Chapter Two

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.

The digital clock on the bedside table read 7:00 a.m. when Hermione rolled over for the umpteenth time. Soft light bled through the shuttered cream curtains, casting streaks across her blanketed body as she lay sprawled across the queen-sized bed. Lying on her stomach, her cheek flat against her pillow, Hermione clenched her eyes shut, desperate to reclaim at least 20 minutes of lost sleep before she was forced to face the world again.

Was it terribly selfish to blame everything on him? Ugh, she didn't even want to think about him anymore. Forget the passed over legislation, the shipment into career Siberia, even bloody, doesn't-know-what-he-wants Ron Weasley; forget all of it. It was all him, wasn't it? Bleeding to death there on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, couldn't he have given them a clue? Well, he had, hadn't he? About 30 seconds too late. She roughly took the pillow from beneath her head and reversed its position, pulling its corners so it curved around her head completely, only the top left uncovered. It wasn't as if she had gotten over it before his appearance last night, all smugly alive.

Reflecting on that last thought from beneath her pillow cavern, Hermione wondered if she was finally and truly becoming unhinged. Here she was internally ranting and raving that someone had the temerity to be alive when she should be rejoicing, relieved even. After all these years, shouldn't this bring her peace? If only it were that easy to forget what she had, or rather, hadn't done that night in the Shack. Unlike Harry and Ron, she hadn't simply left the scene blissfully incapable of changing Snape's fate.

A familiar knock finally broke the cycle of thoughts she had been running through for the eight hours she had been in bed. Throwing the pillow aside, Hermione rolled off of her stomach and sat up in bed, running a hand through her dangerously knotted hair. Breathing deeply, she threw her legs over the edge of the bed, standing with effort, and put on her cotton robe, which offered little comfort that morning. Stumbling tiredly towards the door, she flipped the lock and opened the door only a few inches, peering into the hallway. Thomas stood outside the door, fully clothed in proper Muggle dress wear and holding a steaming cup.

Leaning slightly closer to the crack in the blocked doorway, he held the cup more prominently and said in an undertone, "I, uh, thought you might need some help getting up." For the first time that trip, she was thankful for his presence, and she opened the door slightly wider to claim the mug.

"Thanks, Thomas," she said quietly, a note of gratitude ringing clearly. "I'll be down for breakfast in a bit. Just need to get sorted." Thomas nodded in response, looking noticeably relieved, and left. Shutting the door again, Hermione took a sip from the mug, savoring the bitter flavor of the coffee before setting the mug down on the nearby vanity. Well, enough of that, she thought firmly as she rubbed the exhaustion from her eyes. She filed away the image of Snape's dark, focused stare in a new mental folder, this one entitled, "Snape – Apparently Alive".

Hermione arrived in the pub thirty minutes later, clad in a black skirt suit with a lavender button-up underneath her jacket and a pair of smart black pumps on her feet. She had also managed to untangle her knotted hair and tame it into a respectable bun.

It took Hermione nearly a minute to spot Thomas; the breakfast crowd far outnumbered last night's patrons. The hotel's guests seemed to consist primarily of businessmen and lobbyists, each of whom had commandeered their own table. They spent the breakfast hour picking at their eggs and toast while having heated discussions on their cell phones, thumbing through newspapers, and typing quite angrily on their computers. This was how Hermione had managed to find Thomas, as he had neither the stack of paperwork nor gadgets to distract him and instead was leaning quite precariously in his chair, sneaking a peek at his neighbor's computer screen.

Reaching the table after winding around several others, Hermione made a show of clearing her throat as she sat down, causing Thomas to nearly topple over in surprise. With reddened cheeks, he righted himself, pulling down his jacket in the process.

"You really need to work on being less obvious," Hermione greeted, hiding her smirk behind the breakfast menu. Thomas let out a strangled chuckle but made no further response. Odd, Hermione thought as she placed down the menu to look at her table mate. He seemed to be very engaged by the crumbs on his plate, quite determined not to look anywhere else. A waiter arrived a moment later, and after placing her order, she turned her attention to the squirming Thomas. Trying to offset the mood, she began discussing the day's agenda.

"Well, after breakfast, we'll be heading over to the Ministry. I think we'll take a taxi because you might find their underground a tad overwhelming..." She paused for his reaction, but when he refused to look up, she went on, trying to put him more at ease. "I mean, I know I do." Not even her nervous chuckle seemed to stir him. "Right, then I guess we'll meet their Creature Regulation Department Head and get to the bottom of the situation. I do hope it's not terribly boring since you're training and all. I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression..."

"Can I ask you about last night?" Thomas interrupted, finally making eye contact. Startled, Hermione stuttered slightly.

