get up with fleas.'" Gumboil shrugged. "She wasn't wrong. Goblins mix with other goblins, giants mix with other giants, and murderers, well murderers have the not so uncanny habit of mixing with other murderers. And, the way I see it, if you happen to be there when the murdering is going on, you're just as guilty as them that did it."
"I see now why your opportunities within the DMLE were—limited," Snape said, tired of Gumboil's homilies. "But I imagine you must feel a great sense of vindication now, despite the fleeting nature of the position."
Gumboil's face turned deep purple as his lips stretched into a bloodless line against his teeth.
Snape went on. "If there's nothing else." He shifted to get up.
"I can see how it must have been useful to have a Death Eater spy on hand, but why, when your cover had been so spectacularly blown last June did you choose to, essentially, pick up where you'd left off?"
Snape eased back onto his chair. "Despite the presence of Nott and Davis, I knew I could be helpful, particularly after Andromeda Tonks and a number of children went missing."
"People had gone missing since as far back as the Battle at the Department of Mysteries."
"True, but by then I had my son to consider."
Gumboil chuckled, a gruff, unamused sound. "Your son. His parents must be spinning in their graves." When Snape didn't respond, Gumboil continued: "They were part of the Order of the Phoenix, weren't they? Yeah, the Order, it was a pretty odd bunch of witches and wizards, yeah? For instance, Sirius Black, a convicted murderer, he was, but he was a member, wasn't he? The first time around, and then more recently. But he died last June, at the Ministry, didn't he? He died because you failed to keep him away from there, didn't you?"
Snape paled. Gumboil smiled, thrilled that something had finally rattled the man. He watched Snape's jaw clench, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He took a particular interest when Snape balled his hands into fists. The Auror imagined it was as much a protective move as one to inflict harm.
"What does anything that happened at the Ministry that night have to do with the Riddle House?" Snape said.
The Deputy Headmaster's silky inflection was gone, Gumboil noted with satisfaction. His smugness had waned, and his eyes—shrewd and black as a starless night—had clouded over with what seemed like regret. Gumboil didn't care.
"Nothing at all," he said, "yet it does provide a bit of context from which I can make a sound judgment."
"I am not here to be judged. I'm here to give an account of my time at the Riddle –"
"You know, I've read some of Moody's old files. While he may not have looked it, he was a meticulous fellow. He kept notes from old Order meetings, including who Order members met with when they thought their movements were of no interest to anyone. It seems that you and Black –"
Snape shifted to get up, again. "You've obviously run out of pertinent questions."
"On the contrary, Snape, I have a parchment full of questions for you. Tell me, how long did you and Black –"
Snape got to his feet.
Gumboil stood as well. "We're not done here, Snape."
"Unless you wish to discuss more about my time at the Riddle House, then, yes, we are done."
"Look here, boy! I'm the one who decides when we're done!"
A knock sounded at the door, drawing both wizards' attention. Kingsley pushed the door open.
"The hell is going on in here?" he asked, his black eyes on Gumboil.
Gumboil cleared his throat. "I was telling Snape here that I still have a few more questions."
Kingsley looked over at Snape. "Severus," he said, with a nod.
"Minister."
Kingsley had just finished meeting with the officials from the allied nations assisting with the Death Eater trials. While he appeared utterly relaxed, he radiated power, and the royal blue fabric of his formal robes complemented his coffee-colored skin beautifully.
Gumboil's mouth filled with bile. He believed Kingsley had been elected, not because of his skill or experience at governing, but because of that damn coffee-colored skin and dazzling grin. Granted, he knew how to talk to people, how to rally them, put them at ease, but that hardly qualified someone to head up a government. Gumboil had always found the hand-shaking and ego-stroking excruciating.
Back when it mattered, he'd been out in the field doing real Auror work, not playing spy with Dumbledore and his little fellowship of self-righteous rabble-rousers. Like Moody, Gumboil didn't care much for people, but unlike Moody, he had no friends, no one to vouch for his character. He knew that Brân Savage had been Kingsley's and the selection committee's first choice to head up the DMLE. He also knew that Savage had begged off, eager to head up the detail assigned to Snape, Harry, and Draco.
"How are the boys?" Kingsley said to Snape.
"They're well, thank you."
"I meant to stop by and see you all before the trials, but it's just been like trying to herd cats around here."
"You needn't explain."
Kingsley swallowed. "We'll find Loyd, Severus. We won't rest until we bring him in."
"I've no doubt. If that's all?" Snape turned to Gumboil.
"You're free to go," said Kingsley when Gumboil opened his mouth.
"I'm not done with him yet!"
"Yes, you are," said Kingsley. His basso voice rang menacingly as he stepped aside so that Snape could pass.
"Good day, Minister; Gumboil," Snape said.
Gumboil shook with fury.
*SP
The Leaky Cauldron, London, Harry and Draco's Room, July 1997 (24)…12:07 p.m.
Draco opened the door when Snape knocked.
"Are you ready?" he said.
"Yes, but Potter's not feeling well."
Harry lay curled up, asleep on his bed, his skin pale, his eyes ringed by dark circles. He hadn't slept soundly the night before, his body restless and achy, and his mind racing with images of Snape being dragged from the Ministry and taken to Azkaban. Lost in that nightmare, he had screamed, waking Snape and Draco. Brân had raced up the stairs from the pub where he'd been keeping watch and chatting with Tom as Tom and Jenny cleaned up.
Fang's head lay over Harry's feet. His big brown eyes shifted as he watched Snape approach.
"Was it another seizure?" Snape said, settling beside Harry.
"No. He just complained of being tired."
Snape nodded. "If he's feeling up to it, we'll leave when he wakes."
"He'll be an absolute tit when he realizes we're still here," Draco said.
"Yes." Snape ran a hand over Harry's stubbly head, then got to his feet.
"How was it? The Ministry?" Draco said. He had moved to stand next to the window, looking out at the bit of Diagon Alley he could see. Construction wizards were at work, clearing debris. There was more activity today than Draco had noticed all week. He wondered what had changed.
"It was as you might expect," Snape said, startling Draco, who hadn't realized that the man had come to stand next to him.
The young Slytherin looked as exhausted as Harry. For the thousandth time, Snape questioned coming to London and letting them attend the trials. He should have ignored Kingsley's and the DMLE's requests and just gone on to Soth-ince.
"You were gone longer than you said you would be."
"Mm."
"Regretting coming to London?" Draco said, realizing Snape wasn't going to elaborate on his trip to the Ministry.
"Yes."
Draco looked over at Harry. "And Potter?"
"Once we're home, I believe he'll feel better."
"We shouldn't have come here."
"No."
"And now Loyd is free."
"He can't hurt us."
"Can't he?" Draco said, his gray eyes angry and fearful as he stared up at Snape.
Snape placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and squeezed gently. When he pulled Draco into his arms, the boy resisted at first, then closed his eyes and pressed his face into Snape's chest.
*SP