Seven Preposterous Things

If I can catch him once upon the hip,

I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him.

Shakespeare-The Merchant of Venice



Privately, Kingsley Shacklebolt thought the new Minister was off his nut when it came to anything having to do with Snape. Kingsley wasn’t entirely convinced Snape was still alive after scouring the British Isles and most of the continent for him. Fact was, he was last verified to be among the living the morning of the final battle when he breakfasted with Phillipus Bulstrode at the Lusty Hag in Knockturn Alley. No one would admit to having seen or heard from the bugger since.



The same went for young Malfoy, whose father was spotted now and again in the poncier robe shops on the continent. Either the pair were dead as door knobs, which was Kingsley’s feeling, or they had a more successful hiding spot. Which was less likely.



The time had come for Longbottom to face facts and bury whatever it was kept him up nights. Since the war ended Kingsley had been on what amounted to an extended holiday, tooling about on his broom, meeting witches in each new town with expense account enough to pay for drinks, asking after two strange wizards, “both tall, the older one dark haired, the younger a blond, the older has a cigarette habit. No? Now that we’ve got that out of the way what sort of local sights would you recommend to a couple of visiting English wizards?”



But the time had come to go home and get back to get work.



And if they weren’t dead what good would bringing them back do? Damned little, as far as Kingsley could see. The wounds that had begun to heal would be reopened. It wasn’t as though either of them were going to go out looking for trouble. Snape was a weird one and not one he’d care to have to Christmas dinner but he had never been one for mayhem for its own sake. No, Kingsley knew Snape well enough to know he would keep his head down and his big nose clean as long as there was a price on his head, provided he was still alive, which he probably wasn’t. Young Malfoy was strictly a follower. And dead to boot. But dead or not he would stick with the older wizard.



Kingsley didn’t see the point of keeping at it.



Not everyone felt the way he did. Young Weasley for instance.



Since everything that had happened … well… had happened, Longbottom appointed Weasley a “special officer” and Kingsley’s partner despite the fact that he didn’t have any sodding training. Weasley hated Snape, as far as Kingsley could tell, as much as Longbottom did. They both seemed to hold their old school master personally responsible for every loss suffered in the war.



War wasn’t personal. No matter how it felt in the heat of the moment. No matter what you lost. Taking it personal was the sort of thing that drove good people mad and only served to make the bad ones worse.



It was true, good people died in wars, people you were never expecting to lose, that was what made it such shit. That was why you chose not only your battles but your wars carefully. That was why you didn’t jump headlong into dangerous business like a decapitated basilisk. Losing good people, like Granger, to take the favorite example of both Longbottom and Weasley, was the reason you stopped and considered before you rushed into a vendetta against a frightened and no doubt tired man who was likely dead in any event. If you didn’t before you knew it you’d be bringing home fresh dead to mourn.



The sooner Weasley and Longbottom learned that the better.



Not that either one of them were bad sorts. Longbottom was a level-headed young chap. And Weasley had his heart in more or less the right place; he just wasn’t suited for the aurory. Law enforcement was no place for hot heads.



And now, of all the ridiculous shit, they had gone to America. On what? Information from Snape’s father, a Muggle with a criminal background to rival Mundungus Sodding Fletcher, that’s what on. Personally, Kingsley wouldn’t trust Snape Sr. to tell him if his robes were on fire.



Weasley and Longbottom though, took it as vindication. Only a nasty piece of work could earn treatment like that from his own flesh and blood.



Where as Kingsley suspected the father was at least half the reason Snape went over to Voldemort’s side in the first place. Wizards as twisty and shirty as Severus Snape were made, not born, and he suspected Snape Sr. had more than a small hand in that. If he was the type to grass on his own son, who knew what else he was capable of.



And so it was that, despite his own opinion on the matter, he found himself half-way round the world watching a Muggle neighborhood with magical law enforcement from three nations to coordinate. A big pain in the arse for nothing if you asked him, not that anyone did.