"Oh, oh, er, yes. Yes, of course you can. You know I really am sorry about that. I'm not usually so... abrupt?" Thomas was wringing his hands nervously now, and for the life of her, Hermione couldn't figure out why. Did he think she was going to go after him with the butter knife in another bout of insanity?

"No, no," Thomas replied, now looking at her very sincerely. "It was me. I shouldn't have brought up my girlfriend. Not so soon after your break up with Ron Weasley at least. No wonder you just ran from the table."

"What?" Hermione reacted, her head cocked sideways. Now, how the hell did he know about that? She had avoided the Daily Prophet like the plague for the last couple of years, but it was hardly front page news. It wasn't even a true break-up as they had never really started.

"No, no, it's got nothing to do with that, with him," Hermione explained quickly. Looking at him closely, she asked, "Didn't you see him? Snape? In the pub last night?" It looked as if the gears in Thomas' head were turning as he murmured the name aloud.

"Snape? You mean Severus Snape? The former Death Eater?" Merlin, Hermione thought, he really didn't see him. She must truly be coming unhinged. Then it occurred to her that Thomas probably wouldn't even know what Snape looked like. He was only a child while the Second War ravaged the wizarding world. He might have heard the names, but he was certainly far removed from the details.

"Yes, well, former Death Eater turned spy for the Order," Hermione corrected, reaching for her glass of orange juice.

Thomas looked thoughtful for a second. "Hmm... strange, I thought he was dead." Swallowing her sip, Hermione locked eyes with Thomas.

"So did I." They finally seemed to be on the same page as Thomas' eyes widened with realization. They both sat in quiet contemplation, Hermione occasionally taking a bite of the toast that had just arrived at the table. After a while, Thomas finally articulated in a low whisper what Hermione had been feeling under all of the resentment and guilt the night before.

"Blimey." Blimey indeed.

The two had, at least temporarily, put any thoughts of Severus Snape behind them by the time their taxi pulled up beside a dilapidated warehouse. Checking the address again, Hermione nodded to Thomas, and the two exited the cab into the deserted street. All around them were similar looking warehouses, all of which appeared to be abandoned, with broken windows and scraps of garbage strewn about. Even the trees that had managed to spring up amongst the industry were leafless and dead. Despite this, Hermione wasn't too perturbed. It was well known that wizards usually took up residence in seemingly abandoned buildings, creating magnificent interior designs within.

Approaching the tinted glass door, Hermione grasped the metal handle, half expecting some resistance, and pulled it open. When it opened without difficulty, she and Thomas entered the building. Both twitched slightly, as if expecting something to impede them as they passed over the threshold, some magical charm or monster, but they found themselves inside the shabby lobby of the United States Ministry of Magic with all limbs intact. The ceiling was low, forcing Thomas to crouch slightly as he neared a ceiling fan, and the walls were a grimy off-white, which appeared to have been pure once. A set of chartreuse couches lined two of the walls, and a light gray-colored desk with two high counters sat in the back corner, with a platinum blonde, curly bun poking out from behind it.

Since no one appeared to greet them, Hermione took the initiative, approaching the desk briskly. Behind it, she found the owner of the curly bun, a small young woman with black-rimmed glasses that partially concealed her bright blue eye make-up. At the moment, she was entirely focused on the nearly completed crossword puzzle in front of her. Hermione cleared her throat to gain the woman's attention, but she remained completely ignorant of their presence (or at least feigned ignorance).

Hermione felt Thomas come up behind her and peek at the woman over her shoulder with a thoughtful look. "I believe one across is Augurey," he said pointing to one of the many empty boxes in the puzzle. "And I think three down might be Glumbumble." The young woman looked up at them crossly, forced to acknowledge their presence.

"Yes?" she drawled impatiently, her blue eyes narrowed.

Hermione shook off her desire to snap angrily at "Martha", as her nametag read, and stated, "We're here to see Mr. Bob Stephens, the Head of Magical Creature Control."

Hermione had expected Martha to take them to Mr. Stephens' office or at the very least retrieve him for them but instead, sounding very put out, she told them, "He's in office 115 down the hall." With this task completed, she returned to her puzzle. Hermione gaped in irritation, but Thomas softly pushed her away from the desk and led her down the hallway. This was ridiculous! There had been no security measures, no credentials, not even a polite inquiry into their business.

The pair had barely walked two doors down when Hermione could no longer hold in her fury.

"She didn't even ask who we were! And, really, she honestly couldn't walk us to his office herself? How incredibly rude! I would have at least expected – oof!" Ready to turn her ire towards Thomas for not paying attention, Hermione noticed that it was she who wasn't paying attention. They had collided in front of a dark wooden door labeled '115, Bob Stephens, Head of Magical Creature Control.'

