Through the Looking Glass ~ COMPLETED

Chapter 48 ~ Clarifications

In Advanced Transfiguration class, Hermione lingered as Snape collected written extra credit work and made appointments. She didn’t get in line because she didn’t want the other students to know about her “discretionary” extra credit list. It would most likely cause pandemonium, and, to be honest, a few hexes might fly in Snape’s direction if they knew he had given Hermione carte blanche.

When the last student left, Hermione approached the wizard’s desk. Snape looked up at her as she offered him the list. He did his best to conceal his delight as she did so. He calmly took the list from her hand and read it, his dark eyes moving from left to right as Hermione watched him closely for reaction.

Snape turned the parchment over and continued to read the list, not showing any overt signs of surprise, although inwardly, he was literally dancing on top of his desk. Great Grindelwald, if they did everything on this list, technically Miss Granger wouldn’t have to do a lick of class work for the rest of the year!

Snape deliberately placed the parchment down on his desk and looked up at Hermione, who quirked an eyebrow at him.

”Well?” she said.

Snape cleared his throat.

”Er . . . Miss Granger, the sheer volume of acts you’ve selected would result in an extraordinary amount of points. What you want to do to me during role-play alone is . . . quite point-heavy,” he said to her. “I’m afraid if I were to accept this list, I would have to put a basic cap on the points you would receive and it would be much lower than what you would ordinarily earn for such a . . . a wide selection.”

Hermione cocked her head at him.

”How much lower?” she asked, her brown eyes curious.

”Approximately seven hundred points,” the wizard replied.

As much as he wanted to engage the witch, he couldn’t give her all those points.

Hermione studied him, her eyes amused. Snape was holding his breath and didn’t even realize it. But she did.

”That’s fine,” she said shortly.

”It is?” Snape responded, his voice cracking before he cleared it and added some bass. “It is?”

Hermione nodded, her lips tightening as she tried not to laugh.

”Ah . . . very well. Very well. However, because of the . . . er . . . depth of involvement of your list . . . I’m afraid I will have to schedule your appointment for the weekend, rather than a weekday afternoon. It will require several hours to complete.

”That’s fine,” Hermione replied again.

”I believe Sunday evening would be best. But, you would have to be willing to go to breakfast the following morning from my rooms, since more than likely . . . our appointment will be an overnight event. A few fortifying potions may be in order as well.”

Snape wanted to rest up on Saturday so he would be in top form to deal with the witch’s list.

”That’s fine,” Hermione said yet again.

Snape scheduled Hermione’s appointment to begin at seven o’clock Sunday evening, right after supper.

”Eat lightly,” he told her. “Food and drink will be provided as we need it.”

”Well, I’ll certainly be skipping dessert, professor. There’s chocolate syrup on the list,” Hermione said to the wizard, who looked down at it. “As well as whipped cream, honey and cherries.”

”That’s hardly food, Miss Granger” he replied, fighting the erection that threatened to burst through his trousers. Hermione Granger was a very wicked little witch. “In order to utilize such items, you need to have a central dish. A sweet cake, or fruit, perhaps.”

”That’s true, but I prefer . . . meat with my whipped cream and cherries,” she said with a crooked grin as the teacher shifted in his chair uncomfortably. “Goodbye, professor.”

And with that scintillating little comment, the witch walked out of the classroom, Snape staring after her before letting his head drop heavily to his desk with a clunk.

”My word,” he breathed against the wood before lifting his head and studying the list again. Sunday was still four days away.

If done right, completing Miss Granger’s extra credit requirements would be quite a lot of work.

The wizard smiled lustfully.

He’d suffer through it.

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Back at Hogwarts, the Potions master was dealing with the aftermath of his newly acquired wealth. It seemed Aberforth was taking Albus’ will well at all, and went straight to the Prophet with the story.

”Professor Severus Snape Now Rolling in Galleons!” the headline screamed.

There followed an article about Albus’ bequest, along with some very poignant questions about the nature of the relationship between the Potions master and the Headmaster of the school. Rita Skeeter had written the article, so of course it was full of insinuations and just plain garbage.

The large amount of money given to the wizard makes us wonder, just what kind of services did professor Snape render?

There were also intimations that Albus may have been drugged with a potion which caused him to sign over the lion’s share of his wealth to the dark wizard, and Aberforth wanted the Ministry to exhume the body and examine it for foul play. In that way, he wouldn’t be directly contesting the will. He was just as manipulative as his deceased brother.

