Snape Redux

Snape Redux

By April Grey

Chapter Four – Snape’s Mind

It all belongs to Rowling, except for the parts you don’t recognize.

Hermione’s heart jumped in joy. “Is it really you?”

“Alas, no. I am but a shadow in his mind,” said Dumbledore.

“Can you help me?” Hermione swallowed her disappointment. She had thought that maybe this had been how Dumbledore had survived the attack. She pointed to the stacks and shelves of books around her. “I don’t have time to search, but I need an answer.”

“If it will not betray our friend to Voldemort,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, making Hermione’s heart ache in her renewed loss of him.

“It would actually help me decide whether to trust him. I admit that I don’t know Occlumency yet. The information might not be safe with me. But if you could tell me why you were so certain he was on our side.”

“Oh, well, I think you know why. His father was a Muggle. It took him a while to sort it out for himself, in fact he needed to overcome certain doubts and emotional issues, but eventually he came to understand that he needed to follow his heart.”

Hermione thought about Harry’s recounting of his Occlumency classes with Snape. “With all due respect, I think that is not very good evidence at all. He had every reason to hate his father. The man bullied and abused both him and his mother.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “That would be a bit difficult, considering his mother’s brother, Edward Prince, killed his father before our dear professor was born.”

“Then, the man in his memory--?”

“Was his uncle. The three of them lived in the house that had been owned by his father. His uncle threatened and even hexed his mother time and again, trying to force her to sell or make over the property to him for whatever little money it was worth. But that was Severus’ only connection to his father and she refused her brother time and again, no matter how riled he became. Unfortunately, by the time Severus arrived at Hogwarts, he was a confused, troubled boy, hating his mother for being weak, hating his father for dying and leaving him, and admiring his uncle for being both powerful and unafraid to use force.”

Dumbledore began to turn away.

“Is that all you have to tell me?” She took a step towards him, not wanting to see him go, even it he was only a memory.

Dumbledore raised his hand. Hermione noted that it was shriveled and blackened as it had been during the final months of the headmaster’s life. “What does this look like to you?”

“A curse, sir.”

“Very good. Think on this and I believe you will have some more answers.” Dumbledore looked up. “You have embarked on a rather risky course of behavior. He’s waking up.”

Panic welled in her. “I’ll leave now. Is there a way I can return?”

Dumbledore faded. Hermione dropped the thread and thought about where her body lay. The library evaporated and she was back on her bed.

Did she get out in time? There was no way of knowing without alerting him that she’d been there.


Snape was sleeping in the barn of the abandoned dairy farm in Sussex. He had tried to rid the bed in the farmhouse of bedbugs, but he’d found to his displeasure that they were a particularly determined breed of magic-resistant vermin. Now if he’d only had access to his potions, he’d had given them a what for. He’d hexed them several times before giving them back their bed and heading for the barn. Sighing, he rolled over and attempted to get back to sleep.

There was a persistent rapping. Something was not letting him sleep. He opened one bleary eye and then the other as he saw a Little Owl. It had a message tied to its leg and was quite determined to deliver it. Snape took the scrap of parchment.

“I haven’t anything to feed you. However, just look around. There are plenty of mice and all sorts of little furry, scurrying things, which kept me awake all last night. Help yourself.”

The owl gave a miffed screech and flew up to the rafters.

Snape opened the letter:

“Dear HBP,

Meet me at Waterstone’s Bookstore on Oxford St. in London, 10:30 A.M. today. Paranormal section.

Kind regards,

Your Hopeful Ally.”

Snape crumpled the parchment and then blew it up with a slightly more destructive spell than necessary.

The girl was insane. She had completely taken leave of her senses. Wanting to meet in broad daylight in a Muggle part of London? He was a Death Eater! The murderer of Albus Dumbledore. Stupid, stupid girl. She should be hiding from him, quaking, trembling in anticipation of his next visit to her. Idiotic Gryffindors!

