Snape Found

Chapter 3: Snape Found

"How is your research coming, if I may ask?" Minerva McGonagall leaned back into the depths of the Headmistress' desk chair and took a sip of tea.

"It's quite amazing, really." Hermione replaced her teacup on its saucer, freeing one hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "There are so many different views of the war. I assumed that everybody saw it the way I did."

Professor McGonagall arched an expressive eyebrow at her former student. "I believe that as you go through life, my dear, you'll find that no one sees things exactly as you do."

"So I'm discovering."

"Who's left to be interviewed?"

"Percy Weasley, for one. We've never been able to find a mutually agreeable time to get together."

Minerva gazed out the tall windows of her office. Spring was in the air, and the trees were clad with the bright green of first growth. "How are the Weasleys? I know your separation from Ron must make things a tad difficult."

Hermione smiled. "The Weasleys have been marvelous. I can't complain."

"I don't suppose there's any hope for reconciliation yet?"

"No. Ron's in southern France, managing a Quidditch team there – the Toulouse Torpilles – and doing well, apparently. The newspapers there refer to him as 'Ronald LeRoux'."

"Ronald the Redhead," Minerva translated with a wry smile.

"Exactly. They're quite taken with him, apparently. His team is doing well and he's happy, from what Bill Weasley tells me."

"The Torpilles... I'm not sure I know –"

"Torpedoes." It was Hermione's turn to translate.

"Ah. Southern France sounds delightful. Is there any chance that you could join him?" Minerva rose to her feet and crossed to one of the light-filled windows, tugging it open to allow some fresh air to fill the room.

"I haven't been asked." It hurt to admit that.

"Oh. I am sorry, dear."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't be. I don't know what's going to happen, Minerva, but I think the separation has been good for both of us." It was her new philosophy: give Ron a good six months' breathing space, and then he would come home and life would go back to normal.

Professor McGonagall, who apparently lacked Hermione's optimism, looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"Well. We were talking about interviews, weren't we? Have you interviewed Severus Snape yet?"

"No, I haven't."

"Oh, you must interview Severus. His view of the war encompasses both sides, you know."

Yes, Hermione thought dryly, we all know that. Aloud, she said, "I'm not quite sure where to find him. He's not listed in the Directory of Wizards for the British Isles."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me in the least. I can't imagine the man making his Floo available to just anyone. But surely there are other ways of finding him."

"I thought perhaps you might have his address." In truth, Hermione hadn't tried very hard yet to locate her former Potions teacher. She suspected that he would be neither pleased to see her nor inclined to cooperate.

"No, I don't. Why don't you try the most recent census records?"

Hermione nodded, taking another sip of tea.

"I think it's wonderful that you've tackled this project," McGonagall said, settling herself into her chair once more. "I'm quite proud of you. Imagine, seeing your own book in print some day!"

A blush crept across Hermione's face. "I'm nowhere near that point yet," she reminded the older woman. "I'm not sure I'll be able to find a publisher, given the fact that no one's even remotely interested in updating the existing history books."

Minerva shrugged, as though publishing was a foregone conclusion. "Submit it to one of the magazines, then. They'd come at it from a different angle, of course, but at least the information would be there for everyone to read. Or," she added, a definite gleam in her eye, "you could always submit it to The Quibbler."

Hermione burst out laughing. "I could, couldn't I?"

"How is Miss Lovegood – rather, Mrs. Longbottom, isn't it?"

"Doing well, last I heard." Hermione paused to contemplate the older woman. "It's really a pleasure for you, isn't it? To see the hundreds – thousands, even – of students pass through here, and then watch them take their places in wizarding society?"

"It's the best part of teaching," McGonagall said softly, a small smile playing on her lips. She studied Hermione appraisingly. "You know, I always thought that you would make a fine teacher."

"Me?"

"Absolutely. You love learning, and people like that tend to be able to inspire their students."

Hermione managed to mumble her thanks. No one had ever broached the subject of teaching with her before, and she was torn between feeling surprised, flattered, and rather smug. Minerva continued.

"I know how you always loved your copy of Hogwarts, A History. I can just picture you some day –"

"What?" Hermione prompted.

McGonagall merely waved a hand at her. "Nothing. Just a thought. You'll think it's silly."

"No, what?"

