Collapsing Core

Minerva hadn't been surprised to note Snape's absence over the weekend, and the letter from the Ministry informing her of Snape's next appointment was no shock, but both angered and brought bitter tears to her eyes. She wanted to wrap Severus up in her arms and incinerate the missive. No doubt an owl had already alerted him. He had a few days grace, the appointment being Friday evening. How generous of them to ensure it didn't clash with his job! Fuming, she slammed the parchment down and began to pace. Severus had spent his life paying for his mistakes; what the Ministry was doing was despicable. He had already paid his debt. It was cruel. She couldn't understand what they could possibly still want with him a decade after Voldemort's death.

She wished she could visit Maud in the hopes she had made some progress, but she knew it would be foolish. Besides, she had lessons today. The best she could hope for was retribution. Someone would pay dearly. The thought bolstered her, giving her strength, but she knew she couldn't live with this for long, and she vowed that Severus would escape the Ministry's hold while she still lived. It was sobering to think how short a time she had. She cast a curt spell and the letter erupted into very satisfying confetti before glowing like embers and vanishing.

When the school day finished, she visited Pomona in the greenhouse. It was nice to be out of the stone building and sit amongst the greenery, smelling the rich earth and hearing the musical drips of water. Today, wasn't quite as relaxing. While Pomona was busy making tea, Minerva's gaze was drifting over the letters, booklets, leaflets and files scattered across the workbench. They were job offers, retirement properties and contracts: the paraphernalia associated with impending retirement. It brought home quite sharply that Pomona was leaving. After Christmas, she would be somewhere else. Pomona would never desert her or stop helping Severus, but she wouldn't be staying, and they wouldn't be able to meet up with the same spontaneity. The Herbology professor had been making plans to retire in the years leading up to the war to fulfil her ambitions. Those ambitions had been put on hold almost twenty years. Minerva couldn't in good conscience encourage her to stay; Pomona would only agree, and her life's work would wither like cut flowers.

Before she got too maudlin, Pomona returned and plonked down a mug of tea. "I can't offer biscuits," she apologised. "The tentacular got at the tin."

Minerva smiled and picked up her mug. "It ate them?"

"It ate the whole tin...metal and all!" Pomona corrected. "It's not as though it doesn't get what it needs..." she added tetchily, flashing a glare at the plant in question, "but I guess it'll be good for minerals for the next month or so."

"Oh well," Minerva said good-humouredly. "The tea is welcomed."

They both took hearty sips and just settled into each other's company. Outside, they could hear voices as children walked around the grounds. It was something Minerva missed. Being in the tower meant she was away from the hustle and bustle, distant from the heart of Hogwarts. There was something delightful in the laughter and words of children. It helped to ease her frustration and unease.

"So," began Pomona, "what brings you down here?"

Minerva inhaled deeply before waving her hand languidly. It seemed as though she were lazily batting away a fly, but Pomona had that funny pressure in her ears that signalled a Privacy charm being erected. She swallowed until her ears popped.

"Severus has another appointment."

Pomona gasped, pain lingering on her face. "When?"

"This Friday... seven pm."

The Herbology professor blinked back her tears and hugged the mug to her chest. "It doesn't seem that long since he had his last appointment," she mumbled dejectedly. Various emotions raged across her face until anger and despair fought alone. "I wish it would just stop."

Minerva sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut until blue spots flashed in the dark. Letting the frustration burn itself out, she sighed as she sagged and opened her eyes. "Officially, there's nothing wrong," she snapped bitterly. "And Severus will not complain...damn the man!"

Pomona fidgeted and her fingers squeezed her cup anxiously. "Has he ever said what goes on?"

"No!" Minerva hissed with more venom than she intended. "No," she repeated softly. "He never discusses it, and when I did raise the issue with him, he made me promise never to ask again. I made a complaint of sorts to the Ministry, citing his visits affecting his role as deputy Headmaster, but they merely reminded me of the conditions of his release from Azkaban and his potion. Unless Severus lodges an objection, he is at their beck and call." She took a deep sip, relishing the burn of hot tea down her throat. It took some of the heat out of her frustrated anger. "All I can do for now is help him in whatever way I can...whether he likes it or not!"

