Dinner at the Pub

Chapter 8: Dinner at the Pub

Hermione knocked on Snape's door exactly at seven o'clock. He wouldn't be able to fault her for being early or late for their appointment – unless, of course, he decided that his own clocks were set correctly and hers were somewhat off.

Tonight, she had a plan. Severus Snape might refuse to give her an account of his part in the war – and indeed, it was his right to do so – but there might be ways around that. Collect enough information related to his wartime actions, Hermione reasoned, and all Snape would have to do eventually was provide yes or no answers about his own history.

The door opened, and Snape nodded curtly. "Granger."

He was better dressed than at their last meeting, Hermione noted. There were no dirty trainers, no stained white shirt, just a simple dark top and trousers. The hair, however, was just as bizarre. She smiled politely. "Thank you for seeing me, Mr. Snape."

Snape looked for a moment as though fighting the urge to say Fine, I've seen you, now go away. Instead, he motioned her into the small sitting room, where Hermione took the same seat on the sofa as before.

"I'm afraid my assistant is gone for the day," Severus announced as he seated himself in the spindly chair across from her. "If you wish to have tea on this visit, you shall have to make your own."

Hermione ignored this. "I don't care for any tea, thank you." The second part of her plan had to do with dealing with Snape's favorite weapon. Sarcasm only worked when the victim paid attention to it, and therefore, she had decided to disregard anything that smelled the least bit derisive.

"You have questions, Granger?"

"I do." Hermione pulled a Muggle writing pen from her bag and smoothed out a spare piece of parchment.

"I have not changed my mind," Snape reminded her coolly. "I will not discuss my role in the war."

"Yes, I understand that. I would like you to tell me about Voldemort."

"Voldemort?" Severus repeated warily.

"Yes. First of all, –"

"First of all, please bear in mind that I was not the Dark Lord's confidant, right hand man, or best mate." He said it through clenched teeth. "Don't tell me that you are one of those people who assume that I was privy to his deepest thoughts."

He was baiting her, and Hermione ignored it. "Why, in your opinion, did Voldemort fail to see his own shortcomings?"

Snape's eyes narrowed as he searched her face – evidently looking for a trap, she thought. Finding none, he spoke up.

"That is a ridiculously simple question, Granger. The man believed that he was invincible. If you are all powerful, you are invincible. If you are invincible, you have no shortcomings. His belief in himself was his greatest weakness; he did not see that he was in any way vulnerable."

There was a brief silence while Hermione scribbled notes on the parchment. Snape's eyes followed her motions.

"Why," he wanted to know, "are you using a Muggle quill?"

"Because I didn't want to risk spilling ink all over your parlour," she said, not looking up. Then, "Was Voldemort the world's greatest Legilimens?"

"I cannot say whether he was the greatest Legilimens. What he failed to realize, however, was that there is always a stronger Occlumens."

Hermione looked up. "You were able to Occlude him?"

"Another ridiculous question. I would not be here if I was unable to Occlude him." Snape crossed his arms across his chest and regarded her scornfully.

"Good point." More scribbling. "Did Voldemort trust anyone?"

"No. Trust is not a word he understood."

"He didn't even trust the Lestranges?" Hermione asked thoughtfully. "I was under the impression that he relied heavily on an inner circle." She failed to add that Snape was believed to have been a part of it.

"Voldemort had an inner circle, yes. But he trusted no one."

"He couldn't control anyone's actions," she ventured, "and therefore, he could trust no one."

"Of course. Voldemort ruled his followers by intimidation, but he did understand that threats of pain and torture work only up to a certain point; if those methods failed, then said followers were removed permanently."

"But how can you stage a counter-movement in society when your followers run the risk of being eliminated every day? Wouldn't your numbers constantly be diminishing?" Hermione posited.

Snape glared at her. "The Dark Lord was a brilliant man. Having said that, however, you may assume that he did not possess an abundance of common sense."

"Did everyone in the ranks believe that he intended to create a better wizarding society?"

"Some did. The majority served him to gain either a reward or power – each a self-serving goal. It hardly makes for a cohesive group."

"There must have been a great deal of sycophantic behaviour taking place whenever he called the group together," Hermione reasoned.

"There are cruder ways of putting it, but let's just say that the displays were rather sickening," Severus admitted with a shrug.

