Custard Pie

Custard Pie

I may look like I'm crazy

I should know right from wrong

Before Hermione had a chance to plunder Snape's memories, she was due to attend another meeting with her patron. His letter said that he had spent the previous several days ringing contacts in the United States to find out whether they could provide any leads regarding the soul magic in which he was so interested. When she arrived at the coffee shop just outside of Paddington Station where he had requested she meet him, she saw him sitting at a sidewalk table, drinking a cappuccino and tapping one foot impatiently.

'Finally!' he exclaimed when she approached and joined him. 'I thought you were never going to get here.'

'Am I late?' Hermione asked, suddenly flustered, and checked her watch.

'No, not at all,' he answered her reassuringly. 'It's just that I've got some good stuff here, and I couldn't wait to put you onto it.'

'What is it?' she wanted to know, feeling a rising tide of excitement.

Teach pulled a crumpled piece of parchment out of the pocket of his suit jacket and handed it to her. 'One title, that's all. But it's better than nothing.'

She inspected the parchment, which bore the words Ars Magica Mundi Novi in Teach's bold writing. 'This? I've heard of this book. There aren't any copies of it.' She dropped the parchment on the table in disappointment.

'I know!' Teach exclaimed. 'That's why it's so likely to be the one we're looking for.'

'And how is that supposed to help us?' she demanded. 'The last known copy of the Ars Magica was destroyed in the Cotton Library fire in 1731. Wizards have been searching for a lost copy of this book for centuries. Nobody has ever found one. I wouldn't even know where to begin looking!'

A smug smile crept onto Teach's tanned features. 'What about private libraries?' he asked.

'They've been searched, too,' Hermione objected.

'All of them?'

'Most of them,' she asserted. 'There might be a few families who haven't allowed archivists to inspect their collections, but God only knows who they are.'

'God... and maybe us.' His grin became broader now. 'I was given a name, too, when I made those calls. Someone whose library hasn't been searched. And you're in a perfect position to do it.'

A hideous foreboding slithered up Hermione's spine. 'Who?'

'Lucius Malfoy.'

The words dropped like a lead penny between them. After a moment of shock, Hermione unfroze, rocketing out of her chair in outrage. 'Have you lost your mind?' she cried. 'There's no way in hell I'm going into Malfoy Manor again!'

Teach stood up too and extended a calming hand. 'It's okay, Miss Granger – you don't have to go there. Please, sit back down. I'm sorry, I didn't mean...'

'No,' she interrupted, dragging a trembling hand through her thick curls. 'I'm sorry. Sometimes I overreact.' She returned to her chair, breathing deeply to calm herself. 'My one and only experience in Malfoy Manor was... unpleasant, to say the least.'

Teach looked as if he would have liked to ask her about it, but wisely refrained from doing so. Instead, he said thoughtfully, 'I'm told Malfoy is in prison, anyway.'

'Yes...' Hermione agreed carefully. She didn't want to go there, and she wouldn't go there, but already her agile brain was working out a way to get the information, nevertheless. The match-flame in her mind grew again suddenly as another idea occurred to her. Cautiously, she offered, 'There might be a way to find out whether the book is there. Lucius Malfoy is in prison, that's true, but... his son isn't.'

'Do you know his son?' Teach asked, excitement returning to his expression.

'Sort of,' Hermione hedged. 'We're not close. But I would say he owes me a favour.'

'Right,' Teach said decisively. 'We'll send him a letter.'

'Okay,' Hermione agreed. 'As soon as I get back to the Ministry.'

Teach cocked his head at her quizzically. 'Why not now?' And he gave a piercing whistle. On cue, a grey pigeon dived from one of the windowsills above and landed directly on the table between them, deftly avoiding Teach's cup of coffee. Tearing a strip from the parchment they had been looking at, he handed it to her, together with a pen. 'Go on,' he urged.

This man is completely insane, Hermione thought as her eyes darted around them. People at the other tables were staring at them now, eyeing the pigeon with disgust. Is it possible that the Americans never signed the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy? It wouldn't surprise me. Surreptitiously, she picked up the pen and scribbled a few words on the parchment, asking to arrange a meeting with Draco as soon as was convenient. Teach tied the parchment blithely to the pigeon's leg and tossed the bird into the air. Near-by coffee drinkers craned their necks curiously to watch it fly away.

'What?' Teach asked defensively, catching Hermione's expression of disbelief. 'Carrier pigeons. It's perfectly normal.'

'Yeah,' Hermione said doubtfully. 'I'm going in to get some coffee. You want another cup?'

'Please,' he replied, nodding.

After standing in the queue for a few minutes, Hermione emerged into the morning sunlight again bearing two cups of coffee. As she sat back down, she noticed that Teach was watching her appraisingly, his mobile features unusually solemn. 'What?' she asked.

'I thought I would have a more difficult time convincing you to look into this soul magic,' he answered directly. 'It's not really much to do with Horcruxes.'

'It might be,' she argued. 'We'll have to wait and see.'

He nodded slowly. 'True. But I'm not a complete idiot, Miss Granger, and you're not very good at dissembling. You have a personal interest. What is it?'

