The Bees' Nest

A/N: Thanks a million to my wonderful beta, JENGEORGE, for all of her valuable input. She really helps to make this a better story. And a big thank-you always goes to WriterMerrin and the staff here at TPP for their diligent work on the grammar end. I am a hopeless case. Merrin is a Saint!

Disclaimer: Same as always, it all belongs to JKR. (grumble, grumble...)

Chapter 29

The Bees' Nest

When Hermione met Snape at her door the following Sunday, she had very little to add to the evidence she had collected. Her search for the money trail seemed to grow cold since each quarterly report on business incomes in Wizarding Britain had been checked out by a different person. They were all mid-level personnel, and they all came from different departments within the Ministry. It would be next week before she could look at their files and see if there was any connection between them that might lead back to Umbridge. Snape gently reminded her that she needed to remain objective and stop trying to mold the evidence to fit her theory. He knew what it was like to be wrongly accused and thrown in jail for something he had been forced to do.

Snape and Rose continued to get along amicably, and Hugo continued to hang on Snape's every word. The boy had soaked up the art of preparing potion ingredients as if he were born to do so, and Snape couldn't help but beam with pride when Hugo produced his first successful burn paste. Rose practically begged him to teach her how to brew Skele-Gro potion even though it was way beyond the abilities of the average second-year student. But Snape relented. She had already proven to be advanced, just like her mother, and she could be as stubborn as Walnut Brain and Miss Granger put together.

The fact that Skele-Gro took over two weeks to mature didn't deter Rose in the least. She asked her mother if they could put the potion in stasis and transport it to her mother's quarters at Hogwarts so Rose could add the necessary ingredients at the precise days and times specified by the recipe in the new potions text. Hermione was willing to assist in any way possible, and they figured that perhaps Madam Pomfrey would be kind enough to consult on the project since Professor Snape would not be able to help again until the following weekend.

Rose got as far as she could on the potion that night. The rest of the ingredients would have to be added in stages over the next two weeks. Professor Snape taught her how to cast a Stasis Charm over the cauldron so it could be transported back to Hogwarts in the morning.

Hermione so enjoyed Professor Snape's company. She had looked forward to the moment she would see him again as soon as he had walked out her front door the week before. But they both behaved themselves. Having the children watching their every move was quite a good way to keep both of their libidos in check. But when they finally said their goodbyes at the door, she caught him off guard with a quick kiss on the lips. His lips felt soft and supple against hers. She could feel his body heat rise and his pulse race, just as her own had done. But he pulled away quickly, glaring accusingly at her through narrowed lids. "Careful, Miss Granger," he chided softly as he tapped himself on the top of the head and began to disappear.

*****

Over the course of the next few weeks, Hermione continued to try and find the common denominator between the people who had checked out the income records, but she could find nothing. They all had worked at different departments at the time, and none of them were available to interview anymore. When she voiced her quandary to her dear professor, he suggested that perhaps that was it...the fact that they were no longer available. Where were they all now? Why did they leave their previous positions? Did they still work for the Ministry in some capacity? Were they still alive? Did they still live in Britain somewhere?

Hermione sighed. With only one day a week to work on this, figuring this out could take considerably longer than they had. Kingsley had announced his retirement, and the buzz was all for Umbridge. No one else even seemed remotely interested in the position.

In the mean time, Snape had completed background checks on two of the wizards on Miss Granger's immigrant list. Both seemed to check out as having told the truth when they had claimed to be pure-bloods. And Potter had found nothing new in his investigations either. Both of the blackmail victims he had questioned had told the same story as all of the others.

This investigation was getting them nowhere.

Rose's Skele-Gro potion had been completed with the help of both Snape and Madam Pomfrey. Rose jumped for joy when Snape inspected it on the Sunday two weeks after it had been started and announced that it was indeed perfect in every way in spite of the fact that it had gone back and forth to Hogwarts twice by then. Snape and Hugo helped her to decant it in the required dosages that the Hospital wing would need, and Snape conjured a wooden box to safely transport the vials in so Rose could take it to Madam Pomfrey in the morning.

Finally, Snape had confidence that Rose truly liked and trusted him.

*****

But the following week, Rose didn't come home with Hermione for the weekend. "I've got an essay to finish, and I need access to the library here at school. Besides, I miss my friends."

"But what about Hugo, love?"

Rose huffed. "I went all of last year without seeing Hugo except during the hols, and he survived just fine without me."

"And Professor Snape was planning to teach you another potion from the Advanced book. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

"No, Mum. I really need to stay here." She gave her mother a look of grave concern.

"Rose, what's troubling you?"

"Nothing..." The girl shook her head. "Nothing."

Hermione eyed her daughter skeptically. She knew her well enough to see through the smoke screen, but she also knew that Rose would open up to her when the time was right.

And so Hermione left for the Ministry and didn't bother to come back at five to pick up Rose as she had done for the past several weeks.

At least her research this time was not a disappointment. With four income reports per year for over twenty years, there were over 80 people that Hermione had to research to find out where they had ended up. After working all day, she had only managed to locate eighteen people, but her findings were consistent across the board. The reason each person who had checked out the financial records of the companies in question was unavailable was because that person had either been transferred out of the country or had retired and moved out of the country. And if they had been transferred, the transfer papers had been signed by none other than Dolores Umbridge.

