Behind the Looking Glass

Git by the Tenth Power



For the last eight months, Severus Snape prowled through the corridors of Hogwarts like an angry black shadow that was subject to frequent bouts of melancholy. It was certainly bad enough that Severus Snape had a temper that was more than easily triggered and nearly impossible for anyone to appease, but people were familiar with that aspect of Hogwarts’ Potions Master for which he was notoriously known. It was much worse when he had one that went arm in arm with an uncharacteristic-like depression, and this was what they weren’t used to.

Students always dreaded his classes because of his volatile temper and scathing remarks, now they were terrified to even put a toe across the threshold of the classroom door. It was the quiet melancholia that disturbed the students most, for they could never predict when he would suddenly snap out of that quietness, and would turn to lash out at them with stinging remarks that would startle and send them scurrying and cowering out of his way.

He had finally gotten that much-coveted position of Defence Against the Dark Arts that he had desired to return to for so long and it should have pleased him immensely, but surprisingly it didn’t. No one could figure out exactly the real reason why except the Headmistress. After a month of seeking diligently for a replacement in DADA, she found those that had been interviewed quite unsatisfactory and the students’ education was suffering severely from the lack of an instructor. She had called him to her office and gave him the position thinking he was the best candidate after all, as he was thoroughly knowledgeable in the dark arts, and he did deserve it more than anyone else. She also believed it would be just the diversion to brighten his mood – not that he ever had a bright mood.

If this had came at any other time and under different circumstances, no doubt he would have stood with his back ramrod straight and assumed an expression of complete superiority that only Snape could do so sneeringly well. Instead, he stood with shoulders slightly slumped waiting with a tired patience for the Headmistress to get on with it, and as for expressions, he only wore two these days – totally infuriated and completed discouraged. He accepted the offer without complaint or question, or any sign of arrogant self-victory; he simply turned without a word in response to her quizzical look at his lack of reaction then left, and showed up the next day in DADA.

At first, he had used his spare time to locate his favourite contact and would follow leads as to Augusta’s whereabouts. It would always turn out to be a completely useless endeavour resulting in threats of dire consequences being made to his connection to the underbelly of the wizarding world. As time went on, the useless leads grew increasingly less frequent as did the threats until they stopped altogether.

Becoming disheartened, he ceased partaking of meals served in the Great Hall, and no longer showed up during evenings in the staff lounge to read the latest edition of The Daily Prophet. There were countless speculations and curious questions to go with the furtive looks cast at the empty chair beside the fire. They only thought he had stepped out of the closet and had succumbed to the boyishly handsome August Hollingsworth who had left Hogwarts for mysterious reasons, and did not know the true extent and raison d'être for his self-imposed exile. As a result, he would spend his free time sitting before his own fire in the privacy of his chambers with his head leaned back, eyes closed and his hand wrapped about one of many stiff drinks. He didn’t quite get drunk, for he always showed up on time for classes, but to a certain extent he often came near being such which at the present moment since it being a Friday night, he was endeavouring to do. Sitting before the fire with his shoes off, the warmth from the flames and the liqueur in his belly had him rather lethargic and slow in responding to the irritatingly constant tapping sound that seemed to him had been going on for some time.

Eventually, he sluggishly rose from his chair, and stood slightly frowning and swaying trying to figure out where that infernal sound was coming from. “Oh,” he said to himself when he finally realized what was making that sound and just where it was coming from.

He padded, in a not too straight line, over to the window and jerked it open. He recognized the rather scruffy looking owl that was missing more feathers than it should, as it sat looking at him with a message clutched in its beak.

“Shoo!” Snape waved his hand at it for he had no more curiosity about any more of Delbert Shoonmaker’s messages, as they were always the same.

Delbert Shoonmaker was short, wiry, and possessed of a keen and crafty mind. He also dressed poorly and constantly sported a tattered pork-pie hat. He had all the appearances of a wizened old man when in fact he genuinely wasn’t. He was actually younger than Snape and he had been his main contact during the early days of the Potion Master’s spying for both sides and was the only one, outside of members of the Order and Dumbledore, that knew of Snape’s double espionage. The dark wizard had found him to be dependable and trustworthy in the past - yet this time despite all the diligence, tricks, and vast cunning he had at his disposal, Shoonmaker had not been able to obtain that which Snape had so fervently sought.

“Get out!” Snape leaned close to the bird and bellowed in its face, yet it continued to stare at him with huge yellow eyes and refused to budge as it had been told not to leave until it had delivered its message. They stared at each other for a moment; the bird’s enormous eyes following Snape as he tilted slightly to and fro.

“Gah,” he muttered in irritation under his breath and quickly snatched the folded parchment from its beak, and in a flurry of feathers, some of which it left behind and really could not afford to lose, it took to wing and was soon out of sight.

