Chapter 4

He thought things over on his walk back to his caravan and decided that Snape might be more comfortable if Tom just moved on. So he left Skegness the next day to finish his holiday in Brighton – lovely lot o' pubs it had, Brighton did.

By the time he got back to the Leaky Cauldron, he felt as rested as he had in years. He'd relaxed in any number of pleasant bars, and had taken some walks along lovely beaches, and if he'd occasionally been rained on, well, it had been fun. He'd felt almost like a Muggle, learning to be out in a storm without a weather-bubble charm. He'd got some good ideas for business improvements, too; he was looking forward to talking to them Weasley boys about developing magical fruit machines.

And he'd heard any number of interesting stories.

None was more fascinating than that of Severus Snape, o' course. Tom thought about him – and his Muggle pub and his childhood excursion and his cryptic comment about the "friend" at Hogwarts – more times than he could count. But though he told Hannah and the others all about the rest of his holiday, he never even hinted that he'd seen Snape.

He'd been serious when he'd said that he'd never breathe of word of his discovery, and in truth, he was beginning to think of his silence as something like a sacred trust. Whatever Snape's flaws, he'd done the wizarding world a service that could never be repaid, and the least Tom could do was to keep the man's secret. Maybe he'd write down the truth on a charmed parchment, one that couldn't be read until a hundred years after his death. . .just to set the historical record straight.

But otherwise, he would stay mummer than mum.

The summer turned to autumn and the autumn to winter, and one December day, not far from Christmas, Tom was adjusting the heat under a cauldron of warm spiced wine (one of his Yuletide best-sellers) when Hannah Abbott came in through the Alley entrance, bringing a swirl of fog with her. She'd had the last couple of days off so that she could attend the Hogwarts holiday staff party with her beau. Tom was looking forward to hearing all about it.

"Heigh-de-ho, Miss Hannah," Tom greeted her. "All is well in the frozen north, I hope?"

"'Frozen' is right," Hannah said, wanding her cloak into the staff cupboard and tying on her bar apron. "There were two-foot snow drifts in Hogsmeade. But Neville kept me warm."

Tom chuckled. "Now, I don't need to be hearing about that, Missy; that's between you and your young man. But I'm glad he's a-looking after you proper."

She waggled her eyebrows. "Oh, he is. And Tom, you'll never guess what he told me! Not in a million years."

"Well, I'd better not try, then. You'll just have to tell me."

"Remember last year, when I told you that Neville had overheard Professors Sprout and Flitwick talking about some tragedy in the headmistress's life? How she'd finally found some happiness and then it got snatched away from her somehow?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Neville finally got the whole story out of Professor Sprout. You know McGonagall is a widow. Her husband died in some sort of freak accident with a plant, a venomous tentacula."

"Oh, everybody knows that story," said Tom, disappointed.

"Well, I didn't. Neither did Neville. But that's not the new heartbreak. Apparently after her husband died, she just threw herself into her work and had no personal life at all. Or that's what Professor Sprout says. But then, the year before the Tri-Wizard tournament, she got into a new romantic relationship. Guess with who?"

Tom loved these sorts of puzzles, but this one wasn't much of a challenge.

"That's not hard," he said. "It would be the headmaster, no doubt. Albus Dumbledore himself. I'd heard some rumours about him preferring men, if you know what I mean, but maybe the rumours was wrong." Tom had always kept that story close to his chest, but he figured it couldn't hurt Dumbledore now. Anyway, such things didn't matter now as much as they once did. "Him and McGonagall was always really good friends."

"No, it wasn't Dumbledore."

"No?" Hmmm. Hannah clearly expected him to be surprised. So maybe it was the headmistress who was interested in her own kind. "Someone I would never expect, is that it? Er. . .Madam Hooch, maybe?"

"No, but that's a good guess. She is interested in women. Hooch is, I mean. Oh, you'll never guess, Tom. Never. Are you ready? It was. . .Severus Snape!"

She stood back and folded her arms on her chest, waiting for Tom's reaction.

He gave a long, low whistle. This was a shocker, right enough. "You don't say! Snape? You're sure? But he's a good thirty years younger than the headmistress."

"Thirty-five, according to Professor Sprout. It was a volatile relationship, she said, a lot of shouting and things like that. But basically, they were good for each other. And then Snape became headmaster, and everything was horrible, although Sprout is pretty sure that McGonagall knew he wasn't really a Death Eater. And then, just before the war ended and they could have been together again, Snape was killed!"

Hannah looked half sorrowful, half excited by the tragic romance of it all.

Before Tom could ask more questions, several patrons entered and put paid to further conversation.

He spent the rest of the evening drawing pints and pouring whisky and uncapping butterbeer, but his mind was only half on his work. His brain was buzzing.

Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape! A romantic couple. His mind just couldn't bend to the idea, especially not to the inevitable notion of sexual activity.

Tom was not a man who spent much time speculating about other people's sex lives; it had been so long since he'd had (or for that matter, wanted) one of his own that the topic was just not much of a priority for him. Besides, he really didn't want the mental images of people he knew making the beast with two backs. It would be too awkward when it came to serving them their beer and bacon butties.

Still, he couldn't help spending a few minutes thinking about Snape sleeping with the headmistress. How on earth had they got together? Their differences would seem insurmountable. . .that big age gap, and Snape having been a Death Eater. Not to mention once being McGonagall's eleven-year-old student.