So she is behind it! thought Hermione in triumph.

She was so excited that she could hardly wait to tell Professor Snape on Sunday. She stopped by to see Harry before she left the Ministry just to tell him what she had found. She gave him a list of eighteen names she had researched so far, and their last know whereabouts, so he could investigate. But the list was long, and this was only the beginning. Perhaps it was time to enlist Ron's help after all.

"We can tell him who to find and give him a list of questions to ask them. Then he just needs to record their answers. Once he has interviewed them, he can use a memory modification charm so they don't remember the conversation. He doesn't need to know anything about our investigation other than the questions he needs to ask. And if anyone should ask him what he is investigating, we can compose a canned speech for him to recite that has nothing to do with the real investigation."

"Yes, I agree. The less he knows the better for all of us." Harry nodded his consent. "You're so thorough, Hermione. You should have been an Auror. You missed your calling, you know."

"Flatter me all you want, Harry. I love my new job teaching Charms, and to tell you the truth, I'll be glad when this investigation is over."

*****

When Sunday arrived, Snape was obviously disappointed that Rose had felt the need to stay at school. But he happily continued to teach Hugo the delicate art of potion making so he could be at the top of his class next year.

After dinner, Hugo played on the computer while Snape and Miss Granger conversed in the kitchen. After she relayed what she had learned the previous Friday, she showed Snape the long list of names.

"Four people per year for over twenty years. That will be quite a challenge," admitted Snape. "These first few seem to be scattered all over Europe. Some even ended up in the States. And you say that Umbridge signed each of their transfer papers?"

"Yes, unless they were up for retirement."

"No matter what department they worked in?"

Hermione shook her head. "Everything from Foreign Liaison to Maintenance worker."

"But each retiree decided to relocate to a warmer climate, correct?"

"Each and every one." She nodded.

Snape raised a suspicious eyebrow. "I wonder if there isn't a bit of Imperius Cursing going on here?"

"Is there a way to cast a spell to find out? Or some counter-spell?"

"No, the only way out of it is to fight it."

"So if the person is directed to a warm and pleasant place, he is less likely to want to fight it."

"Precisely."

"And if he doesn't realize that he has been cursed in the first place..." she mused.

"It would never occur to him to try."

They agreed that the list needed to be divided up between himself, Weasley and Potter, so it wouldn't take so long. He felt that since Winky could transport him to the Americas and anywhere tropical with no trouble, he should be the one to investigate the people who ended up there. Weasley could do Italy, France, Spain, Portugal, Belgium, Germany, and the Netherlands since once he had made it to the Continent he could use the Paris branch of Weasleys' Wizard Weazes as a home base.

That would leave the Balkans and the other Eastern European countries to Potter. Potter and Krum had remained friendly since the tragedy that ended his fourth year at Hogwarts, and he could probably impose on Krum for a couch to sleep on, since they didn't want to rack up a Ministry expense account and create a paper trail for what they were doing.

*****

Snape wasted no time finding his six people the following week. His goal was to find and question two people per day. Armed with Polyjuice Potion and a lock of his neighbor's hair, he took Winky by the hand and headed for America. Salem, Massachusetts was the first destination. He had used Google Earth to find a suitably deserted location to Apparate to; then he and Winky had Disillusioned themselves and had taken a somewhat extended squeeze-ride across the Atlantic. As uncomfortable as it felt, it was still much faster than Muggle air travel, and best of all, it was FREE!

The witch he was looking for went by the name of Elsa Astonia. She had been transferred to the British Wizarding Consulate in Salem, and her job now included helping British wizards and witches who found themselves in a difficult situation whist visiting the States.

After they made their way into the Consulate, Snape downed the foul-tasting potion; then he and Winky became visible again, since it wasn't uncommon for a wizard to travel accompanied by his servant. She stood silently by his side as they waited their turn in line to speak with Ms. Astonia. The line moved along at a slug's pace and, unfortunately for Elsa, by the time they made it to the woman's desk, Snape was already at the end of his rope.

"Good afternoon," the perky brunette announced with a painted-on smile. "What can I help you with today?"

Snape flinched. "Where, pray tell, did you learn to speak like that?" Her voice sounded like a cross between the working-class of Boston and scrapings from the sewers of Trafalgar Square.

"Oh, you noticed my accent? Well, I'm from here, but I spent several years in England, and I only moved back a few months ago. I guess I haven't quite lost my British overtones yet." She smiled genuinely this time as she batted her eyelashes in a feeble attempt to look seductive.

Snape peeled his lips back to reveal his neighbor's straight, white teeth and looked down his neighbor's much shorter nose as he replied, "It is a veritable cacophonistic assassination of the English language."

"Oh my." Elsa blushed profusely as she brought a hand up to her breast bone. "Why, thank you, kind sir."

It was all he could do to keep a straight face as he gave her a slight nod. How American can you get? But as he opened his mouth to begin questioning her, she cut him off.

"Now," she said as she glanced behind him at the ever lengthening line of people who needed her help, "you do have your form filled out, don't you?"