Slamming the window shut he turned sloshing his drink and weaving slightly, and made his way back to the comfort of his chair. He sat holding the already forgotten message in his hand as he continued to nurse his drink. Snape stared at the fire until his eyelids began to droop lower and lower, and then he fell asleep as the now drained glass slipped from his fingers and to the carpet with a muffled thump.

It was nearly four in the morning and he was in the middle of a fitful and disorganized dream as his body twitched in response, causing him to jerk awake with his heart beating rapidly. He couldn’t remember his dream, even if it meant saving his life. All he knew at the moment was his head hurt, his joints were stiff, and he had to face another day alone with only his thoughts to keep him company. He staggered in the direction of the bed and realized he was clutching something in his hand. He unfolded it and started to sit down, but what he read jolted him so, that he missed the bed entirely and landed on the floor. Written on the stained parchment, in untidy script, were three words that meant everything in the world to him.

I found her.

D.

The rush of adrenaline he felt was all he needed to quickly sober up. He rose from the floor feeling a vigour he had not felt in ages, and quickly dressed. He went directly to the Headmistress informing her that there would be the possibility he may not return in the near future – for he knew from past experiences, when something precious was sought, no matter how accurate the leads, it could possibly take days if not weeks to accomplish the task. He turned on his heel and left the Headmistress to her objections, and she wearily sat down wondering if it was really worth it to have a DADA class.

He entered the Three Broomsticks in a cloud of billowing black determination and headed directly behind the bar and through the door to the spare room, heedless of the barkeep’s protests, which immediately ceased as soon as Snape fixed him with one of his infamous glares. He pounded loudly on the door, rattling Shoonmaker out of bed.

“All right, all right! ‘old yer ‘orses. I paid me rent. W’at do ye thin’ yer doin’, ‘sturbin’ a man right out o’ ‘is kip?” Delbert Shoonmaker angrily flung open the door and stood wearing tattered and stained flannel, and his infernal pork-pie hat, which apparently the man never bothered to remove even while sleeping. “Oh, finally decided ter show up didya now?”

Snape pushed him aside and barged in, “Why didn’t I get this earlier?” He held up the note under Delbert’s nose accusingly.

“Well, hell Guv, I did sen’ it ter yer. If’n ye ‘adn’t been actin’ like a sot all this time, ye might ‘ave noticed at the time when ye got it!” Shoonmaker was not pleased, and was one of the few that had the courage, despite frequent threats, to speak the truth to Snape as well as reply with equally stinging remarks. “Now if’n yer ‘ighness will just set ‘is royal arse down, and let me get me bloomers on, I’ll tell ye where she’s at.”

Snape sat waiting impatiently and drummed his fingers on the scarred table as Delbert went behind the blanket that divided the room into two parts. He soon emerged looking hardly any better than he previously did and he sat opposite the potions master.

“Now, lissen careful-like - yer goin’ ter have to travel far to get ter ‘er…”

“Spit – it – OUT!” Snape growled between clenched teeth as he interrupted Shoonmaker.

“Romania.”

“What!?” Snape asked incredulously, as his heart seemed to stop beating entirely.

“Exactly.”

“But, that’s where…”

“Roshenko.”

This time, Snape could not conceal anything. The naked fury that shown on his face at having fallen for what he believed to be her lies and betrayal when he thought he had found what would have made his lonely and horror riddled life worth living, would have shrivelled even the most bold of wizards, but not Delbert Shoonmaker.

“Look mate,” he put a hand on Snape’s arm. “I know w’at yer thinkin’, and it’s not that.”

Before Delbert could take another blink, Snape was on him in a black fury. He jerked the small man up by his shirt front and drove him roughly into the wall and held him pinned to it, “You better hope and pray to whatever gods you believe in, because if I find out you are lying…”

“I’m not lyin’, I saw her meself. I bribed the old cook to let me in and she showed me where your lady was - ‘e damn near beat ‘er ter death with his bare ‘ands ter make ‘er stay - if’n he ain’t already killed ‘er by now.” Shoonmaker, being a small man, did not mean being a weak one, and he curled his leg up between himself and Snape, and with a mighty heave, shoved the bigger man back.

“Ye ever do that again, and yer’ll be sorry mate – I promise ye that. I’ve never lied to yer and never will, ye know that.”

The two men stared each other in the eyes and seemed to come to an unspoken understanding and Delbert finally spoke, “Ye can’t go alone, ye know. ‘e’s very powerful.”

Snape continued to stare, and his eyes narrowed and he said, “Be prepared to leave in two hours,” he whirled and started to leave, but he stopped at Shoonmaker’s remark.

“Yer always been a crazy bastard, ye know that?”

“Apparently so,” Snape said over his shoulder as he swept out the door.