Unconsciously checking that not a strand of her hair was out of place, Hermione stepped forward and made three short knocks. From behind the door, the squeaking groans of a straining office chair could be heard, followed by a few heavy steps, and then the door was thrown open revealing the Head of Magical Creature Control.

Bob Stephens was a large man with great upper body heft, as if he had once had defined muscles which had since begun to sag. His dark hair was chopped into a blunt crew cut, and his dark brown eyes were overshadowed by two thick, caterpillar-like eyebrows. Unlike the neatly dressed Thomas and Hermione, he was dressed in a long camouflage overcoat and wore large brown hiking boots with red lacings. However intimidating his appearance, he wore a big, yellowing smile as he greeted them, swallowing their right hands in rough handshakes as introductions were made.

"C'mon in, guys," he beckoned as he moved aside to allow them to pass into his office. Taking a seat in one of the soft leather armchairs placed in front of his desk, Hermione noted the many maps and posters decorating the walls. The posters depicted magical creatures from all over the world, from Erumpents to Dragons to Pixies. The maps tracked the migration of Re'ems, giant oxen with golden hides, across the American plains. A small, speckled Jobberknoll tittered in a large wire cage in a corner behind Stephens' desk. However, it was the map labeled, "Washington State – Bigfoot Sightings", which had caught Thomas' attention.

"Ah, I see we have a fellow believer in the room," Stephens said good-naturedly, clapping Thomas on the shoulder as he passed. Taking his eyes off of the map and moving to sit in the empty armchair next to Hermione, Thomas grinned meekly at Stephens, who took a seat across from them behind the desk.

"You've seen him, then?" Thomas enquired curiously, leaning forward in his seat.

Stephens chuckled, his hands folded on his desk. "Not yet, but I think I've got the rascal cornered!" he replied excitedly, referring to his map, marked with nearly a hundred x's and circles. Hermione snorted with quiet skepticism. Men.

"Hermione here's seen a yeti," Thomas shared proudly, as if it were he who had come face to face with the terrifying beast.

"Have you now, Inspector?" Stephens asked with genuine interest. Though she counted the experience in her top ten most horrifying, she nodded, slightly proud.

"Yes, not too closely, mind you. They're a bit bloodthirsty, you see." Stephens gave her a hard look before breaking out into a loud guffaw. Hermione wasn't sure what was so funny about her comment, but gave a small smile as he continued to laugh, slapping the desk lightly with his right hand.

Stephens finally settled a minute later, wiping a tear from the corner of his eyes with one of his thick, sausage-like fingers. "You Brits are a witty bunch," he exclaimed as his breathing tempered. "We've got one working with us over in the Auror Department. A quiet guy but sharp as a tack, I tell ya. Actually, he's the one who helped us out with this nonnative situation. Had no idea what the creature was myself."

"Could you please brief us on the situation, Mr. Stephens? Unfortunately, my assignment documents are woefully vague," Hermione explained as she pulled out a notepad.

"Call me Bob, Inspector," he directed as he pulled out an unlabeled file and began to thumb through the documents. "Let's see here. Where to begin... ah, yes, about a week ago we heard a report over the Muggle police radio that someone had spotted a creature in a park near Dupont Circle, about two to three feet in size, hairless, large protruding eyes and sending off sparks. The Muggle cops thought the caller might have been playing a prank and ignored the call, but we knew better and went in to investigate. Boy, was I surprised when I saw it. Even my grandparents probably never saw one in their lifetime." As Hermione listened, she noticed that one key detail remained unsaid.

"Erm, Bob," Hermione interrupted cautiously, "the creature, what was it?" She asked as if she had perhaps misheard him the first time. His eyes lit up excitedly.

"Of course, Inspector, forgot to mention that, didn't I? Well, what d'you say I take you two down to the storage closet for the big reveal?" he asked, rubbing his hands together. He was like a child with a secret.

"Is the storage closet a proper enclosure?" Hermione questioned the bureaucrat suspiciously.

Stephens waved his hands in front of him. "Don't worry about it, Inspector. It's totally comfortable. Oh! Let me grab the lead investigator, the guy who helped us with the I.D. I'll just be back in a sec!" With that, Stephens hurriedly vacated his office, leaving Hermione and Thomas to entertain themselves.

Leaning back in her armchair, Hermione sighed as she made a few scribbles on her notepad. What was with all the theatrics? Hermione couldn't stand how these department heads, with all of their enthusiasm, didn't know a thing about the creatures they managed. It was like having one big national menagerie for them. Thomas had left his own chair to take a turn around the room.

"Do you think he'll actually find Bigfoot?" he wondered aloud, examining the map at close range. Hermione snorted in response.

"Many have tried, Thomas, but I doubt it. If the creature's kept itself well-hidden this long, I doubt it's going to introduce itself to the next wizard it meets."

Moving to read another poster, Thomas asked, "Funny, this poster says you can find Pixies in Belgium. Isn't it only Cornwall?"

