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Chapter three: Hogwarts"Severus Snape," Minerva McGonagall sighed, "Severus, oh yes. Have you seen him? How is he?"
Alexandra shrugged. What could she say to that? "He's in Azkaban."
"And he deserves it," the old witch whispered, her face hard and her eyes full of pain.
Alexandra was embarrassed by this unexpected display of emotions. For some long minutes neither of the two women said anything.
"My impression is that he is a hard man, a loner," Alexandra finally continued the conversation.
Again the old witch sighed deeply and nodded thoughtfully. "A loner, yes, he has always been one. I was already teaching here at this school when he arrived as a student. From his first day at Hogwarts he had been unpopular. He was not handsome and it was obvious that he came from a poor background. His being extremely intelligent and hard-working only made the others think of him as a swot. They bullied him and he swallowed most of it, but sometimes he lashed out and it was always he that got punished, I'm afraid. He was the perfect victim. The teachers didn't make an effort to understand his side of the affair, myself included, I must admit. Today I can't help wondering what would have happened if we had shown a bit of understanding instead of just giving detention."
She sighed again and stared into the fire, lost in memories.
"You mean he wouldn't have joined the Death Eaters?"
Professor McGonagall shrugged. "Well, becoming one of them certainly was an act of defiance on his side, a desperate attempt to gain the upper hand. His father was a Muggle, I don't think he believed in that pureblood craze Voldemort preached and he didn't have any natural inclination towards violence and torture. There was just this passionate interest in the Dark Arts."
"He returned as a teacher," Alexandra prompted.
"He returned as a spy – for - Voldemort, as we now know," Professor McGonagall corrected her. "Although Albus believed him to be loyal to the Order", she added bitterly.
"Anyway, teaching was just his cover. And I don't think he liked it. He had always been brilliant, so he didn't have much understanding for mediocre students or for those who didn't work hard enough to meet his standards, he had absolutely no patience for those who had difficulties with potion-making, and he didn't make an effort to hide his contempt."
"I've received letters from students telling me about this. He was very strict and sarcastic."
"Well, he had to be strict. Potions is a dangerous subject, much damage can be done if students don't pay attention. In his classes very few accidents happened."
"Didn't parents complain about the way he treated pupils?"
Professor McGonagall laughed. "Oh yes, they did. All the time. But Albus Dumbledore always protected him."
"As a colleague, what was he like?"
She hesitated. "Well, as I said - a loner. He didn't socialize, preferred to stay in his quarters, alone with his books and cauldrons. Many of the staff were afraid of his sharp tongue. He didn't have any scruples about reducing other teachers to tears with his sarcasm if he thought their work or behaviour inadequate. When we learned about his past as a Death Eater we all were suspicious, but Albus convinced us that he could be trusted completely. Obviously he was wrong."
Again there was this expression of pain on the older woman's face.
"How did you personally feel about him?" Alexandra asked cautiously.
The old witch winced uncomfortably and shook her head sadly.
"Me? Well, in a way I – I must admit that I liked him."
She swallowed hard and ran a hand over her eyes.
"He was very competent in his area of expertise, he was reliable, took his duties as head of house very seriously, one couldn't help admiring his wit and his intelligence."
She sighed again. "This final deed came as a shock."
"Do you hate him now?"
The headmistress shrugged and shook her head sadly.
"Hate him? Well, yes – no, not really. What I hate is my own blindness, my failure to see what was coming."
"Most people who sent answers seem to hate him," Alexandra said quietly.
The old witch snorted.
"Dear Ms Moody, hasn't it occurred to you that perhaps only those who bear a grudge sent you an answer? That the others didn't bother, didn't dare or just still don't know what to think of him?"
Alexandra blushed and felt very stupid.
"Yes, perhaps. But I'd really like to get some more reliable information about Severus Snape," she said.
Professor McGonagall got up and paced the room. Then she stopped in front of a large filing cabinet and turned towards her visitor.
"I could give you access to the copies of his files, both as a student and as a teacher, I suppose. The original documents are at the Ministry, but the copies are here. There's nothing in them that could not be made public."
Alexandra gratefully agreed. Ten minutes later she was alone in the office with two thick files and a cup of tea on the small table in front of her. Curiously she opened the topmost folder. A small cloud of dust greeted her and made her sneeze. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. Couldn't they use their magic to prevent papers from becoming that dusty? After another sneeze she concentrated on the parchments. His student file. It started with his NEWTs results. Outstanding in all his subjects. Alexandra couldn't help making an incredulous noise. Amazing. Her own brothers and cousins had not received a single "outstanding" anywhere. She turned the pages. There were notes about misbehaviour towards other students resulting in detentions and letters to his parents.
His OWLs – again Outstanding everywhere. And more detentions for insulting and hexing other students. A note concerning an incident with something called the Whomping Willow – whatever that was. His schooldays obviously had not been pleasant. She turned to the file covering his years as a teacher. Topmost was a short note stating his life sentence and another one about his flight from Hogwarts after he had killed the headmaster. Then came dozens of letters from angry parents complaining about his treatment of their children. They all bore the words "answered – placated" and Dumbledore's signature. Alexandra scanned several of them. If the allegations were true Severus Snape had been a cruel and sadistic teacher indeed.
Next there was a list with no entries: In eighteen years he had not missed a day due to illness. Surprising considering the fact that he had not liked his job very much.
There were also some letters from the Ministry requesting the brewing of certain potions for official use. He must have been an expert.
The last parchment in the folder was his contract. Thoughtfully she studied his signature: A large, spidery handwriting.
Alexandra sighed. No revelations here. She had wasted an entire day without gaining any useful information. There was, however, one last option…
When Minerva McGonagall returned Alexandra asked her if there was anything left of Snape's personal belongings. The witch looked at her enquiringly.
"It's just, well, you can tell about a person's character if you know which books he reads and so on," Alexandra tried to explain.
Professor McGonagall raised a disapproving eyebrow and hesitated, but then she shrugged. "There's not much left. The Ministry took everything they thought was important. It's just his clothes and one large chest. You can have a look through it if you like."
She led the way down the stairs into the dungeons of Hogwarts, then stopped in front of the portrait of an extremely ugly wizard and waved her wand. The painting swung back and revealed a small windowless room full of discarded furniture. Another flick of the wand lit the candles in their holders on the walls. Draped over the back of a chair was a pile of black clothes. The witch pointed to a large chest in the corner.
"Everything is in there."
Alexandra went over to the chest and opened it. Again she was greeted by a cloud of dust. Coughing she peered into it. Textbooks and parchments, which on closer inspection turned out to be half-marked essays. She delved deeper into the pile. Photos of a woman – his mother?, his personal toiletries and a small mirror. She studied the mirror curiously. It looked out of place among the possessions of a man: Small, about the size of the palm of her hand with a beautifully ornamented guilt frame. Alexandra did not know what made her do it, but she cast a surreptitious glance at Professor McGonagall, who had picked up an old tome and seemed deeply immersed in it and quickly dropped the mirror into the pocket of her jacket. Then she straightened and declared herself ready to go.
Thanks to J.K.Rowling for inventing the wonderful characters.