'I don't,' she denied hotly, taking a defiant swallow of coffee that burned her throat on its way down.

He leaned forward suddenly and put his elbows on the table, gazing at her intently. 'What we're investigating is not simple, safe magic,' he said. 'It could be dangerous. We have to be honest with each other. You can't keep things from me.' His tone was vaguely threatening.

Hermione swallowed convulsively, her eyes locked on his. 'I'm not hiding anything. Why would you think that I am?'

'Because I know whose house you live in,' he said simply.

The flame in her brain exploded into a conflagration. Yes! Talk to Professor Snape... Find out why he let himself be killed – surely he could have saved himself! Find out why he left his house to me, why he's haunting it... Thoughts whirling uncontrollably, she stared at Teach in mingled horror and hope, unable to deny her secret wish any longer.

'I thought so,' he affirmed quietly. 'Were you in love with him?'

'What?' Hermione blurted, astonished. 'Of course not! Do you even know anything about Professor Snape?'

Teach's tanned face reddened instantly, but he was saved from having to respond by the return of the carrier pigeon. Casting a furtive glance around the pavement, Teach untied the scrap of parchment from its leg and shoved it off the table. He passed the note to Hermione without a word, pretending to be suddenly deeply interested in the design on the tabletop.

She unfolded the parchment and read the short message. Puzzled, she looked up at Teach and said, 'He wants to meet me at the Ascot train station in an hour.'

Teach shrugged. 'Commendably prompt.'

'I've never been there,' she complained. 'I can't Apparate.'

He turned to look over his shoulder pointedly, then faced her again. 'This is Paddington Station.' He fished a roll of banknotes from his pocket and handed her a twenty-pound note. 'Take a train.'

She took the money hesitantly. 'You're not coming with me?'

'That would be a little awkward, don't you think?' He stood and straightened his trouser-legs. 'Let me know what you find out.'

When he had gone, Hermione gathered up her bag with a huff and stalked down the street, on the lookout for a shady alleyway. She wasn't going to march into Paddington on his command – and she knew the trains to Ascot left out of Waterloo anyway. Instead, she ducked into a shadowy doorway and Apparated to Reading, which was the nearest city to Ascot that she knew well enough to travel to in such a way. From her arrival point across the river, she walked into the city centre and made her way to the station, where she bought a single to Ascot.

After a half-hour ride on the stopping service, she climbed from the train at Ascot station and saw Draco Malfoy immediately. Tall and pale, thinner than when she had last seen him, and dressed in a scruffy, baggy suit, he was lurking on the platform next to the drinks machine. He looked her up and down without interest as she approached and, with a lazy gesture, said, 'Come on, then.'

She followed him through the tiny lobby, past the taxi rank, and into the small car park where a flight of concrete steps led down to a path overhung with ancient oak trees. 'What is this, Malfoy?' she hissed when they were out of earshot of the other travellers. 'Why do we have to meet in a random train station like spies out of a bad novel?'

He paused with one foot on the steps and gazed up at her contemptuously. 'Don't be any more stupid than you can help, Granger,' he said impatiently. Pulling a pouch of tobacco from his pocket, he began to roll a cigarette. 'It's not a random train station. Come on.' He turned his back on her and trotted down the stairs.

Exasperated, she hurried after him, catching him up as the passed beneath the canopy of oaks. 'Why are we here, then?' she demanded.

Wordlessly, he pointed to the sign posted by the side of the path. White letters on a royal blue background read Ascot Racecourse. A white arrow directed them further up the path.

'We're going to the races?' she asked incredulously.

Draco nodded and continued onward. She matched his pace, bemused, and watched him in silence as he smoked his roll-up.

'What is it that you want from me, Granger?' he asked finally, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

'I want to know about your library,' she stated firmly. 'Does your family keep a catalogue of the books in it?'

'Of course,' he said briefly. The path turned into a tunnel beneath Ascot High Street, and they emerged on the other side into an open green space. Straight ahead, the red brick viewing stands of the racecourse rose into the air. They passed through the ticket booth, Draco casually Confunding the clerk, and climbed into the open-air stands. Draco eased his long body into a seat and patted the one next to him, motioning for Hermione to sit.

She allowed Draco several long minutes to watch the horses, powerful and elegant in their speed, before saying, 'Could I see the catalogue?'

Pale grey eyes cut toward her narrowly. 'Are you wanting a specific book, then?'

'Maybe,' she answered evasively.

'You tell me which one, and I'll see if I can help you,' he offered. 'I'm not going to let you rummage through my father's things.'

'I never intended to rummage,' she countered scathingly. 'Believe me, the last place I want to go is back into your house.'

Draco flinched. 'Tell me what book it is,' he said tiredly. 'If we have it, you can see it.'

Surprised, she snapped without thinking, 'You're being unusually nice, Malfoy.'

He turned to her stonily. 'I owe you. I may not like you, but I'm not completely without honour.'

Silenced by the pained expression in his eyes, she pulled Teach's parchment out of her bag and handed it to Draco.

He read the title, sighed, and crumpled the parchment into a ball. 'We used to have this one. Father lent it to Professor Snape.'