"Form?" This question threw Snape off completely.

"Oh, yes. This is the line for lost or stolen items, usually types of identification, such as Apparition licenses, Muggle drivers licenses, Passports, etcetera." She pointed to the sign above her head. "But we also handle items of a personal nature, like luggage or handbags."

"No, I didn't..."

"You didn't see the forms back where the line started? That's okay, lots of people don't see it."

"But I'm not here for..."

"Here you go." She shoved a three-part form attached to a clipboard along with a grotesque, lavender, Muggle ball-point pen under his nose. "Now if you'll just step over to the counter," she instructed as she gestured to her right, "and when you're finished, just let me know so you don't have to stand in line all over again."

Snape rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "That's very kind of you, but I don't need the form," he stated bluntly as he attempted to push it away with the tip of his wand.

She continued to wag it in front of his face as the person behind him grunted with impatience. "Sorry, sir, but I can't process your request until you fill out this form. It's standard procedure."

"I don't. Need. The bloody. Form!" Sparks escaped the tip of his wand with every word until finally a shower of sparks ignited the paper, and it burst into flames, scorching the clipboard in the process.

"Oh my!" This time, the woman didn't seem the least bit flattered. "Sir, please don't force me to call security."

Snape took a deep breath and tried to remain calm. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. But just as he opened his eyes, the man directly behind him in line had had enough.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, take the freakin' form. You're holding up the show here."

"Yeah," joined in several others as they waved their already filled out forms. "We don't have all day."

"If you must know," Snape growled at the crowd in a way that would have been much more effective if he had not Polyjuiced himself to look like his older, shorter, portly next door neighbor, "I am from the Ministry, and I need to ask her a few questions." He turned on his heel to face Ms. Astonia. "It will only take a moment of your time," he hissed through clenched teeth. He got the distinct impression that she was now terrified of him because her mouth hung slightly open as she stared at him with wide, frightened eyes. Finally. Perhaps now I can get what I came for.

"Am I in some kinda trouble?" she finally asked meekly.

"No." He shook his head in an attempt to clear it and calm himself. After a moment, he managed to spew out the canned speech that had been decided upon. "The attrition rate at the Ministry has been a bit high lately, so we are surveying the people who have recently left to see if there is a problem, say harassment by a particular individual, or a policy that you couldn't live with, that sort of thing." He swallowed hard. His next statement would be difficult to get out without laughing in her face. "We've lost too many good people like you," he crooned in his most velvety voice, "and we want to try and turn that trend around."

Her color deepened, and she began to flutter at him again. "Oh, well then, ask away."

Snape stifled his trademark sneer, but he couldn't quite keep the snark out of his voice. Luckily, she seemed to take his tone to be flirtatious. "So..." He pulled out a little notebook and leaned over the desk awkwardly. It would have been a graceful move in his own body. "Why did you leave us?"

She smiled demurely, eyelashes going a mile a minute. "Like I said, I'm from here. But I wasn't having any luck finding a wizard to call my own here, so I thought I'd go abroad for a while, you know... the grass is always greener. Anyway, after a few years, I still found myself alone. I finally realized that most of the wizards over there were just as prejudiced against Muggle-borns as they are over here. Perhaps even more so. So I decided to move back. At least I have my family here. I had no one over there."

For the first time since he had set foot in the place, he felt a touch of compassion for this woman, in spite of her ingratiating voice. His air of superiority and lack of sincerity evaporated as he continued his line of questioning. "Did anyone encourage you to make the move back?"

"Why, yes, Secretary Umbridge did. She was so kind. The only one, really. She could see I wasn't happy there. She even signed my transfer papers. I'm grateful to her. I might still be stuck in London if she hadn't pulled a few strings and gotten me this job."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Secretary Umbridge," he repeated her response as he took notes.

"The one and only," confirmed Elsa with a touch of pride.

"And a few months before you left, you checked out a book from the Records Office with reference to the quarterly earnings statements of several businesses in wizarding Britain. Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir, but that's not a crime, is it?"

"No, as I said before, you are not in any trouble. But we would like to know why you did this since, according to our records, that is the only time during your entire employment that you looked into anyone's earning statements."

"That was the only time I did it. But I didn't do it for me. I did it because someone asked me to."

"And do you recall who it was that asked you?"

"An old retired fella named Stegman Belford. Said since he was already retired, he didn't have access to the records anymore, but he had had his eyes on several companies that he was thinking of investing in. He asked if I could look into it for him so he would know who would be the better investment. Slipped me ten Galleons for my trouble, and truth be told, I needed the extra cash."

Snape shrugged. "Sounds like a logical request. Tell me, do you by chance recall which companies he wanted you to research?"

"Let's see... MacKensie's Plumbing and Ductwork, Salicia's Diner, Belvedeer's Haberdashery, um... Quintsky's Stationary... Several others, but I don't recall the names. Sorry."

"It's alright." He gave the girl a genuine smile. "You've been quite helpful. I'll be out of your hair, now. Sorry about the clipboard." He aimed his wand and muttered a spell under his breath. The burn mark on its surface instantly disappeared.