Hermione tapped the ink pen against her chin thoughtfully, then wrote more on her parchment.

"Was Voldemort's plan to get rid of Albus Dumbledore related to his desire to kill Harry?" she asked finally. "Or was it simply that he wanted to get rid of such a powerful wizard?"

Snape stared at Hermione for a long moment. He was likely to be suspicious of her motives now, she thought, probably wondering if she had arrived at the forbidden topic of Dumbledore's murder.

"Voldemort and Dumbledore had a very long history," Snape answered, choosing his words carefully. "Surely you knew this."

"Yes."

"Having Dumbledore killed was as much personal vendetta as it was clearing the way to eliminate Potter."

"Why did Voldemort think that Draco Malfoy would be successful at murdering Dumbledore when he, himself, was unable to accomplish that at the Ministry?"

Another long stare. Hermione waited patiently.

"I already told you that Voldemort regularly lacked common sense," Severus replied. "Assigning that task to Draco was a way of initiating the boy into the ranks, not to mention the fact that once that Dark Lord controlled Draco, he controlled Narcissa as well."

"But did he honestly think that Draco would succeed?"

Severus snorted. "Not really. It was merely an exercise, a way to test his mettle – as well as bestowing revenge on Lucius for his failure to retrieve the prophecy."

Hermione shook her head sadly. "And then his mother came to see you, –"

"– and we made an Unbreakable Vow, and the rest is history? Is that what you want to hear?" Snape asked, his voice icy. "I told you, Granger, I will not discuss my involvement in this!"

"I understand that. I have no intention of asking you about the Vow." Hermione tried to sound reassuring, but inwardly she was furious with herself for drifting too close to the limits of acceptable conversation. "May we discuss something else?"

"Such as?" Snape demanded.

She was fumbling around for a safe topic when her stomach rumbled aloud – suddenly, unmistakably, thunderously, rumbled. Hermione's face suffused a deep red. "Excuse me," she blurted. "I haven't had dinner yet, and I –"

"Tell me, Granger," Severus drawled, "does my presence always induces violent gastrointestinal reactions in you?"

"No, of course not. I -"

"Then shall we continue our conversation, or do I need to feed you five-year-old biscuits from a tin?"

Hermione felt her face redden even more. Suddenly, she was a fifteen-year-old girl again, intimidated and belittled by a man whom no-one liked. "Mr. Snape," she said coldly, "was there anything that you enjoyed about teaching besides the chance to be intentionally cruel to your students?"

"Yes," he snapped. "I enjoyed my summer holidays and the occasional opportunity to encounter a mind such as yours. Other than that, the job was despicable!"

Her jaw dropped, and Hermione tried to come up with a coherent reply. Somehow, Severus Snape had just given her a backhanded compliment.

"Would you like to get a bite to eat?" she blurted.

"What?" It was Snape's turn to look startled.

"I said, would you like to go out for a bite?" Hermione repeated weakly, but she had no idea why the offer had left her lips in the first place. All she could think was that she was starving and that, just possibly, Snape might be more likely to talk if the conversation took place on neutral ground.

Severus was eyeing her as if she had just descended from another planet. He was trying to gauge her sanity, Hermione guessed, and she didn't blame him. She wasn't too convinced of it herself.

"Very well," Snape said finally. "You're buying. If you think that I have the money to waste on you, you are very much mistaken."

Hermione rose to her feet, thrusting parchments back into her bag. The words What did I just do? clanged through her head over and over. "Where are we going?" she asked, trying to get her belongings sorted and together.

"There is a pub 'round the corner from here. The food is decent." Snape was already up and moving towards the door. "Well? Are you coming?"

* * *

Judging by the crowd, the Plaid Pony was a popular place. The pub was dimly lit, crowded, and very much a working man's pub. There was no pretense at being anything more than what it was, no artifice in an attempt to draw an upscale clientele. It was also, much to Hermione's surprise, Muggle. She asked Snape about it as they approached the counter.

"There is no wizarding pub nearby," he said, shrugging. "It's reasonably priced, and the food, as I said before, is decent enough."

"Of course." Hermione nodded, uncomfortably aware that a beefy man nursing a beer at the next table was eyeing her with eager speculation.