Then again, they were both private, prickly, smart people. They probably had a lot in common. Sharp tongues could no doubt turn people on to each other just as much as any other similarity.

In the end, he gave it up. Romantic attraction was rarely completely understood by anyone outside the couple themselves, and that was all there was to it.

"I don't suppose your Neville learnt anything further? About the headmistress and Professor Snape?" he whispered to Hannah during a lull in custom.

She shook her head. "No, that's all. Just that they'd been together and then he died. Sprout and Flitwick think it's such a shame. Not that Professor McGonagall talks about it or pines or anything, at least not as far as Neville knows. But she's alone now, and it's too bad."

Tom grunted acknowledgement and began to wipe down the bar; he could hardly ask Hannah the most important questions in his head: could the headmistress possibly know that Snape was still alive? And if not, would she want to? Would Snape want her to?

It wasn't until Tom was getting ready for bed in his small suite of rooms above the pub that the realisation hit him: Professor McGonagall would be the "friend" that Snape had told his childhood Skegness story to.

"And he stays there because he hopes she'll come looking for him!" he said aloud. Of course. It made perfect sense.

Except that it didn't. Why would Snape have to wait for her to look for him? He could just tell her where he was, couldn't he?

Well, for all his sneering superiority, maybe deep down, Snape was insecure? Maybe the only way he'd believe that the headmistress really wanted him was if she came to him? Or maybe he'd already talked to her, and she'd indicated that she wanted to move on?

There was just no telling. It was a mystery. All he really knew, Tom thought, as he lay down and waved his wand to snuff his candles, was that Hannah was right: two people had evidently found some peace together, and then they lost it, and it was too bad.

- / - / -

Tom found himself thinking about Snape and McGonagall periodically over the next few months, or more specifically, thinking about his own possible part in their story.

Should he tell the headmistress that Snape was alive? And very possibly waiting and hoping for her to come to Skeggy and find him?

That was the question.

Yes, it was a question, all right, and one that he just did not know how to answer. One day, he'd say to himself, "Stay out of it, Tom, me lad. 'Tisn't your business, and besides, you gave your word." Then the next day he'd think, "They are two stubborn, rigid people who need a little nudge now and then, and you could help them." Then he'd remind himself that that no one likes a meddler. But a few days later, he'd be back to, "Most likely the headmistress don't even have any inkling that Snape might be alive, and so she'll never find him. Why would she think to go to look in Skegness for a dead man?"

Oh, it was a puzzle, and sometimes Tom's head ached just thinking about it. The worst of it was, he had no one to talk the problem over with. In the normal run of things, he'd spell out his dilemma to Hannah and Gregor and Belladonna and Gertz and the rest of the pub staff, who were like family to him, really. And together they'd come up with a solution.

But this time. . .this time, he was on his own.

It was getting on to late spring, and he still hadn't made up his mind what to do, although a little part of his brain whispered to him that by not doing anything, he was actually making his choice. Ah, well. Probably it was for the best. Because it was true – no one did like a meddler.

Then Hannah came in for her shift one day looking troubled. Tom was a dab hand at spotting people's moods, but even if he hadn't been, it wouldn't have mattered. It didn't take a headhealer to notice when the bubbles went out of Hannah's champagne personality.

"Why so quiet, Hannah, lass?" he said to her, first chance he got. "Problems? Come on. . .tell old Tom all about it."

Hannah gave a small laugh. "Sorry. . .didn't mean to act glum. But. . .I went to Hogwarts on my day off, you know? And Neville's all depressed because he forgot he had agreed to take delivery of some rare magical plants that Pomona ordered, and the delivery man went and floo-called directly to the headmistress's office, and she was in a meeting with some of the Board of Governors."

"Oh, dear," said Tom.

"Yes, and then she was annoyed and was really sharp with Neville – she just gets, like, super difficult at this time of year, around the anniversary of the Battle and of Dumbledore's death, and Snape's, of course, and, well, now Neville is convinced that McGonagall won't offer him the permanent Herbology position when Pomona retires in a couple of years, and he's all in a state."

Tom could understand that; Neville was a smart and kind young man, and very brave when it came to things like battling dark lords and their snakes, but for everyday things, he could be right timid.

"Well," he said to Hannah, "the main thing here is whether Neville could be right: is this business so serious that he actually might not get the job?"

"Oh, of course not. Pomona just laughed at the idea, and really, the headmistress wouldn't be like that. I mean, she can be totally terrifying when she's irritated, but she's not unfair that way. But Neville can't see that at the moment, and I just feel so bad for him."

"I understand," Tom assured her. "And I'm sorry he's depressed. But that's just temporary; he'll get over it, and in the long run, sounds like there's nothing to worry about. So why don't you just take tomorrow off and go back and console him, like?"

Hannah's face it up. "Really? Oh, Tom, thank you so much. I think that's exactly what he needs."

So Hannah went back up to Hogwarts, and Tom spent some time thinking about love and consolation. By the time Hannah returned, he had made up his mind.

"I'm going to be away next Saturday," he told the staff. "There's a ceremony at Hogwarts – fourth anniversary of the Battle. Think I'll go."

He watched as they all exchanged surprised looks; Tom had not participated in the Battle, and he'd never shown interest in these memorial events before.

Well, let 'em wonder.

He had a job to do.