"Oh, thank you." She returned his genuine smile, but as she turned to face the next person in line, he cast a silent Obliviate on her so she wouldn't recall the last few minutes of her life. It would be as if he had never stood in her line.

As he walked towards the front door with Winky at his side, he stashed his notebook, pulled a piece of parchment from his robe's pocket, and stared at the five remaining names. The very next one lived in the U. S. Virgin Islands. A retired gentleman named Stegman Belford. How interesting, Snape thought to himself as he tapped the top of his head and began to disappear from view. I may have a few extra questions for him.

***

Snape and Winky next found themselves in St. Thomas. From the photos Snape had pulled off the Google Earth website, he not only knew the address, he had a clear view of the house from the street. So once Winky had transported them to the island, he could Apparate them the rest of the way there. Then they hid behind some tall bushes in the front yard so Snape could take another dose of Polyjuice and become visible again. Since the man apparently lived in a Muggle neighborhood, they decided that Winky should remain invisible.

Snape rapped his knuckles loudly on the elegant front door. The magnificent home sat precariously on the side of a cliff overlooking St. Thomas Harbor. It seemed to be built into the side of the cliff face, so from the street it appeared to be only one story tall, but Snape suspected that looks could be deceiving. He wasn't disappointed, for when the door opened, he could see beyond the open foyer to a two-story space that was solid glass from top to bottom. The resulting view of the harbor was breathtaking.

"May I help you, sir?" asked a young ebony woman who must have been employed as a maid for the house. Her uniform consisted of a simple light blue cotton dress with white cuffs and collar and a matching white apron tied at the waist. Her accent was intriguing and much more pleasant than the previous woman he had just spoken with. But she obviously was not the man he was seeking. Too bad.

"I was hoping to speak with Mr. Stegman Belford. Is he available?"

The maid took on a puzzled look. "No one lives here by that name."

Snape glared first at her, then at the computer print-out in his hand. "This is 1863 Lookout Lane, is it not?"

"Yes, sir, but I know everyone's name here, and there's no one living in this house that goes by that name."

Snape's eyes narrowed at her suspiciously. Perhaps Stegman changed his name. Perhaps he has something to hide. "Well, then. Is the man of the house available?"

"I'll go check, sir. May I tell him who is calling?"

"Terrance Bennington from the Min...from England." He caught himself before saying "Ministry of Magic." He had a feeling that this girl was a Muggle."

"Thank you, sir." And she disappeared, leaving him to stare out the huge sheet of glass as the cruise ships and private pleasure boats busied themselves in the azure water below. He had never seen water so crystal clear. He had seen photos, of course, but he always thought they had been enhanced somehow. Nothing could be this beautiful in real life. But there it was, staring him in the face.

A couple of minutes later, a good-looking middle-aged man with short salt-and-pepper hair and a perfect tan appeared before him. "Terrance Bennington?" he asked with an obviously American accent.

"Yes," replied Snape hesitantly.

"I'm Jack Johnson. Nice to meet ya." He extended his hand for Snape to shake.

"A pleasure."

"All the way from England, eh? What can I do for you?"

Snape appraised the man from top to bottom. He didn't detect any magical residue, so he doubted there were any Glamour spells in use here. And this man was much too young to be a 102 year old Ministry retiree. "I am looking for a man named Stegman Belford. According to our records, this house is his last known address. We were not notified of his death, so I must assume that he sold or has rented this house to you?"

"Yes, he sold it to me about a year ago."

"That's odd. We should have been automatically notified if he had moved. Can you tell me where I can find him?"

"Why?" asked Mr. Johnson with a suspicious tone. "Is he in some kinda trouble?"

"No, no. I assure you, I just need to ask him a few questions."

Mr. Johnson nodded in relief and then smiled like the Cheshire Cat. "Well, I guess you weren't notified because his address is still the same. He just doesn't live in the house."

Now it was Snape's turn to be suspicious. "But if he doesn't live here, why is this still his address?"

"Oh, he still lives at this address; he just doesn't live in the house anymore."

"I don't understand."

The man laughed lightly. "Most people don't. I certainly can't fathom it either. If you ask me, the old coot's off his rocker. But hey, who am I to look a gift horse, or house, as the case may be, in the mouth."

Snape shook his head slowly, still quite bewildered. "You've lost me."

"Let me start from the beginning." Jack gestured for Snape to enter. He had the feeling that Winky remained outside, which was the wise thing to do since these people were obviously Muggles. He led Snape down a spiral staircase to the elegantly appropriated room below and offered him an irresistible seat by the window. "When Stegman and his wife first moved here several years ago, he had me make some changes to this place for him. I'm a general contractor. So he knew me and knew how much I loved the place. We got along well, and even though he was a bit eccentric, I always treated him with respect. I never overcharged him for my services, and he always paid on time. We had a good working relationship. His wife had a never-ending list of renovations she wanted to have done here, and he just couldn't say no to her. They spent a ton of money fixing the place up."

"It's enchanting, really."

"And I did all the upgrades to withstand up to 200 mile-per-hour winds. We get a lot of storms through here, and this place is pretty exposed."

"I can imagine," Snape replied with a shudder. Although he had never suffered through a hurricane, he had seen the devastation in the news from time to time.