'But that's great!' she said excitedly. 'It means you've gotten it back – Snape left his library to you in his will.'

Draco shrugged maddeningly. 'Maybe. Maybe not.'

'What do you mean, "maybe"?' Hermione demanded, beginning to grow frustrated. 'Do you have it or don't you?'

'You must have read the will,' he commented, starting to roll another cigarette. 'Did you not notice which books he left me?'

Confused, she focussed blindly on the horses, trying to remember exactly what the will had said, and after a moment, it came to her: ... such as may be found within my home or personal chambers... 'So...' she murmured, 'he might have hidden some books elsewhere...'

'Looks like it,' Draco said succinctly. He cocked his head sideways, listening to the announcer read the results of the race. With a discreet flick of his wand, he conjured a betting slip out of the air and regarded it with a smirk of satisfaction. 'Do you want some beer?' he asked Hermione suddenly.

'Beer?' she repeated, mystified.

'My treat,' he assured her, waving the betting slip. 'Lager or stout?'

'Er... lager,' she answered weakly.

***

Three hours, nine races, and four pints of lager later, Hermione staggered drunkenly behind Draco into The Stag on Ascot High Street. Making her way to a table in the sunshine of the beer garden, she marvelled at how many people were sitting in the pub. It's Friday afternoon, for heaven's sake. Doesn't anyone go to work any more? Draco came out with the next round and plopped his lanky frame onto the bench opposite, spilling beer over the tops of the pint glasses.

'You have to admit,' he said, slurring slightly, 'I've been really kind to you this afternoon. I think it's time for a confession.'

'You want to confess something to me?' she asked warily, taking a long swallow of her beer. 'That's new.'

'Dozy cow,' he said affectionately, favouring her with a drunken grin. 'You are going to confess to me why you want that book.'

'I'm not.'

'You are. My good looks, charm, and persuasive manner are irresistible to women.'

Hermione eyed his rumpled suit and messy, over-long hair doubtfully. 'I don't think so, Malfoy.'

'Come on!' he exclaimed, thumping his pint glass onto the wooden table. 'Or I'll die of curiosity, right here. You'll have a time explaining that. Everyone will think you poisoned my drink.'

'Fine!' she shot back defiantly. 'I'll tell you. I want to find out how to contact Professor Snape.'

Draco dissolved into giggles. 'What are you on about, Granger? You can't contact him, he's dead.'

'That book will tell me how,' she replied defensively.

'You think so?' he asked, lifting an elegant eyebrow. ''Cause I don't. Father showed me what was in that book. The spells and potions and stuff are all wrong.' Seeing her angry expression, he laughed again. 'You don't think it's been tried before? Nobody knows how to make that stuff work. Although,' he amended pensively, 'if anyone could have figured it out, it'd be Snape. Did you find any notes or anything in his house?'

'Nothing,' she said disappointedly, her face falling.

'Cheer up, Granger,' Draco said encouragingly. 'There might be other ways. You're a Muggle-born – just use a Ouija board or something.'

She sneered at him and downed the rest of her pint. 'Thanks for your help,' she said sourly.

'What d'you want to talk to Snape for anyway? That nosy git,' he slurred.

'Dunno, really,' she dodged. 'Curiosity.' She grinned.

'Come to dinner with me,' Draco blurted.

'What? No. You're drunk. So am I. I'm going home.' She rose clumsily to her feet and picked up her bag.

'Keep in touch, Granger,' Draco called as she stumbled back into the pub. Entering the loo, she locked herself in a cubicle and concentrated hard, praying that she wouldn't Splinch herself. A moment later, she twisted on the spot and, after a brief sensation of squeezing, appeared in the front room of Spinner's End with a loud crack. Hastily, she checked to make sure she had all her parts, then pushed her hair out of her face and looked up. And screamed involuntarily.

The man was standing right in front of her, so close she could have touched him if she wanted. She could see, with remarkable clarity, every fibre of his black robes and every shining strand of his thick, dark hair. Charcoal eyes bored into hers pitilessly. His tall, thin form towered over her.

She fumbled for her wand with fingers numbed by paralysing fear. Extracting it at last from her bag, she pointed it at the centre of his chest. 'What do you want?' she whispered, stepping back cautiously.

He remained silent and motionless; the more she gazed at his face, the more convinced she became that this was Snape. Despite the lack of lines, the long nose and the shape of his high cheekbones and obstinate jaw line were the same. Even the colour of the hair was the same, although not, she had to admit, the vibrancy and lack of grease.

'What do you want?' she repeated, more firmly this time. In response, the figure seemed to shimmer, then fade away, as she watched in amazement.

When it had disappeared completely, she dropped her wand on the shag carpet and collapsed next to it. Her entire body was shaking convulsively. I've got to get out of here. There's no way I can sleep here tonight. Gathering all of her courage, she snatched up her wand and her bag and thundered up the stairs to her bedroom. She stuffed a change of clothes into the bag hurriedly and took one final glance around the room. Everything was quiet and normal.

Still shivering, she Apparated to Grimmauld Place.