The Man Who Sold the World
By Meggory

Severus blinked several times before shaking his head as if ridding himself of dust. “And how do you plan to leave this place? As far as I am aware, the entire city is blanketed with anti-Apparition wards.”

“It is,” Hermione agreed. “There is one main thoroughfare in and out of what is now considered London; it’s a checkpoint built right by the last Tube stop on the northern line--well, the only line--called High Barnet.”

“And where will you go, Hermione?” he said quietly. “What place is safe?”

Hermione refused to let her shoulders slump. “No place is safe, Severus. I’m not looking for safe. I’m looking for somewhere else. I need a real wand; I may hunt down Ollivander.”

To her surprise, Severus snorted. “Ollivander is a pawn and has been since 382 B.C. If you get us both out of here with a viable plan, I’ll take you to Gregorovich and knock on his door myself.”

Hermione’s eyes dropped to the ground; in her excitement and relief to finally reunite with someone she could trust, she had forgotten how he had traded freedom from the ghetto for ignorance. “I’m sorry, Severus, but Gregorovich is dead. He’s been dead for months.” She glanced up to watch his expression and was alarmed to find a rather Dumbledorian sparkle in his black eyes.

“I would never say Gregorovich was dead until I had the body and cast a Killing Curse on it just to be sure. That man has faked his own death at least three times in my recollection. He’s really quite good at it. Get us out of London, Hermione, and you shall have your wand.”

Hermione opened her mouth to continue arguing her point when her brain finally told her what he had actually said. Her jaw snapped closed and her lips twisted into a smile. “So you’ll come with me?”

“Only if you cease to ask me questions to which you already know the answer.” He was already walking back into his building as he tossed back his comment.

“Wait for me here tomorrow,” she called, then winced. Her voice echoed off the bare walls of the empty architectural boxes lining the street. Severus made no motion of hearing her; she glanced up at the position of the sun and started to run to the ghetto checkpoint.

*

The crowds pressing up against her seemed more obstructive today, or perhaps she was simply being more pushy. Hermione dodged and ducked her way around families and wandering wizards, occasionally apologizing and occasionally cursing under her breath as the oblivious blocked her path. She inched her way through the throng halfway down the ghetto street until finally she escaped the clutches of the mob. A shabbily painted door in one of the desperate alleys waited for her. She knocked loudly and waited, leaning against the doorjamb in a way she could only hope was nonchalant. Several moments and a wary looking man carrying an unfortunate cat passed before the door opened a crack.

A shaky voice asked, “Yes?”

She pulled herself upright and into the view of the crack. “It’s me, Mr. Librum. Please let me in.”

“Oh.” The figure silhouetted in the door pulled back and widened the gap between the door and the threshold. Hermione slipped into the building and smiled at the wide-eyed, wild-haired man standing in front of her. “Oh, Miss Browning. I’m glad to see you again. You’re not in any trouble, are you?” He put a slight emphasis on ‘trouble’ and Hermione shook her head.

“No, Mr. Librum, everything is fine. Although I have a spot of work for you. For tomorrow.”

His eyes gleamed. “A challenge, eh? What do you have for me?”

She leaned in conspiratorially and grinned. “All of my books. Except for my most recent acquisition; it does not belong to me. I can’t under good conscience trade it without permission.”

If it were possible, Mr. Librum’s eyebrows climbed higher onto his wrinkled forehead. “All of them?” At her solemn nod, he gestured for her to follow him down the stairs into his domain. Hermione kept one hand against the rough plaster of the wall to keep her balance on the uneven steps. The small room at the bottom landing was shabby and unkempt, but she knew this was not Mr. Librum’s actual living space. The small, balding man crossed to the far wall, pulled out his own weak wand and poked a small crevice in the plaster. “Alohomora.”

Slowly, a small door hidden in the wall began to swing out. Mr. Librum caught the edge with his hand and pushed it open, then motioned for Hermione to enter first. “I must lock it behind me,” he told her.