Jack tapped on the huge window beside him. "Bullet-proof glass. Cost a fortune. But when debris hits it during a category five... well, let's just say, 'no worries.'"

Both of Snape's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Really!" Whoever Belford is, he has deep pockets. Did he make his money by blackmailing the people back home?

"Anyway," Jack continued, "back to Stegman. Two years ago, his wife died. He changed after that. Said he didn't want all this anymore. He wanted the 'simple life.' He sold me the house for less than half what it was worth. There were a couple of conditions attached to the sale that will pass along in the deed if I ever decide to sell it to someone else."

"Oh?" Snape commented. His interest had been keenly piqued at this point.

"Yes, he has life rights to the beach below, and when the weather is bad, he has the right to seek refuge in the house. In spite of its precarious location, it's one of the safest structures on the island."

Snape's expression turned to one of amazed disbelief. "You mean to tell me that he gave all this up to live on the beach?!"

"Right there, under the tarp. See?" Jack stood up and pointed directly straight down where, about ninety feet below, a tan tarp could be seen tide between three palm trees. Other personal articles were scattered close by, but from this distance, it was difficult to tell what they were.

Snape glanced from the tarp to the man beside him and back to the tarp in stunned silence. He simply couldn't believe that anyone in their right mind would trade this magnificent living space for... a tarp. After a long moment, he looked back at Jack and sighed. "I still need to speak with him. Is there some way I can get down there?"

"Yes, there's a path." He appraised Snape's dragon-hide boots and apparently decided that they were sturdy enough for the trek. "But be careful; it's treacherous. I'd take you down myself, but I have an appointment in about fifteen minutes, so I don't have time."

"Don't worry. I am more sure-footed than I appear."

Jack's grin hinted of an adventurous nature. "Don't think badly of him. In a way, I can understand his point-of-view. This house, and the place in society that comes with it, is a big responsibility. I get tired of it myself sometimes, always another appointment to make or another problem to solve. Shaking hands and keeping up appearances. It gets old after a while. Quiet solitude... That's all he's looking for. His wife wanted the big house and high society. He never wanted those things."

"I have lived a simple life of quiet solitude for the past twenty years. I understand its appeal. Don't worry, I'm not here to judge the man, and he's not in any trouble. I am only here to ask him a few questions."

"That's a relief. I'd miss him if you had to haul him away," Jack admitted with a laugh. "Come on. I'll show you the way down."

Thankfully, they exited out through the front door, so Winky could see them and would be able to follow. After Jack opened the gate for him and said his goodbyes, Snape and a still-Disillusioned Winky carefully made their way down the zigzag path along the cliff face until they finally arrived at the beach. He took a few more swigs of Polyjuice along the way because he wasn't sure how long all of this would take.

Even though he had held her hand through every step, Winky was still trembling by the time they had reached the bottom. "Don't worry," Snape reassured her, "we will Apparate out of here, I promise."

He looked around cautiously as he began to slowly approach the tarp. About ten meters from the bottom of the path, he thought he had felt a ward of some kind, perhaps an alarm, to let the old wizard know that someone was coming, but he wasn't sure because he had been concentrating very hard on each step he took to keep from falling at the time. Perhaps that was the reason for its location.

Snape pulled out his wand and cast several detection spells. There was a definite magical signature here. An antique wizarding wireless sat on a wooden crate under the tarp, but it was silent at the moment. Beside it sat an ashtray littered with the butts of what appeared to be hand-rolled cigarettes. A hammock swung in the breeze between two of the three trees that supported the tarp. A large bucket sat at just the right spot on the sand to catch any rainwater that might run off the tarp. A small make-shift fishing spear and crab net leaned against some nearby rocks. A feeble-looking fiberglass rowboat in desperate need of a new paint job floated in the shallow water with a line leading to an algae-coated cinder block on the sand. An old plastic lawn chair sat in the sun by the water's edge. Beside it stood a large plastic box full of old books. From what Snape could see, some of the books held magical titles; others belonged to the Muggle world. But most appeared to be of a philosophical nature. Interesting.

"Mr. Belford?" Snape called out in as friendly a tone as he could muster. "My name is Terrance Bennington. I'm here from the British Ministry of Magic," he lied. "You're not in any trouble. I simply need to ask you a few questions." He could tell from his detection spells that the man was close by, probably hiding behind some rocks or Disillusioned, or both.

"Not until you both show yourselves!" Snape could hear a distant voice. "My alarms tell me that there are two of you, but I only see one."

Well, at least he has a proper British accent and two brain cells to rub together. "Winky, show yourself, please. He's obviously a wizard, and if you stand under the tarp, no one from above should be able to see you."

"Yes, master."

As her tiny form appeared before him, he could see footprints forming in the wet sand, heading in his direction. By the time the footprints reached him, the man had become fully visible. What stood before Snape was a sight almost comical to behold. The skinny elderly man's silver dreadlocks hung down past his shoulders. His equally silver beard shielded most of his face from the harsh tropical sun, but the rest of his skin was not so lucky. His leathery dark tan spoke of endless hours of unprotected exposure. Snape wondered if the man had access to any sunscreen either Muggle or wizard. His bare feet were calloused and gnarly. He wore cut-off jeans and a ratty faded red tee-shirt with an almost unrecognizable logo for Panama Red on the front.