In addition to the news article, Snape was practically smothered in owls at breakfast the next morning, swamped with letters from charities, inventors, poor people and opportunities for investments on the ground floor. Also, there were a number of letters from suddenly interested witches, complete with pictures of them in various stages of undress. These, he put in his robes pocket for later perusal. He threw the rest away.

Of course, the castle was a-buzz about Snape’s newly acquired wealth, although Harry, Ron and Hermione were completely squicked by the insinuation that Snape had been giving the Headmaster the high hard one.

”Ewwww,” Ron gagged as he read the article over again as he chewed on a biscuit. They were in the Great Hall having lunch and discussing Snape’s situation in low tones as was everyone else. The Potions master wasn’t present. Neither was Minerva.

“This is just . . . just sick!” Ron continued. “Snape’s a lot of things, but he’s no fruit. At least, I don’t think he is. And doing Dumbledore? Oh, that’s just insane. If he’s doing anything, it’s probably his own greasy hand.”

Ron was a bit of a homophobe. If only he knew how his counterpart got his groove on, he’d be mortified.

Hermione scowled at the paper.

”That’s all nonsense. Professor Snape didn’t do anything to the Headmaster. They don’t have to exhume his body to find that out either. All they have to do is question his portrait,” the witch said angrily.

Harry studied the paper with a wrinkled brow. He was thinking about Dumbledore, how he had never heard of him being involved with a witch. Snape? Well, that was different. He was rather creepy, so his not being with witches made sense. But Dumbledore had been a very nice, very rich wizard, powerful too. The kind of man that attracted women in most cases, even if he was up in age. He didn’t have to be married, but . . . at least there should have been someone . . .

Hermione looked at her friend, her eyes searching his face.

”Harry, you’re awfully quiet,” she said to him softly. “You don’t believe this rot about the Headmaster and professor Snape, do you?”

Harry blinked at her.

”Dumbledore and Snape? No, I don’t believe that for a minute, Hermione. Snape loved my mother, so he isn’t gay. And he wouldn’t give the Headmaster a potion. I think Dumbledore left him that money because he believed he deserved it, that’s all.”

The Headmaster had told Harry Snape’s role concerning Voldemort, and what motivated him to do what he did, admonishing the boy not to ever let the Potions master know he knew the truth about him.

”Severus is a private man, Harry. He doesn’t want the past dredged up. I am only telling you this so you know the truth of the matter and that he was never the turncoat people believed him to be. He was my man . . . I coerced him into it, but he never once betrayed me or your mother’s memory,” the portrait told him.

”Yes, that’s what I believe, too. It’s awful what the newspaper is saying about him,” Hermione said. “I hope he can handle it.”

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Actually, Snape was handling it quite well, if bad-naturedly. The reason he nor Minerva weren’t at lunch was because he was in her office being interrogated by several Aurors, as Dumbledore watched from his portrait with angry eyes.

”Just what was the nature of your relationship with Albus Dumbledore, Snape?” one steely-eyed Auror asked the Potions master. “Were you lovers? If you were, just admit it. This would all make sense, then.”

Minerva sat at her desk, fuming at the treatment of her Potions professor. But she couldn’t interfere. Yes, Albus had been gay, but he was also celibate, grieving over Grindelwald for many, many years.

“I was his employee and a member of the Order,” Snape replied. “We were not lovers.”

The Auror looked at the others, who shook their heads.

”Albus Dumbledore had a number of ‘employees.’ Why would he single you out to give his money to? Did you influence him? Give him a potion or put him under the Imperious spell and have him write that will? Tell the truth, Snape, of your own free will, otherwise, we might take you down to the Ministry and question you under Veritaserum.”

Snape stared at the Auror for a moment, intense anger in his dark eyes.

”Why don’t you ask him yourself?” the wizard hissed.

”What? He’s dead. We can’t ask him anything,” the Auror snapped back at him.

Snape’s eyes shifted to Albus’ portrait behind Minerva’s desk.

”Headmaster, do you have anything you’d like to say?” the dark wizard asked him.

”Plenty,” the old wizard responded, glaring at the Aurors who all looked at his painting, startled.