The Little Owl gave a harsh cry and dive-bombed a beetle. And having got its breakfast, it left.

Snape washed in his rainwater filled barrel. He hadn’t slept well at all, between being bitten by bugs, terrorized by rodents running over him, and having stray bits of straw stab him all night, he’d barely closed his eyes. And then he’d had a most odd dream, wherein he thought he had been invaded.

From the position of the sun he noted that it was already about ten A.M. The ache in the pit of his belly told him that he was hungry, but his fear of a public meeting dulled any claim to an appetite. Had they met in her dream, there would have been a mutual assurance of no risk. To meet in public this way was beyond rash.

Was Miss Granger setting him up to be captured by the Ministry? No, they would never attempt such a thing in a busy Muggle bookstore. What if he fought back and hurt innocent Muggles? Diagon Alley would have been the proper place for such betrayal, for either side.

But if she were to be there with a friend, say an Order member? Someone he’d known for many a year? Was that it? Would Remus Lupin be there to stun him? Or Minerva McGonagall for a quick full body bind? Who would play the Judas Goat?

His heart was beating rapidly and he worked to slow it. He’d been under horrible stress for years now, ever since the return of the Dark Lord, no before that, from when the Potter boy came to Hogwarts reminding him of how much he’d lost. But the stress had been balanced with some comfort. His position in the Wizarding World had assured him of that. He didn’t care for this new life. Which was just as well, really. He wouldn’t mind death too much with literally nothing left to live for once he’d achieved his ends. He grimaced: endgame.

Well, if he sensed the Ministry or Order about he’d simply Disapparate and bugger all what the Muggles would think.

Hermione showed up at the bookstore nearly a half-hour earlier than the scheduled meeting. Not long after opening, the place was still quite empty.

She didn’t believe he’d betray her. But she wasn’t going to do this on his terms or on his ground. The invasion of her dreams was simply not to be tolerated.

She walked around the store, feeling at loose ends. Normally she’d be having a great time looking at the selection of books. Today, however, she was too nervous. And then she spotted him.

Good disguise, not bad at all, she thought. Remus and Tonks had been right. Unlike most Wizards, his clothing at least fit in. Old fashioned, but it might be considered classic, he was carrying a trench coat over his arm and sporting a plain white shirt and blue jeans with scrubby trainers. However his long black hair was tangled. And what was that sticking in his hair? With several days worth of beard, red-rimmed eyes and face looking even more gaunt than usual, he resembled a Greek ascetic. She observed him scouting the store. Obviously neither one of them trusted that this wasn’t a trap.

Carefully she walked a parallel aisle and then turned to face him casually when they arrived at the end of the row.

“Ah, what a surprise,” Hermione held out a hand, “fancy meeting you here.”

A look of revulsion and shock quickly passed over his face before it was replaced by a bored but pleased look.

“Indeed.” He took her hand and shook it.

She noticed that he had a bit of a tremor and that his palm was sweaty. She smiled, “The café food here isn’t too bad.”

His stomach gave a lurch. He didn’t have enough money.

“My treat, Sir, a cup of tea perhaps?” She tucked her arm under his. She felt the tension in his body ease a little. He smelled a little bit like a barn, adding to her theory that with his home confiscated he had nowhere to go.

He sat at the small café table and watched as she got a tray and loaded it with food. She paid the cashier and quickly returned to him.

“They do have a bit to choose from, please help yourself.”

The look of concern on her face gave him an odd feeling. It was embarrassing to be in such a position of dependency, but there was more to it. Her strange lack of fear of him was confusing.

“In regards of our last conversation,” he said, buttering a scone.

“Yes, I do have a question. Only one to start with, but an important one.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, “What killed Albus Dumbledore?”

His startled black eyes met her brown ones.

“I killed him,” he said, also in a whisper, even though there was no one else around in the cafe.

“Please, listen to my question. What, not who.”

