Trail of Discovery

Chapter Sixteen

Trail of Discovery

"Severus! What a surprise!" Shacklebolt beamed as he held out his hand for a handshake; however, when he noticed his visitor's expression, his smile faded.

Severus closed the door to secure their privacy, and then crossed his arms, forgoing the pleasantries and coming straight to the point.

"I wish to know more about the Unspeakable you appointed to oversee my resurrection."

Horizontal lines on Shacklebolt's forehead deepened as he appraised Severus's demeanour. "Certainly," he said, gesturing for Severus to take a seat. "His name, as you are probably already aware, is Clement Turnstone, and he's worked in the Department of Mysteries for ten years. What more do you wish to know?"

"His background, his history. Anything you can tell me."

"Well, he graduated from Durmstrang, but I believe his family originate from Wales. That's all I can recall."

Severus absorbed this information in a trice. "I'd like to see his Ministry records."

"Those records are confidential, Severus. I can't disclose them."

"Then I shall make my final Order of Merlin request if I must."

Shacklebolt let out a small sigh. "I don't suppose you're going to enlighten me as to why you want this information?"

"You suppose correctly. Be assured, I have good, personal reasons for making this request. Don't forget, this is the man who brought me back to life; I believe I'm entitled to know more about him."

Lifting his quill and scratching a few words onto a piece of violet-coloured parchment, Shacklebolt replied, "As you wish." Within moments, the inter-departmental memo was dispatched through the Floo.

They waited for the reply to arrive in awkward silence. Shacklebolt offered him a cup of tea, but Severus declined. Eventually, the Minister for Magic resumed working at his desk whilst Severus paced the room, feeling as though his stomach were being ground by mortar and pestle. When a scroll of parchment finally deposited itself on the hearth, Severus leapt forward to unfurl the confidential document. Shacklebolt held his hand up in protest, but soon realised the futility of this intervention.

Severus darted through the extraneous information, confirming that Turnstone had indeed been born in Newport, Wales, and his pureblood family had sent him to board at the Durmstrang Institute. Turnstone graduated with honours in Charms, Dark Arts and Arithmancy, and had been snapped up by the Ministry of Magic as a trainee Obliviator. Assigned to Arnold Peasegood, the young recruit progressed quickly through his apprenticeship and gained the title of Obliviator within two years: a notable achievement. Turnstone used his Durmstrang contacts to form networks across Europe, eventually travelling extensively around the world in the name of magical co-operation.

Then, just over ten years ago, Turnstone seemed to settle down, choosing to resume his post of Obliviator within the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad and taking responsibility for mentoring new recruits. After two years of living in relative obscurity, he accepted a career change in the Department of Mysteries, where he worked on-rotation in the Death Chamber and made notable advances in the Time Room before it was destroyed by Dumbledore's Army. More recently, he had been assigned to the resurrection of a former Death Eater.

Something about Turnstone's period in the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad didn't make sense to Severus; why would such a high-flying Obliviator settle for a mentorship role at the Ministry? Why would he allow his wings to be clipped at such a crucial time in his career?

"Does Arnold Peasegood still work as an Obliviator?" Severus asked, cutting through the silence of the last few minutes.

Shacklebolt jumped, as though he'd forgotten Severus were there. "Up until recently, yes. He's now a Hit Wizard for Magical Law Enforcement."

"I'd like to speak to him."

The offices of Magical Law Enforcement were located on Level Two of the Ministry of Magic. Severus had requested a late meeting with the Hit Wizard, so that he would not bump into any Aurors or people he might know. He wasn't in the mood for chit-chat. As he passed through the crowds of employees heading for the Floo at the end of their working day and stepped into the lift, he felt queasy with anticipation.

Severus wandered through empty corridors until he located the office of the former Obliviator. In response to his knocking, a tall, thin man, perhaps sixty years old, opened the door to greet the visitor, and when Severus dropped his hood and offered a handshake, Peasegood drew in an audible gasp.

"So it's true, then. Severus Snape arisen from the dead." The Hit Wizard's voice sounded thready, as though his vocal chords were weakened and thinned.

"Tales of my demise were greatly exaggerated, Mr Peasegood," Severus remarked with what had quickly become a stock phrase.

The Hit Wizard chuckled amiably. "Please, call me Arnie. And do follow me!" He led Severus into his office and offered him a seat. "The Minister for Magic tells me I must answer any question you pose, and I find myself curious to know what has brought you here."

Severus decided humour would be the best deflection to the unwanted question. "If I told you, I would have to Obliviate you."

"Touché, Severus – may I call you Severus? – touché." Peasegood's laughter turned into a raspy cough. He poured a glass of water from a carafe, took a sip, and then offered Severus a drink.

Severus declined politely and waited until the wizard's attention returned. "You once trained an Obliviator by the name of Clement Turnstone."

"Clym Turnstone? Why yes, I did."

"I'd like to know more about this... Clym... Turnstone, if I may?"

"Of course. Clym was one of the best Obliviators I ever trained. I never understood why he didn't progress within the department – he had leadership material written all over him. But he always seemed to enjoy gadding about, meeting foreigners, forging new links with other wizarding cultures. I must admit, I was shocked when he requested life in the slow lane; mentoring was never really his style, you see."