"Well... I was just thinking that if Professor Binns should ever retire, perhaps you..."

"You mean, if he should finally realize that he's dead?" Hermione quipped, trying to cover her amazement. Surely Professor McGonagall wasn't suggesting –

"You'd make a fine History of Magic teacher," Minerva pointed out. "Of course, you'd make a fine teacher of just about any course in this school. It's just that you were always so taken with Hogwarts itself. A result of your Muggle upbringing, no doubt."

"I'll keep the idea in mind," Hermione said faintly. The History of Magic course was one of those mandatory studies that everyone suffered through and no one liked. She found herself wondering how the dry-as-dirt content could be enlivened to make it interesting for the students, and finally decided that such a thing was probably not even possible.

An hour later, she sat in the Three Broomsticks and nibbled on her lunch, still mulling over Professor McGonagall's words. Becoming a teacher had truly never occurred to her before. Open teaching slots at Hogwarts – the finally curse-free Defense position included – were as rare as hen's teeth. While it was tempting to entertain the notion, even if only for a brief moment, such an occurrence was highly unlikely.

Hermione had almost finished her lunch when a pair of familiar faces turned up at her table.

"Look who it is, George. I think that the lady's been saving these seats just for us." Fred Weasley pulled out one of the chairs at Hermione's table and sat without waiting for an invitation.

"Awfully sporting of you, Hermione." His twin brother grinned and straddled the third chair.

"Isn't it?" she remarked dryly, watching her two brothers-in-law take over her lunch table. "Please, make yourselves at home."

"Don't mind if I do," Fred said, helping himself to a slice of bread that remained in the breadbasket.

"Starving men here," George announced loudly, waving a hand in the air. "We could use a little assistance."

Madam Rosmerta wound her way through the lunch crowd at once. "My two favorite businessmen," she crooned. "What'll it be for you boys?"

"Soup and sandwiches, Rosie," Fred told her. "Whatever's the Special for the day. We're easy to please."

"Actually," George said, eyeing the older woman appreciatively, "we're downright easy."

"You're also married men," Rosmerta pointed out at once. "Do you want to eat, or do you want to be tossed out into the street?"

George sighed. "She drives a hard bargain, doesn't she? Very well, if you put it that way, we'd like to eat."

"A good choice. Anything else for you, dear?" the woman asked, glancing at Hermione before going off to place the orders.

"I'm fine, thanks. Just the bill." Hermione shook her head.

"So," Fred said as Rosmerta left the table, "what brings you to Hogsmeade? More research for your book?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I wanted to speak with Professor McGonagall."

George exchanged grins with his brother. "Hard to imagine. We always tried to avoid speaking with Professor McGonagall, didn't we, Fred? Guess those silly marks make a difference after all."

"And how is Marvelous Minnie?" Fred wanted to know.

"Just fine," Hermione said. "Unchanged. A Hogwarts fixture."

"Wouldn't have it any other way. Did she have any new pearls of wisdom for your book?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing other than encouraging me to interview Professor Snape."

Fred whistled in amazement. "She really wants you to take your life in your hands and talk to Snape?"

"Well really, Fred, I can't have a complete story of the war without including Snape, now can I?"

"Nope."

"The trouble is, I don't know how to contact him. I don't even know if he's still in Britain."

"Oh, he's still in Britain, all right," George put in. "Lives outside Manchester."

Hermione stared at him, open-mouthed. "How do you know that?"

"Because he brews the lion's share of the potions we use for our products."

"You're joking."

"Me? Joke?" George looked affronted by the accusation.

"Actually, it's true," Fred announced, resting elbows on the table and hunching forward. "Snape may have landed on his feet after the trial, but that doesn't mean he got off Scot-free."

Hermione's forehead creased in a frown. "What do you mean?"

Fred glanced around to see if anyone was listening, then lowered his voice as he began to speak. "Word is, he was shunned by most of the wizarding world and couldn't find work. I get the impression that he scrapes together a living by brewing the harmless, basic mixtures that most big manufacturers don't want to bother with."

"Oh?" Hermione hadn't given much thought to Snape's existence. To the best of her knowledge, the man had withdrawn from the world immediately after the trial – probably to devote himself to research, or something else that didn't involve teaching adolescent dunderheads. "So you've seen him, then?"