There were the British; Neen and Parker, brought in special from home to “lend a hand” as it were, as well as Weasley and Kingsley himself, then the New Englanders, who had a treaty of cooperation and extradition with the UK and came in to assist with the apprehension of wanted criminals on their territory; Bradley, Laurentino, Davis, West, Molinaro, and Sickleback. And finally the Californians who had no such treaty but shared a rather oddly cut half of the city and had come, essentially, to keep an eye on New England; Gilbert (pronounced and repronounced with a froggish accent no matter how many times you made it clear you couldn’t care less) Apodaca, Trujillo, Conejo, Maestas, Fundy, and Rodgers. Again, a bleeding pain in his bleeding arse.



And for what?



Precious little as far as he could see. In fact all he could see at the moment was roses. Which was strange for January, and likely magic though with the local weather you couldn’t be sure. Either way it was hardly a sign of dark forces at work.



And then a Muggle motorcar pulled in front of the house.



Snape stepped out first, lit a cigarette, then proceeded to stretch like a wizard who’d been folded up in a box for some hours. Next were a female, pregnant, and a half-grown black dog. From the look of it Snape mightn’t have been suffering as much as he’d thought.



Kingsley calculated the odds she was a witch. Snape had a history of keeping to Muggle females, his magic as unsullied as a sodomite’s. Kingsley couldn’t imagine he’d give it up to a witch at this late date.



Added up, it meant they wouldn’t have to stand off against a witch which perhaps as much as seven times the power of all of them combined, depending on what she was carrying.



He hoped to hell Weasley was able to keep hold of himself until he gave the signal and they could apprehend Snape without drawing the attention of every Muggle in the city. Besides it only followed that if Snape was here Malfoy was likely close by. Kingsley would rather not alert Malfoy before they could lay hands on him if it could be helped.



While Kingsley Shaklebolt had been an auror long enough that not much surprised him he did feel cold in his belly a moment when Hermione Granger stepped out of the auto yawning and stretching. The cold came back again when Snape reached out his hand to the small of her back. The move was quick as a snake but the meaning was anything but muddy.



If Weasley saw that they might as well drop trouser and grab the ground now because they were buggered for sure.



The unknown female proceeded to the front door just behind Granger and Snape so reaching into his pocket Kingsley gave the signal for the aurors to advance. The coins each one damn well ought to be clutching in their hand should be starting to warm. With some skill and a degree of luck they would be able to walk right in the front door behind Snape and the neighbors would never know the difference. The trouble was that their disillusionment charm was not selective and so the timing had to be spot on to keep them from falling all over each other like so many skittles. With fifteen agents it was a bloody catastrophe waiting to happen. The charm on the coins was supposed to turn them ice cold if they came within half a meter of another charmed coin but nothing was fool proof. Not in Kingsley’s experience at any rate.



Weasley hadn’t lost his head. That was good.



By his best guess seven or eight of them had slipped through the door when the operation went tits up.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco didn’t understand what happened until later. One minute he was feeding Phil, the next Uncle Severus was walking in the door followed by Millie and Granger, a second later Whack meowed, Severus’s dog turned snarling and the room went somehow haywire bodies and furniture went flying. Spells flashed. It was all he could do to wrap his arms round Phil and hope for the best. His wand was lying atop his pajama dresser.



For a good quarter of a second Millie thought Snape’s dog was about to make a lunge for her throat. To be fair Miss did lunge but went right past her, a sliver of a second later something heavy but invisible fell her way, followed several more somethings that bounced off of her like so many rubber balls. It went too quick for her to right herself much less reach her wand. In the end it must have been the baby’s magic that protected her belly because whatever it was didn’t give two shits about her hitting her head on the end table and everything going black.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Severus Snape’s gut was uneasy from the minute he set foot outside the car. He should never have let Granger talk him into coming back. They should have made Draco and the infant come to them instead. He could feel it. There was magic afoot and it had none of Draco’s smell on it.



Within seconds of stepping through the door the claustrophobic feeling of being unbearably crowded was on him. His feelings were confirmed when Miss turned and leapt, snarling.



He pulled his wand and pivoted and was in the midst of silently casting finite cantatum for all he was worth when something or someone damn heavy came flying, landing heavily across his back.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



Hermione had simply been grateful to be home, where things could be properly sorted out before further action was taken.