"Were you wanting something different? One of the places that caters to tourists who are looking for 'the real Britain'?"

"No. Don't be ridic – " Hermione bit off the last part of the word. There it was again; had she always been in this habit of calling people 'ridiculous'? "If you say the food is good, that's good enough for me."

They placed their orders, only to be faced with the problem of making conversation until their food was ready. If Snape was uncomfortable, he wasn't showing it, Hermione thought. Then again, this wasn't his idea...

"So," Snape said, his face impassive, "how is your friend?"

"My friend?" She stared at him blankly.

"Your friend at the Ministry. The one who has been denied advancement because of her involvement in the war."

He knew. Hermione could read it in his eyes. For the second time in the last half hour, her face turned beet red. She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her.

"Really, Granger," Snape went on, "did you honestly expect me to believe that silly story? 'I have a friend from the war who could do so much more, but the Ministry refuses to give her a promotion...' Admit it, you wanted my help, and you thought that might sway my decision."

Hermione was tempted to deny the accusation, but the old belief that One Didn't Lie to One's Teachers – even Former Teachers – reared its head. "Did it?" she asked in a hopeful voice.

"Oh, yes. I'm certain that your little book will make my life ever so much easier. The Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers will be camping out on my doorstep any day now, begging me to rejoin their ranks." Annoyed, Severus took a sip of the ale that had just been placed in front of him. "I'm glad that your skills at subterfuge weren't this feeble during the war, or we'd all be serving tea to Voldemort while we painted his toenails."

She stared at him. The famous Snape sarcasm, even though it was directed against her, suddenly struck Hermione as absurdly funny, and she found herself dissolving into helpless laughter. The tension she had felt since first approaching Snape two weeks ago vanished into thin air. "Then I've done the world a public service," she gasped, wiping away a tear that had collected in the corner of one eye. "I can't imagine anything worse than painting Voldemort's toenails!"

Severus sighed and shook his head in disbelief, the corners of his mouth curving into the bare bones of a smile.

"Granger, you are – "

"– very sorry for misleading you, yes," Hermione managed. "I only thought that if you saw some benefit to helping me, you might seriously consider it."

Snape was silent while the last of her whimpers of laughter died down. "My primary hesitation," he said finally, "was that you would immediately run off to Mr. Potter with whatever revelations I gave you. I had no intention of giving the two of you your laughs for the week."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I would never do that."

The look Snape gave her clearly indicated that he thought otherwise. "How far along are you with your writing?"

"I think that another month or two should do it. I've already sent out inquiries to the three wizarding publishing companies."

"And if your book is published, do you think that the public's mind will be swayed? Will they be more appreciative of our efforts during the war? We are taken for granted, Granger. We had our moment of heroism, and now it is over."

"Why does it have to be that way?" Hermione demanded. "Yes, our moment of heroism is over, but why does it have to be ignored?"

Snape shrugged. "The Muggles glorify their wars," he said quietly. "They build statues, they declare holidays, they idolize their heroes. The wizarding world celebrates for a day, then returns to business as usual."

"But Harry was idolized," Hermione pointed out. "He was 'The Boy Who Lived.'"

"And is he now 'The Boy Who Defeated Voldemort'? His moment of fame is over as well. He is a civil servant in a lumbering bureaucracy, as are you."

"And you're a brilliant wizard who should be doing greater things than manufacturing basic potions for gag gifts. You should be preparing Class Five potions for St. Mungo's. Or doing research and being published in potions journals."

She'd gone too far. Hermione knew it as soon as she saw the ice crystallize in Snape's eyes.

Severus' face settled into an all-too familiar scowl. "Congratulations, Madam Hermione Granger-Weasley. You've made me into one of your causes, haven't you? It's rather a hopeless one, I'm afraid. I will always be known as 'The Man Who Killed Albus Dumbledore.' And here's an exclusive for your book: killing him was absolutely the worst moment of my life. And for a life filled with worst moments, that's saying something."

A/N: I owe MUCH in this chapter to the fabulous Harry Potter editorials and essays on Mugglenet and The Leaky Cauldron. I applaud the time and effort these writers spend in putting forth their various arguments. Special recognition goes to Arthura Weasley, who wrote "Faithful Snape" in The Leaky Cauldron's Scribbulus section; much of what Snape told Hermione came from her.