Severus considered the information before asking his next question. "So he chose to be a mentor?"

"Yes, he did," Peasegood confirmed. "And pretty successful he was, too. He mentored two Obliviators, and he even took on one of our Potioneers, despite not needing to. She was a cracker, though, and well worth developing, so I gave him my blessing when he requested the assignment."

Hot needles prickled on the back of Severus's neck. "And who was this new Potioneer?"

"Why, that was Griselda Marchbanks' great-granddaughter. As I recall, her name was Contessa."

The following afternoon, sitting patiently on the wooden bench outside Squirrel's Leap in the fading autumnal daylight, Severus watched a blackbird sifting through a pile of brown leaves, searching for juicy morsels.

As his mind drifted, he recalled the summer he'd stayed at the cottage, the awkward silences and spiky exchanges with Contessa, and the long days spent alone, contemplating Dumbledore's death. At first, the cottage had been the last place he'd wanted to be, but when the time came to go back to Spinner's End, he'd felt sad to leave. Looking back, he now realised why.

He remembered sitting with Tess in the shade of the oak tree, drinking elf-made wine after Dumbledore's funeral, and the long night spent stargazing together after he'd returned from the battle above Privet Drive. With the benefit of hindsight, Severus could trace back his attraction to the woman he now loved. However, during those first months at Squirrel's Leap, he'd been so focused on his duty to Lily that he hadn't allowed himself to feel anything for Tess.

Severus reflected how fortunate he had been to be given a second chance, to live and to love, and be happy. But his newfound happiness had been tainted by loss. The mystery of his inability to perform magic without wearing the Tiger's Eye ring haunted every waking moment, and he'd spent the night mulling over the information he'd gleaned from his trip to the Ministry. As a result, he'd had very little sleep. He was determined to find all the pieces of the puzzle, and to learn as much as he could about the man he suspected of sabotaging his resurrection.

The crack of a nearby Apparition roused him from his reverie, and Severus turned to see Tess's brother ambling towards the cottage, wearing scruffy jeans and a flannel jacket, looking much like a countryside Muggle. Unaware of Severus's presence in his garden, Nathan Marchbanks entered the cottage and kicked off his shoes, slouching in front of the fireplace and lighting the logs on the fire with his wand.

Severus pushed open the front door gently and walked quietly into the front room.

Nathan jumped onto his stockinged feet and groped for the wand which had just been stowed away. "Jesus, Snape! What the hell are you doing here?"

"I'm not here to duel with you, if that's what you're thinking," Severus replied caustically, hoping to avoid a magical confrontation.

Reluctantly, Nathan tucked his wand into the back of his jeans. "There'd better be a good reason for being here, or I'll have you for trespass."

"I think the welfare of your sister is reason enough."

"Tess?" Nathan's voice wavered. "What's wrong? Is she alright?"

"She's safe at Hogwarts," Severus confirmed.

Nathan's tense shoulders dropped, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Then why are you here, Snape?"

"I have a question."

"Oh, really?" Nathan remarked. "Well, it best be a bloody good one. Out with it, then, before I hex you."

Severus sneered, noticing that his and Nathan's height were now comparable, since the man had taken off his boots. He caught a whiff of alcohol on Nathan's breath.

"You had some involvement in my resurrection, I believe?"

"Only a bit. I just watched over Tess when she wore the anti-Horcrux at night, from time to time. She never talked to me about how it was being done. I never got involved. Never wanted to." Nathan smirked, underlining the subtext of his words.

Severus ignored his insinuation. "I'm sure you are aware there was an Unspeakable assigned by the Ministry."

"Yes, she told me that," Nathan answered neutrally.

"Were you aware of their identity?"

"No. The Tongue-Tying Curse prevented Tess from telling me."

Severus paused, preparing to get down to the brass tacks. "I assume you've heard of a man by the name of Clement Turnstone?"

Nathan's hazel eyes narrowed, and his hands balled into fists inside his jeans pockets. "Clym?" His voice trembled with anger. "Are you joshing with me? I'm sure Tess would have told me if..."

"No, she wouldn't. Not if she were Tongue-Tied."

Severus waited for Nathan to process the revelation.

"But it can't be... There's no way she'd allow that man closer than a country mile! Not after what he did to her." Nathan turned to look through the window and muttered, "Bastard!"

"What did he do to her?" Severus asked quietly.

"Broke her heart, of course," Nathan replied without thinking. "Selfish git."

Severus's throat constricted, as though he were held hanging by a noose. Whilst he struggled for breath, Nathan took a moment to notice what had happened.

"Wait... What? You didn't know?"

The intensity of Severus's loathing was inscribed across his face as clearly as words on parchment.

"Shit!" Nathan kicked the coffee table and immediately regretted the outburst. He grasped his throbbing toes and fell back into an armchair.

"You have performed a wonderful job of protecting your sister," Severus bit out. "How can I ever thank you enough?"

Nathan hobbled onto his feet, but Severus had already cut and run, Disapparating from the doorstep, knowing exactly where he needed to be.