He leaned in “Do you know that you are a very strange girl?”

She leaned back, fiddling with the foil top of a container of fruit yoghurt. “You wouldn’t be the first to have noticed that.

“I’ll repeat the question: What killed Albus Dumbledore?”

A nerve in Snape’s jaw twitched but his black eyes showed nothing. “A curse. You knew that.”

“Which curse?”

He sighed. “The curse on the black ring that had belonged to Marvolo.”

For a moment Hermione thought he would say something more, but he didn’t.

“I thought so, but you let everyone think he died from an unforgivable that you cast.”

“Yes, the timing was rather good on that.” He took a bite from the scone and crumbs caught in the stubble on his chin. “He was so weakened by that point, that perhaps the fall itself from the tower may have done it. You know that the Wizarding World doesn’t bother with autopsies.”

“I’m sorry. But in my mind, his dying from the curse of the ring rather exculpates you from his death.”

“And who helped him locate the ring? And who failed to protect him from the curse on the ring?” Snape’s lip curled in a snarl. “And finally, who thought he was so damned clever at the Dark Arts, yet failed to break or even slow the curse that was crawling up the old man’s arm to his heart?”

“You blame yourself for all that?”

There was a stony faced silence from Snape.

Hermione squirmed in her seat and Snape took a sip of his tea. “So, what is our next step?” she asked.

“If I am correct you and the two Weasley children are due for Occlumency Lessons courtesy of the Ministry of Magic.”

Hermione felt a rush of excitement. Was he offering to teach her instead? “Yes, yes.”

“Well, I don’t know who they still have available to teach you. But whomever they come up with, go along with it. But I shall teach you Legilimency as well.”

Hermione did a small victory dance in her imagination. She kept the grin off of her face.

“When do we begin?”

“Tonight.” Snape picked up the apple from the table and it disappeared into the pocket of his trench coat; a few seconds later a small package of cheddar cheese and crackers departed the table along with a buttered roll and packet of marmalade.

“Great stuff. Oh, before I forget.” She opened her purse and withdrew a bank envelope. She put it on the table. “You might need this.”

Snape looked at the envelope with suspicion but his voice was silky. “Need what?”

“Re—um R.L. told me about the failed raid yesterday. He says that he thought maybe you’d been caught off-guard—which was of course the idea. To catch you, that is. There was a good sum of money hidden in the house and—“

“You and he presume too much,” said Snape haughtily.

Hermione stared at him. “I’m sorry to presume too much. By the way, you have straw in your hair and your cheek is bleeding.”

Snape’s hand touched the place where Narcissa had scratched him. He’s forgotten to heal the wound. He hadn’t even disinfected it. He refused to worry though. There were too many other things to consider. The envelope joined the apple and other items in his trench coat pocket. His face was indecipherable.

“You know, I need you in one piece if you are to teach me. It’s not a lot but it’s at least some sort of payment for services--”

“Damn you, stop trying to spare my ego,” Snape said with a touch of impatience.

“Why shouldn’t you be paid? You are still trying to help us. It’s not fair. Everything was taken from you and-- and--”

Snape was glaring at her. He scared her in a way that she had never felt at school. “I said shut up.”

Hermione lowered her eyes. He tossed an empty salt and vinegar crisps packet on the table. “Use that at midnight. It will take you to our training area. Be well rested and expect to work hard.” He stormed out of the café, almost toppling a book cart pushed by an employee.

Hermione sat still, trying to calm down enough to leave her seat.


Snape got out of the store as quickly as he could. It had started raining and he put on the coat. He found the envelope in the pocket and only barely stopped himself from tossing it in a rubbish bin. Filthy, little Muggleborn, who did she think she was?

He passed a trembling hand over his forehead. What was wrong with him? Oh, yes, lack of sleep, lack of food, no place to feel safe or secure. And Hermione Granger feeling sorry for him. Severus Snape was in the category of House Elf now. A dry laugh escaped his lips, and a passerby shot him a nervous glance before picking up her pace.