”What? What’s going on here?” the interrogating Auror demanded, staring at the now animate painting. Like all the portraits, Albus couldn’t interact unless he was directly addressed, questioned or involved in some manner.

”Albus Dumbledore is a former Headmaster of this school, and as such, his essence has been magically immortalized in this portrait, and he serves as an advisor to Headmistress McGonagall. He will continue to provide advice to all who follow her for as long as Hogwarts stands,” Snape told him. “He retains all his memories and experiences, as do the portraits of the Headmasters and Headmistresses that preceded him.”

Snape gestured to the other paintings, which now moved because they were acknowledged and nodded at the Aurors, who were amazed.

The Aurors all drew closer, their attention now off Snape on one the wizard within the frame. The Head Auror looked at Minerva.

”Is this true?” he asked her.

”Yes,” she replied tightly.

The Auror blinked at Dumbledore. He had never been in a situation like this, where he could question a dead man. It certainly made getting to the truth of the matter much simpler.

”Headmaster Dumbledore, sir, were you in your right frame of mind when you wrote out your will? Did you mean to leave your fortune to Severus Snape or were you coerced?” he asked the wizard.

”Of course I was in my right frame of mind. How dare you all question it? Severus Snape provided me with valuable information concerning Lord Voldemort and at great sacrifice to his person. He was never acknowledged or rewarded for his service in any meaningful way, and I suspected once it was discovered how he rid the wizarding world of the despot, that the Ministry would find a way to wrest the reward offered away from him. So I altered my will to make sure that he would be able to live his life the way he wished, indebted to no one,” Albus replied evenly. “Before that, the bulk of my estate would have gone to charity. I decided to give it to Professor Snape because of his selfless service. I only wish I had thought that Aberforth would do something like this, use the Ministry to try and steal what doesn’t belong to him . . . I would have just left him a Galleon to begin with!”

Albus’ fury wasn’t wasted on the Aurors. It was clear to see that Snape was given this money free and clear.

”Thank you, sir,” the Auror said, then turned to Snape. “I’m sorry, professor. We were just doing our job. This situation received a lot of negative press, and the Ministry felt . . . “

”It necessary to treat me like a criminal,” Snape finished for him.

”No, sir. Just investigate the possibility . . .”

”That I underhandedly secured this bequest,” the Potions master said coldly. “That I in some way manipulated the situation to suit my own ends. I’m surprised I wasn’t accused of actually murdering the man, since I was the last wizard to attend him.”

Actually, that was going to be the next question before Albus interceded.

”I’m . . . I’m sorry, Professor Snape,” the Auror said helplessly. “As I said, I was just doing my job.”

”I see. Well, inform the Minister and Council that I will not be continuing Albus’ yearly contributions to their campaign funds. I had thought to do so, but . . . I think I would be better off supporting their opponents,” Snape purred at him. “The reason being I don’t like the way they’re doing their jobs.”

The Auror paled. The Minister and Council weren’t going to like this development. Snape was a powerful man now. His money would give him great influence in the political arena. Damn, they had made a grave error in approaching him in this manner. A wiser thing would have been to have a private inquiry before the Council itself. It was more dignified and less obtrusive than having a contingent of Aurors come to his place of employment and grill him like a common thief.

Well, live and learn.

”Yes, sir,” he said a bit sullenly. “Let’s go.”

The Aurors filed out of Minerva’s office, closing the door behind them. Snape looked at Albus’ portrait.

”Thank you, sir,” he said to the wizard.

”You’re quite welcome, my boy,” Albus replied with a smile.

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In an attempt at damage control, the Ministry issued a public statement that Severus Snape had been cleared of all suspicions of foul play, which appeared on the front page of the Prophet’s evening addition, citing Dumbledore himself as clearing him.

Aberforth was furious. He’d forgotten about those damn Headmaster paintings.

”It’s not fair, old girl,” he slurred, petting his nanny goat as he sat on the floor of the Hog’s Head Inn, leaning against the wall, drunk as ten sailors, a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey in his gnarled hand. He had closed up shop immediately after reading the evening edition. The hell with everyone. He’d been cheated out of a fortune.

”It’s just not fucking fair,” he said, hugging the bleating goat closely. “One hundred thousand measly Galleons. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?”

If Nanette, which was the goat’s name, could speak, she’d tell him to fix up the gods damn inn for a start.

It was nearly a bloody shambles.

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A/N: Thanks for reading. ***