"A house-elf, eh? What are you, some kinda pure-blood, stuck-up, high society stiff with your head up your arse?"

"I beg your pardon!" Snape glared reproachfully at the old man as he pulled out his little notebook.

"You Ministry officials are all alike. All think you're better than the rest of us just because of your pure blood. Well I got news for ya. I can take you down in a fair fight any day. Your magic's no better than mine. And you bleed red, just like I do."

Another Muggle-born who obviously wasn't happy in wizarding Britain. Is it my imagination, or do I detect a pattern forming here? "Mr. Belford, I assure you that I am not a pure-blood. My father was a Muggle, and I understand your distaste for snooty high society types, having dealt with more than my share." The man immediately relaxed his defensive posture, much to Snape's relief. Perhaps now they could get to the issue at hand.

"What's this all about?"

Snape gave him the same canned speech that he had recited to Elsa Astonia. Stegman seemed satisfied. "Alright, then, ask away."

"When you retired, you were well below the customary retirement age. Was there a specific reason you chose early retirement?"

"Yeah, my wife comes from old money. I didn't really need the job. She was a pure-blood, but somehow she managed to fall in love with me anyway." Stegman's eyes began to mist over. "Since she was their only child, she ended up with all of her parents' money, even though they never really accepted me. I kept the job until after they died. I didn't want them to think that I was a lazy bum who only married her for the family fortune."

"So after they died, you retired."

"That's right. Is that a crime?"

"No, sir. As I said before, you are in no trouble. What made you decide to retire here?"

"Merlin, man," Stegman glared at Snape with irritation. "Look around you. What's not to like? It never gets cold here. The water is amazing. The people are all friendly. The pace is slow and easy. Nobody cares if you're Muggle-born, pure-blood, or anything in between. Nobody passes judgment here."

These next few questions were off the script, but Snape was curious at this point. He wanted to find out what made this man tick. "How did you convince your wife to live here?"

Stegman laughed heartily. "Oh that was easy. I had Dolores Umbridge on my side. And you know Dolores. She can be very convincing."

Umbridge again... Perhaps Potter and Miss Granger are right about her. "Do you remember what she said to your wife to convince her?"

"Oh, yeah, she said that she had been for a visit and it was the best of both worlds. Lots of servants to be had for a song, big fancy houses and high society, but a much slower pace that would appeal to me as well."

"So Dolores Umbridge convinced you to retire here?"

"I was all for it right from the start. But she did need to work on my wife for a month or two. In the end, she was happy to make the move."

"So, was it your idea, or Secretary Umbridge's idea."

"Mine," he replied immediately. But then he stopped, his conviction faltering. "Wait. Maybe she did suggest it first." He thought for a moment then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't remember. What difference does it make? I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yes. And you seem quite content."

"That's the point, isn't it?"

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?"

"I don't need to convince anybody. Are we finished yet?" Stegman appeared to grow agitated. A sign of someone who was attempting to fight the Imperious Curse.

"I'm afraid I have just a few more questions, if you don't mind."

"Make it quick, will ya?"

"Oh, yes, I'm sure you have so many pressing engagements to attend to," Snape mumbled sarcastically.

"What was that?"

"Nothing. Just before you left the Ministry, you checked out a book from the Records Office that had to do with the quarterly earnings statements of several companies in and around London. May I ask why you did this?"

Stegman began to push the sand around with his toes. He didn't answer right away. Snape got the distinct impression that the man was growing nervous and uneasy. "I did it for an old friend of mine," he finally admitted. "He tried to slip me ten Galleons to look up some names, but I wouldn't take his money. Said he was looking to invest and he needed the information to guide his investment decisions. He had retired the year before, so he didn't have access to the record books anymore. That's not a crime, is it? Helpin' out a friend?"

"No, sir," Snape reassured him, "it's not a crime. Do you recall the gentleman's name?"

"Thomas MacGee."

Snape pulled the parchment from his robe's pocket again. Nope, not on my list. "Do you know where I might find Mr. MacGee?"

"Lost touch with him after that. I think he moved to the Mediterranean somewhere. But that's all I know."

"And do you, by chance, recall the names of the businesses that you were asked to look up?" Since they were all kept in the same large ledger, there was no way to tell from the Records Office logs which businesses someone had an interest in when they checked out the book.

"It was a long time ago. I'm not as young as I used to be, ya know... Let's see... Some plumbing contractor, a stationary store, one of the popular restaurants in Diagon Ally – Salicia's Diner, that's it, and some candy store, but I can't remember the name. Sorry."

Snape nodded as he wrote furiously in his little notebook. "That's alright. This is still very helpful. We can narrow things down from here. Oh, and one more question."

"What's that?" The old man had reached around behind the wizarding wireless and pulled out a funny-looking, hand-rolled cigarette. This one had never been lit before. He held it to his mouth and pulled out his wand to light it. Then he took a long drag and held it in.

Snape cursed under his breath as the light breeze took a brief holiday while the smoke floated over and accosted his sensitive nostrils. "Mother of Merlin, man, what is that stuff?" he asked while coughing and waving his hand in front of him.