Scratching out a few lines in her notepad, Hermione replied, "Yes, only Cornwall. Must be a misprint."

"Still an insufferable know-it-all, then?" The voice was far deeper than Thomas' and far too familiar. Gripping the arms of the chair, she patently refused to turn around. Not because she was scared of him, but because she was scared of what she might do: faint or hyperventilate or projectile vomit or...

"Come now, Miss Granger, don't act so surprised. After all, you did just chase me down several blocks only last night." He was closer now, perhaps right behind her. Well, now she had to turn around. She had to stand up and turn around and face him and...

"Uh!" was what Severus Snape exclaimed as Hermione's right hand came into contact with his rough left cheek. Crack was the sound of their skin making contact. "Wow," Thomas gasped as he witnessed his trainer of two days slapping a magical law enforcement agent within minutes of introduction.

Hermione recoiled immediately in embarrassment, trying not to glare at her treacherous hand. This must be breakdown part two. She watched with horror as her former professor rubbed his cheek, a hint of surprise pulling his eyebrows slightly upwards. "Oh, oh Professor, I don't know what... I'm just so sorry." Truthfully, she wasn't sure if she could have helped it really, it was just the way he had made that throw away comment; he had known she was following him, and he didn't even have the decency to stop, to assure her of his living state, at least to tell her to mind her own business. After all of these years, the comment had rolled off his tongue as if his not dying meant nothing.

Stephens stood a few feet behind Snape, clearly amused by the scene. "I see you two have met before. Regardless, Inspector, this is Detective Severus Snape, Head of the Auror Department."

"Head?" Hermione squeaked, watching the former Death Eater with trepidation.

"Yes, Miss Granger, Head," Snape bit out, still rubbing his cheek. Turning to Stephens, Snape added, "She's a former student."

Stephens was positively gleeful at hearing this. "No kidding, Snape! Small world, eh? Anyway, let's head down, crew."

Stephens led the way to the mysterious storage locker, Thomas following close behind, and Hermione and Snape taking up the rear distantly, refusing to look at each other.

"You're alive," Hermione sniped accusatorily.

"Nice catch, Granger," Snape retorted. "Sorry, I didn't have time send a postcard while trying to escape the country before the impending media circus. Thought I'd let your lot handle that."

Hermione huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "You could have at least..."

"I don't owe you anything," Snape cut her off. Hermione sighed slightly, not sure if she was more frustrated with herself or the man walking next to her.

"No, you don't," Hermione conceded quietly. She turned her head slightly to steal a glance at him. He looked much as he had when she had last seen him, with long, curtain-like black hair that obscured the majority of his face, save for his large, beaky nose. His hair swished slightly with every step, allowing small glimpses at his lined face and fathomless black eyes. Despite the lines of age, he actually looked a bit healthier than he had seven years ago, having lost the bruise-like dark circles under his eyes and the gauntness of his supposed final days. He looked... good.

"So, you're Head Auror then?" Hermione finally asked awkwardly. She couldn't remember the last time she had sounded so half-witted. "Congratulations, sir. Do they, er, do they know about..."

"No," Snape replied sharply. "Not that it would have been of any consequence. You might be surprised to hear that I was the only applicant." Looking around the dank hallway, Hermione understood perfectly.

As they walked in companionable silence, Hermione tried to create some kind of order in her head. Snape was alive; he was Head of the Auror Department for the United States; he looked good. Wait, how was it that he was alive?

"Profess- erm, I mean, Detective," Hermione stuttered over his various titles, "how exactly are you – oof!" It seemed the party had finally reached their destination. Throwing Thomas a deeply apologetic look, she wondered if he thought her the biggest bumbling idiot in existence. Refusing to even guess Snape's expression, she kept her eyes focused on Stephens and the door to the storage closet.

"Well," Stephens began with a flourish of his hand as he reached for the doorknob, "are we ready to see the creature?" Hermione eyed Snape for confirmation but found that he only looked irritated, so she nodded in agreement.

"Let's see it!" Thomas cheered. Grinning, Stephens threw open the door with a loud "voila!" At first, Hermione only saw a few shelves of cleaning supplies and a small white cot, but then, sitting on the edge of the cot, she saw it.

"Oh, well, that's all?" Thomas said, sounding let down at the revelation. Snape snorted slightly at this. However, moving closer, Hermione understood Stephens' excitement. In fact, she probably understood the significance of this discovery more than Stephens did. He was right, though. His grandparents probably hadn't ever seen one, as they had been practically outlawed in the United States for at least 150 years. But now, over a century later, what was it doing wandering through a Muggle park in Washington D.C.?

A/N: Thank you to my beta, justine 34, and Brit-picker, magicalpresence, for their corrections and suggestions.

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