"Seen Snape?" George looked surprised by her question. "Not at all. He has an assistant who delivers the goods every week."

"How did he end up working with you two?" Hermione's curiosity was piqued.

The twins exchanged grins. "Request came down through the Ministry," Fred said. "You know the Social Welfare bunch?"

Hermione nodded. One of the major developments at the end of the war was the reorganization of the Department of Social Welfare at the Ministry of Magic, specifically retargeted to assist people whose lives had been upended by the war. The scope of practice ranged from job placement to housing subsidies, and everything in between. It was the sort of social activism of which Hermione heartily approved, and she had high hopes that eventually issues such as werewolf intolerance and house-elf welfare would be addressed. More than once, she had scanned the Job Openings notice board at the Ministry and been tempted to request a transfer.

"Evidently old Snape was on the dole for a while," Fred continued. "I could never prove it, but I think the Ministry Welfare folks drummed up whatever potions business he has. They're the ones who approached us in the beginning."

"Not that they're still doing that," George put in. "I mean, Snape does a good job on everything we buy from him. I don't know who else buys from him, but I suppose they're satisfied customers. Still, there can't be a lot of money in the type of stuff he produces."

"So you'll give me his address?" Hermione prodded.

"Yep. Soon as we get back to London," Fred assured her. "Say, that was great news about Ron's team, wasn't it?"

"What news about Ron's team?" she asked blankly.

"About the Torpedoes making the playoffs," George explained helpfully. "Didn't he mention it the last time he wrote to you?"

"No." Hermione's mind was racing as she tried to recall how long it had been since she'd received a letter from her husband. "When did you hear from him?"

"Last week, I think it was," Fred answered. "Why?"

"Oh. I suppose I'll be getting his owl any day, then."

Fred and George exchanged glances.

"Just out of curiosity, when was the last time you heard from our miserable excuse for a little brother?" George asked, his expression darkening.

Hermione blinked, her mind racing. "Uh – about a month ago, I think."

"A month!" George exploded immediately. "He hasn't written you for a whole month? That little git... I swear, if Mum knew that, she'd go absolutely spare!"

"It's not important, George. I expect the reason you've heard from Ron was because he knew that you'd be interested in the Quidditch team news. Everyone knows that I couldn't care less about Quidditch."

"Yeah, but still..." George looked like he wanted to launch into another tirade about his younger brother, but apparently chose to keep it to himself. "So how long is this separation going to continue, Hermione? It's been – what, four months?"

"Five," she admitted, then added, "I expect that Ron will be back as soon as Quidditch season's over."

Fred and George exchanged dark glances once more. "He told you that?"

"No," Hermione said, trying hard to make it sound as if Ron Weasley was inconsequential to her life. "It makes the most sense, though."

There was a brief silence. Once more, George muttered "Git!" while Fred uttered an oath that would have sent Molly into an immediate diatribe.

"Maybe," George suggested tentatively, "you should consider going to France to see him. Remind him that he has a wife and – and obligations, and all."

On more than one occasion, Hermione had contemplated doing just that, but had yet to summon up the energy. It seemed easier to leave Ron up to his own devices for now. "I've thought about it," she confessed, then shrugged in a gesture of defeat. "Soon, maybe. Meanwhile, please don't mention anything to the rest of your family, would you? About him not writing lately? I don't want a horde of angry Weasleys descending on Ron just because he's terrible at writing letters."

"Sure," Fred agreed with some reluctance, just as Madam Rosmerta appeared with two plates of food. "Hey, smells good, Rosie."

"As if the two of you are such discriminating customers," the woman sniffed, but she was smiling as she did so. "Enjoy your lunch. Anything else for you, Hermione?"

"No, thanks." Hermione reached in her pocket and pulled out a handful of coins, ten of which she held out to Rosmerta. That done, she put down her napkin and scooted her chair away from the table. "Let me know about Snape's address, okay?" she asked Fred and George.

"You bet." Fred already had his napkin in his lap and knife and fork in hand. "Sure you don't want us to write a nasty note to little brother for you?"

"No, thanks," Hermione said dryly, climbing to her feet. "I'm perfectly capable of writing those myself."

But as she prepared to Apparate back to London, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if she needed to make that visit to France.