The old man started laughing lightly as he release the smoke. "It's weed. Wanna hit?" He held out the joint to Snape. "It'll help you relax, and from the look of ya, you could use some help in that department. I don't think I've ever seen anyone so uptight. I'd shrivel up and die if I was forced to wear those threads. Stay here with me for a week, and I'll have you so relaxed, you'll never want to go back."

"Ah... No thanks."

"No, I take it back. For you it would take at least a month to loosen up. You're wound tighter than a werewolf on a full moon!"

Snape gave the old coot his most intimidating sneer, but he remained unfazed, so Snape forged ahead. At this point all he wanted to do was get home. "At any point since your retirement, have you asked anyone at the Ministry to research the quarterly incomes of these same businesses for yourself or anyone else?"

"No," Stegman replied incredulously, "like I said, I don't need the money. Why would I want to invest? I've left it all to charities in my will. Let it sit in Gringotts and collect interest. What do I care? I certainly don't want to worry myself with buying and selling stocks in businesses. What are you? Daft?!"

The old man had obviously taken personal offense by the question. "Sorry, sir," Snape attempted to smooth things over. "It's just that the previous person that I interviewed mentioned your name, so I thought that..."

"Well, he's lying...whoever he is. I didn't ask any favors, I didn't make any inquiries, and I most certainly didn't make any investments! Now, if you won't join me in enjoying the herbs of the earth," he wagged the funny cigarette in Snape's face, "I would appreciate some privacy!"

"Right," Snape agreed with great relief. "We'll just leave you to your simple pleasures, then. Winky!" She was by his side in an instant. He mumbled the memory charm that would wipe away their encounter with the old man; then they watched him wander down the beach, smoking his precious joint, oblivious to their continued existence.

They tapped themselves on the head and watched each other disappear from view. "Let's go home."

*****

Rita Skeeter sat at her vanity mirror and gazed down at the compact in her hand. She had just emerged from her morning shower when she saw it on the vanity top and noticed that it had begun to emit a warm glow, signaling the arrival of a new message. She flipped it over and found two words: Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger? she thought to herself, but she's part of the Golden Trio. She tapped her wand to the compact and mumbled the words, "No, Untouchable." They slowly replaced the previous message.

After a moment, they faded and the words, "Yes, Hermione Granger," reappeared.

Rita shook her head with worry. But she knows things. What if she threatens to tell?

Ever since she had moved from the States to Britain over thirty years ago, she had managed to keep her Animagus abilities a secret from everyone except Granger and a handful of others. But she had made deals with them, and they had given their word. And for the past twenty-two years, all evidence would indicate that they hadn't told a soul. If she began to dig up dirt about Granger and write scathing stories that stretched the truth, all of that would no doubt change. But if she ignored this assignment, she risked her other secret getting out.

Her other secret... Over twenty years ago she had received a beautiful, ornate box that contained the compact she now held in her hand. It had arrived by owl post, a generic owl from the Diagon Alley Post Office. The box also had contained a note composed of words glued together from newspaper clippings. It still sat in the box it came in, tucked safely away in a hidden drawer in her antique secretary desk. She hadn't read it since the day she had received it, but she never forgot what it had said...

Dear Miss Skeeter:

Please accept this compact with my complements. It never runs out of powder, and you can change the color to suit your complexion if need be. From time to time it will become warm to the touch. When you notice the warmth, turn it over and look at the bottom. You will see a name appear there. No matter who it is, you will dig up dirt on that person and write an article about them for the Prophet or whatever rag will accept your story. If you uncover no damning evidence, insinuate something. It will then be up to the target to disprove your claims. By then, the damage will be done.

You will accept these terms without question or complaint, for I know your muddy little secret. And if you refuse to cooperate, an article will be written about you, and you will never write for any publisher, be it rag or hard cover, ever again.

As long as you do your part to help clean up wizarding Britain, you will be allowed to stay, and your secret will be safe.

Keep the compact with you at all times. You never know when a new target will pop up.

There had been no signature, of course, and Rita was at a loss as to who had sent it. But she knew beyond doubt that she would be forever at their mercy. To be revealed as the Muggle-born witch that she truly was would ruin her credibility. No paper would buy her stories; no publisher would touch her manuscripts. If she had gone to the authorities for help, she would have been forced to tell them the truth. It was a no-win situation for her. She had no choice but to comply with the blackmailer's demands.

It was now Saturday morning. She placed the compact on her vanity top as the bees' nest in her mind continued to hum. The blackmailer will want dirt on Granger ASAP. So much for going back to Little Hangleton to see what I can dig up. Now I'll never find out who kidnapped me! She began to dry her wet hair with a drying spell, and she shaped it as she went. Gods, I wish I could just go to the authorities, but then I would have to explain how I escaped in the first place, and they would probably arrest me for being an unregistered Animagus.

The evening she had escaped from that horrible house, she had fled up the chimney as fast as her little beetle wings could carry her. Without her wand, she could not Apparate, but she didn't even know where she had been taken. The sun had already dropped below the horizon. She had had to figure out where she was before she could know which direction home would be in. So she had flown towards the lights of the little town at the bottom of the hill. Luckily, there was a sign beside the road at the town's limits with the words "Welcome to Little Hangleton" sprawled in a graceful arch across the top. Once she had procured that bit of information, she needed only to fly close enough to London to catch the Knight Bus to Diagon Ally, and from there, her flat was a short walk away.