Sometimes, however, events don’t cooperate with reasonable courses of action. As evidence of this being in the way of the world Miss turned and hurled herself at something behind her. She assumed instantaneously that it had to be someone, or more than one someone, under a disillusionment charm. It was like she had never left the aurors. Instincts kicked in, she dropped to her haunches, pulled her wand in one move and found herself surrounded by suddenly revealed aurors, she assumed they were all aurors, scattered about the room like nine pins pointing their wands in every direction and herself nose to nose and wand to wand with Ronald Weasley.



Kingsley was sitting on Severus his wand pointed at Draco. Neen, who’d been a trainee during her days was staring horrified at Millie, and the others she didn’t know, besides Parker who she had gone through training with, but they were everywhere.



“How could you?” Ron said, his wand in her face.



“How could I what?” she asked.



“You were in it with him all along,” Ron said his voice quavering.



“Don’t be stupid, Ron,” Hermione said.



Behind her a slightly squashed Severus repeated sarcastically, “By all means don’t be stupid, Ron.”



“He saved me at the ministry,” Hermione said. “As far as we knew you were all dead.”



“Are you asking me to believe Hermione Granger ran away when her friends were in danger?” Ron said.



“It wasn’t exactly my decision,” she said careful not to drop her guard.



“The Hermione I know wouldn’t let the side down for anything… unless it wasn’t really her side to begin with,” said Ron.



Hermione groaned. “Ronald Weasley, are you accusing me of being in league with Lord Voldemort?”



“Why not? Harry always said you were two steps away from dark lording yourself.”



“He said that when I gave you two dunderheads revision schedules; he wasn’t serious.” The insult slipped out of her mouth as if she’d been born saying it, damn damn damn Severus Snape.



Something strengthened behind Ronald’s eyes. “Put down your wand, Hermione,”



“Why should I?” she said.



“Because you’ll be more use to him free than you will in the cell beside him in Azkaban.” Kingsley Shaklebolt broke in sensibly. He was right, she knew. She lowered her wand slowly and turned her head to see Shaklebolt close the manacles on Severus’ wrists.



“Do you want to take this baby?” one of the others, she didn’t know his name but he had an American accent, called, his wand very close to Draco’s face.



She rushed in to get Phil from Draco before an auror could lay hands on him. Predictably Phil wailed as the manacles shut on his father’s arms. She looked for Millie and finally caught a glimpse of her unconscious at the foot of the divan.



“Are you going to do anything for her?” she said.



“Muggles are not our jurisdiction, Ma’am,” said one of the aurors she didn’t recognize.



“That’s not a Muggle, you knob, that’s Millie Malfoy, the granddaughter of Black Alice Eye,” Hermione said, wanting with all her soul to hex one of them.



“Oh is it then?” said Parker standing close by Millie. Hermione watched in horror as he made to point his wand squarely at Millie’s crotch.



As fast as she was able balancing Phil against her chest she raised her wand and shouted “Protego.”



“Any more of that and I’ll hex you myself,” Shacklebolt said as Parker picked himself up off the floor.



“But if she’s…” Parker started.



“I don’t want to hear it, Parker,” Shacklebolt said.



Still holding baby Phil Hermione knelt beside Millie trying to recall her emergency healing training. Head injuries were tricky business. Hermione sincerely hoped Millie’s skull was as hard as it seemed.



“Get her to a Muggle physician,” Severus said as he and Draco were dragged toward the center of the room.



Hermione nodded.



“Is there anyone I can go to, where I can look for evidence to free you?” she asked .Severus while trying not to notice Draco had fat tears rolling down his cheeks and was making strangled sobs.



“I imagine the outcome of this particular trial is something of a foregone conclusion,” Severus said through clenched teeth.



“Kingsley?” Hermione asked addressing her former boss “May I kiss my husband goodbye?”



Kingsley shook his head. “It’s not allowed, you could pass him a magical object.”



“Please, I’ll keep my hands to myself and my lips closed I swear,” she said and watched as Severus, perversely prudish to the end, blushed.



“Suit yourself,” Shacklebolt shrugged and Hermione felt more grateful than she could imagine for a simple kiss.



Looking into Severus face she kissed him gently, “I’m going to get you out, I swear,” she whispered in his ear as her cheek brushed against his stubbled cheek.



“No Whispering!” Ron shouted and shoved them apart.



“Take care of them, Granger,” Draco cried as Kingsley raised his wand and both aurors and prisoners disappeared from view.





Note: special thanks to Shiv and Scattered Logic