A burst of laughter from outside infiltrated their gloom and both ladies straightened, casting off their mood. "So," Minerva continued more firmly. "We collect what we can and add it to the fountain."

Pomona nodded in agreement. "I'll let Filius know we could do with a few more recent memories collected. Severus has spent a lot of time with Neville and Randal, so we'll see what we can get from them." Her face brightened. "How about some critical self-reflection using penseives?"

Minerva smiled. "You're a devious woman, Pomona," she chided good-humouredly. "I know Filius uses a pensieve, but never asked how he gets their memories..."

"Oh, it's a bit sneaky," Pomona began enthusiastically. "He uses a pensieve which is charmed to make copies." She paused for a quick gulp of tea. "Later, after the donor has retrieved their memories and gone, he sifts through the copies, picks out the appropriate sections and chains them to those he already has." She took another mouthful of tea. “It's a bit like a ribbon of Muggle film...where you cut and splice it together to reel off just what you need." She missed the look of admiration cross Minerva's face. "And the donors are nonethewiser because they have their memories back."

Minerva nodded approvingly. "Clever."

Pomona tutted and shook her head. "That's why the phials in Albus' office were so important. We can't get copies anymore. And they were such a great resource. I'm such a dunderhead for losing one!"

Minerva had almost forgotten about the missing, mysterious needle phial, but it had obviously eaten away at her friend. "It's safe, and I'm sure it'll turn up."

"I wish it would," Pomona mumbled sadly. "Filius seems to think that it wasn't Albus'."

"I thought all the memories in that cupboard were his."

Pomona bit her lower lip and shook her head slowly. "After that meeting, Filius needed a bit of cheering up, so we had a talk over tea, and we discussed the phial." She gathered her thoughts and idly tapped the side of her mug with a nail. "He doesn't know what's inside, as he couldn't open it." She saw Minerva's frown and added quickly, "He could only protect it with those Cinderella charms. I think he hoped to open at some point. I was taking it back to the office when I...misplaced it."

"So it could be something of vital importance...or nothing at all."

Pomona hummed an agreement. "I know Filius was having doubts about it being Albus'. He can't be sure, but he thinks the memory is from a young child...something about the shine and viscosity...but he does know that it's only a few minutes' worth. Three at most."

Minerva drained her tea and set the mug down, her mind pondering whose memory Albus had secreted amongst his own: Harry's? But what could young Harry know about Severus? Shoving her curiosity aside, she saw Pomona's expression...or lack of. The emptiness disturbed her.

"What's wrong, dear?"

Pomona stilled and stared morosely into her tea. "Do you think it'll work?"

Minerva wished she hadn't asked. It meant she had to address directly a dread that had loitered on the edge of her mind. "I really don't know," she offered sadly, "but we have to try. I can't sit by and watch him being slowly destroyed, bit by bit. I can see it, you know," she added hollowly. "When we talk, I can tell he's...diminished. His memories can be so vague about certain things. At first I thought it merely a reluctance to talk about the past, but there's a desperation in him whenever we get close to those terrible times. I get the impression that he's seeking something from me." She stopped, her eyes moist and her chin trembling. "And I don't know what he needs, Pomona," she whispered, her voice thick with pain.

Pomona wanted to walk around and hold her, but the greenhouse was too public. She was also acutely aware of the papers littering the table, and guilt wriggled uncomfortably in her stomach. How could she be so selfish, seeking a life beyond Hogwarts, when there was so much suffering here! The urge to banish the paperwork reared up and only Minerva's voice stopped her.

"Should the Ministry succeed and reduce him to one of the mindless creatures they've already created, I need to know that I tried everything to...rescue him. The theory is sound," she declared defiantly, "but the application is problematic." Sighing, she held her mug in both hands in a bid to hold back the tremors the thought sent through her body. "We're trying to put in memories that weren't originally his."

Pomona nodded slowly. "I never asked you where you got the idea."

"From Horace."

"Old Slugger?"