But she had never been abducted before. She had been terrified. It had taken her several weeks to get up the nerve to decide that, since she couldn't go to the authorities, she had no choice but to go back to the town to investigate on her own. This weekend was supposed to include her first visit back to the town and perhaps the shack where she had been taken, but that would all have to wait now. Miss Granger required her undivided attention.

Why on earth would anyone want to ruin Granger's reputation? I can't say that I'm particularly fond of the girl, but she kept her word after all these years, and that's enough for me. Now, if I don't dig up some dirt to smear her, I'll be exposed as a Muggle-born. If I do write an inflammatory article about her, not only will I break out in hives, she'll probably expose me as the beetle that I am. She strode over to her ever-expanding wardrobe and began to peruse its contents to find a suitable outfit.

But what if my Animagus secret does get out? If I hadn't been able to change myself, I would probably still be stuck in that run-down filthy shack. No wand, no food or water. I was lucky to get out at all. Thank Nimue for chimneys. She plucked a pair of navy slacks and a white blouse from the rack as she reminisced about the moment she turned into a beetle and crawled up the chimney in that dank and dingy house.

Perhaps they would have hurt me if I hadn't managed to escape when I did. Perhaps they were saving me to use as a sex toy... yeah, that's it... She grinned devilishly to herself. To play out their sexual fantasies with me. Tie me up, no wand, no way to defend myself. Rita gazed critically at her nude form in the vanity mirror. Good Gods girl! Who are you kidding? She flicked her wand and cast several Glamours over herself to perk up her boobs and butt, tuck her sagging jowls and eyelids, hide the gray in her hair, and erase the dark circles from under her eyes. Well, perhaps if they were only to see me like this... Oh, don't be ludicrous!

She began to don her bra and knickers. Perhaps they wanted information about an upcoming story, or some piece of incriminating evidence that they think I might be privy to. Yeah, that sounds more like it. Not as much fun, but much more likely. She reached for her blouse. I could hear them talking, but it was only a whisper or two, not enough to recognize their voices.

She had already deduced that the one who transported her was most likely a house-elf due to its tiny size. And from that she also had deduced that, since only the oldest pure-blood families had house-elves, her abductor was probably a pure-blood. She had also remembered the town's name from the information on Voldemort's past that the Ministry had recently released to the public. She had collected everything they had made available in hopes of someday writing Voldemort's biography. And the information on his parents' history led her to believe that the hovel she had been taken to was once the home of Voldemort's mother.

So who would have known about that house? she mused. Death Eaters? High level Ministry Officials? The Order of the Phoenix? Bloody Hell, I still don't know who those people were. I only know for sure that it was headed up by Dumbledore. She pulled her blouse off the hanger and buttoned it up the Muggle way. Who would he have told? Harry Potter? His ugly old house-elf, Kreacher, died a few years back, so he doesn't have a house-elf anymore. What would he want with me, anyway? What would any of those Order Members want with me? So that leaves the Ministry. She sat in front of the mirror and began to apply her make-up, including powder from the dreaded compact. If I dig in the Prophet archives, I should be able to find out who did what back then. And if they still work there, they would have easy access to the same information I do.

Rita let out a heavy sigh. She knew that to keep the blackmailer waiting would be a risky move that she could not afford at the moment. So, I guess it's back to Granger. That article about her and Weasley breaking up mentioned that she had moved back into her parents' house. Should be easy enough to find the exact address in the Prophet archives.

Rita checked herself once more in the mirror, grabbed her traveling cloak, and headed for her kitchen and the fireplace floo.

A/N: I want to apologize for what I am about to do to all of my loyal readers. Don't worry, I will never abandon this story as long as I can hold my hands to the keyboard, but I feel that, for the sake of the story, I must stop posting as I go along and wait until I am completely finished. I have several reasons for doing this, the most important being quality control. This is a very long story, and I have been re-reading it every so often to be sure I am not contradicting myself somewhere along the way. I have not had time to do that lately, and the continuity of these last couple of chapters has suffered for it. You all deserve my very best effort.

The rest of the story line becomes ever more complicated from here on out, and I would rather finish knowing that everything makes sense than to make a mistake and have to back-pedal later.

I must also admit just a touch of discouragement in not being nominated in any category over on LJ. It was supposed to be open to any story posted on any site, Having said that, I am not a member over there, and I am only posting this story here and at one other very small site. So I keep telling myself that lack of exposure played a part. But rather than feel sorry for myself, I want to strive to do better. This requires that I finish, revise and perfect the remainder before posting any more chapters.

So it may be a few months before you see my next post, but take heart in the fact that once I do start up again, I should be able to post the rest of the story quickly. This will help you, my loyal reader, to follow along without having to go back and review the previous chapter. So please have patience with me. There will be several more juicy dream sequences and lots of angst and desire. Mysteries will be solved and bad-guys will end up in Azkaban. I'll do my best to make the rest of the story worth the wait.