He opened the envelope and counted ten twenty-pound bills. Two hundred quid. More than enough to tie him over until he found a way to get Narcissa alone.

Well, you couldn’t fill a stomach with pride. Time to find a Muggle food shop and get supplies for the barn. Perhaps get a sleeping bag in a sportings goods store.

Despair as bleak as a dementor’s hug welled up in him. Albus, Hogwarts, his home. He swallowed down the feelings and walked onward in the drizzling wet. First things first: get provisions and then get some rest.

Rain plastered his hair to his head and trickled down his neck. Unbidden the words came to him: those who seek revenge dig two graves. He might have had a future once, but it was all gone, recklessly abandoned to indulge his passionate nature. In his ten-year reprieve from the Dark Lord, Snape had never married. He never formed attachments beyond the teaching community of Hogwarts. In the back of his mind he knew that this time free from fear was borrowed and not his to spend. The course, which he’d set out on so long ago, was coming to an end. All that was left was to make sure Voldemort died, at whose hands he wasn’t particular. Then Potter would kill him, Snape, in vengeance for Dumbledore’s death. Hopefully Potter wouldn’t mess that up. Death was preferable to a life sentence in Azkaban.

Spotting a small Asian-run food market, he gave up his morose line of thought and got down to the business at hand.

Granger was right. He had to take care of himself in order to fulfill his long resolved purpose. He couldn’t afford to become careless. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other and things would sort themselves out—eventually.

There was a feral gleam in Snape’s eye that made the storeowners nervous and then grateful when he made his purchases and left without incident.

Hermione Apparated back to Grimmauld Place from a stall in the empty ladies room. She arrived in the front hallway of the house. Tonks was there, waiting for her and not very pleased.

“Hermione. I thought that we agreed you weren’t to go out by yourself.”

“I’m not a child anymore,” she said blushing and staring at the floor guiltily.

“Then you shouldn’t act like one. Molly’s all upset that you weren’t here. Your parents contacted her to say you’d run away from home.”

Hermione’s mouth opened and shut before her indignation subsided sufficiently for her to speak. “I’m seventeen.”

Tonks smiled, “I know it’s difficult with there being two sets of rules, but this traipsing off isn’t a good thing. It’s stupid and you aren’t a stupid girl. Remus went off to search for you.”

Just then Mrs. Weasley came up from the basement and Hermione braced herself for Mrs. Weasley’s famed ire. Instead she spoke mildly, “There you are Hermione. Well, news travels quick. Your parents contacted me and asked me to have a little chat with you.”

Hermione’s heart sank.

But Mrs. Weasley continued, “Now don’t give me that look. I’m just here to offer you a good home-cooked meal at the Burrow. You don’t have a single decent thing to eat down there.”

Hermione sighed. She’d spent good money on stocking up that larder. Well, no accounting for taste. “Of course, Mrs. Weasley, I’d love to.”

Mrs. Weasley gave Hermione a hug and said over her head, “And why don’t you come along Tonks, and bring Remus, of course.” She winked.

“Right, well,” said Tonks. “As soon as I see him. I’m sure he’d enjoy one of your meals. Everything I make him has him either running for the loo or for the stomach salts.”

Mrs. Weasley chuckled. “It may take a couple of years, but you’ll see. Either they get used to your cooking, or you get better at it. I never quite figured out which. I’ll be cooking up my Mulligatawny Surprise. Last time I made it you could hardly see for all the steam blasting from everyone’s ears. Do you think there’s any chance of Harry showing up?”

Hermione smiled. “I don’t know. See you around what time then? I need to wash up and take a nap--I haven’t slept too well the past few nights.”

“Dinner’s at seven. Drop by anytime. Ron’s been missing you.”

“Has he?” Hermione took the stairs to her room two steps at a time, even though she told herself not to act like a lovesick schoolgirl.



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