Minerva let out a laugh, quickly hiding it behind a hand, thankful for the break in her growing tension. "Yes. When Albus shared with me how Horace had manipulated a memory, it stuck with me for some reason: remarkable piece of Transfiguration. Anyway, I talked it over with Filius, and here we are."

"And here we'll stay until the job is done," Pomona added firmly.

Minerva blinked a few times, and then her eyes widened slightly. "Oh no, Pomona. You don't have to stay here to help!" she countered emphatically. "You can work on your cultivars and help us from wherever you are. I can't let you put your dream on hold."

"Tough tentacular teeth!" she replied. "I'm staying until it's done."

Minerva smiled. "And what about Longbottom?"

"Consider it an extended period of training."

ooOoo

Peters was very appreciative of Snape's fortitude. It kept him away from Burke and Cross. With a few excuses to his colleagues, he'd managed to secure himself time in which to research. To his complete disgust, the obliviates were permanent and he couldn't defend himself from future assaults. However, one ray of light in his mental gloom was the discovery that evidence could never be truly banished or destroyed. They were held in storage for future reference: every document, piece of evidence, verbal testimony, complaint and report was duly recorded and held...somewhere. And as the memories pulled out of Snape's skull were considered 'evidence', then they couldn't be merely thrown away: they were stored! It was a little known, long forgotten protocol. He doubted Cross knew about it.

His dilemma now was to figure out how to get access to stored material without Cross or Burke finding out. His first thought was to seek advice from his old colleagues in the Auror Offices, but there was a growing animosity between the departments, and he doubted they'd be too forthcoming with aid. The thought of trawling through the miles of bureaucratic scrolls wrung out a soft moan...maybe going insane from multiple Obliviates would be less painful!

ooOoo

Friday arrived far too quickly. Snape had purposefully avoided everyone since the end of school, wishing to spend the time alone; Minerva knew where he'd go, but she'd never intrude on his time. He descended down towards his old lab, glad that the hallways and stairs were empty. Once inside, he sealed the door, collapsing against it. This time it was too hard. His lips pulled back in a pained grimace, and he slid down to the floor, his limbs hanging limp and heavy. If he knew what they wanted, he'd gladly offer it. He just couldn't face it! His memories since the last visit were precious. The thought they would rip them out, spoil them, sickened him. But he had to be careful about what memories he hid. He had determined how much he could tuck away behind his occlumency without them realising he'd done so, and there wasn't enough leeway for him to protect the plans with Neville regarding the potion and his recent more personal encounters. He hoped when they rummaged through them, they'd just think he was watching his mentees.

A dry sob wracked his ribs. He had been ridiculously naïve. He could never have the life he wanted. The bastards at the Ministry would just pull it apart, corrupt it. Every beautiful, precious moment would fester in their damned pensieve. The last two months had been an exercise in futility, and he'd foolishly lived instead of just existing. No matter how he felt, he couldn't pull Neville or Randal into this. It pained him enough that Minerva and his colleagues were dragged through his foul mind. It was perhaps a boon that he'd not given in to his childish fantasies.

His breathing was heavy, almost verging on laboured, and his chest felt tight. The walls seemed to press down on him and the air was thick as it poured down his throat. He knew he was panicking and tried to follow the breathing exercises Dumbledore had taught him. In time, his breathing eased and his heart slowed. His face was slick with sweat and tears, and he used his gown to wipe it dry. Pride, hard as diamond, made him stand and brush himself down, and he moved to sit at the curved desk. He summoned a black coffee and waited.

A nervous house-elf padded closer and gave him the mug. Snape took it with a thank you. The dark wizard thanking him was not new; when he'd first come back to work as Potions master, he'd been kind and polite to the elves...when the nasty others weren't nearby. He had once drunkenly offered the house-elves any item of clothing they desired in a bid to free them: they'd never been so terrified of a pair of boxers before! The house-elves of Hogwarts had politely declined his offer, but they remembered. What was new was the utter despair and defeat he saw in the red rimmed eyes. In the ten years since he'd been bound to the Ministry, just as they'd been bound to servitude, they had never seen Snape weep. It shook the house-elf to his core. He left the wizard to his despair and went to talk to his brethren in the kitchen. After much deliberation, they went to find Winky.