Hermione ducked under the low lintel and found herself in a wide room lined with bookshelves. The smell of books--dry, dusty paper, leather covers and old binding glue--infiltrated her nostrils. She breathed deeply, fondly remembering her time spent in the Hogwarts library. She heard Mr. Librum lock the secret door behind him and watched him sit down at an enormous oak desk in the middle of the room. Methodically, he pulled out several sheets of stiff parchment, a bottle of black ink and a sharp, brightly coloured quill. From a different drawer he extracted what looked like a metal die punch in a perfect rectangular shape, a Muggle graphite pencil and a metric aluminium ruler. When all of his tools were arranged in front of him to his personal satisfaction, Mr. Librum looked up expectantly at Hermione. “Now,” he said, “have a seat. So whom are we creating today?”

Hermione sat down on the high backed upholstered chair on the opposite side of the desk. “A--friend of mine.” Mr. Librum’s fingers were deftly using the ruler to draw light lines across the parchment in graphite.

“Physical characteristics?”

“Black hair and eyes. About six feet, three inches. I’m not sure how much he weighs; he’s lost more than a few pounds. Maybe one hundred fifty.” Hermione tapped her finger against her lips as she tried to guess Severus’ measurements. A small smile appeared as she imagined Severus’ response to her request for his height and weight. “I suppose an estimate will have to suffice.”

Mr. Librum scribbled in pencil as she spoke, making a guideline for the ink to come later. “Date of birth?”

Hermione’s mind drew a blank. She had known the date of Minerva’s birthday, and had once sent Remus a gift for his thirty seventh birthday before Hogwarts had fallen. But Severus Snape had always been a mystery to her, and it was only now that she actually had a desire to know things like his birthday. “He’s the same age as Remus,” she mused aloud. They had been in the same graduating class, so.... “1960.”

“I require a full date, Miss Browning. If you do not know for certain, make one up.”

“Er...” Unwilling to pick a date from her brain, Hermione leapt from her chair and grabbed the nearest book from the closest shelf. She opened the book to the copyright page and dragged her finger along the page until she came across a full date. “January 9,” she said confidently, snapping the book closed and returning it to the shelf.

“Wizarding status?”

“Er--Impure I.” She could not very well make him a Pureblood; it would attract as much attention as an Impure II.

“Name?”

Oh, gods. She had to make up a name for Severus Snape, now possibly the most wanted man in the world. He would not be amused by anything she chose. “Asmund Slope,” she said suddenly. Mr. Librum looked at her strangely, shook his head, and set to writing.

She waited patiently as he inked everything out on the parchment in neat, straight writing. When he was finished, he pressed the sharp die down into the parchment to make a perfect identification card. Except-- “I need a photograph. Can your friend come here so I may take one?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Librum. May I borrow your camera? I’ll bring it right back.” She smiled, hopefully looking trustworthy and honourable. The little man shook his head. His eyes were wide, as if surprised she would even ask for such a thing.

“No, Miss Browning. That camera is worth more than my own life. If your friend would come here, I can take his picture and attach it to the identification card in under a minute.” He shrugged helplessly and Hermione did her best to keep the smile on her face and the disappointment out of her expression.

“I’ll have him come by tomorrow,” she assured him. The shakiness of her voice did not instill confidence in herself. Gathering her coat, she rose from the chair and nodded to the former librarian. “Thank you. I will be back tomorrow with my friend and your payment. I will show myself out.”

With one weak alohomora and a flight of stairs later, Hermione found herself wandering the streets of Residence Area Five. The idea of fleeing London had seemed so simple, and now she was being derailed by a simple inaccessibility problem. Severus needed a card with a picture to enter the ghetto to board the Tube, but he could not have a picture taken until he was already inside the ghetto walls. The sun was nearly set when Hermione finally stopped and glanced around at her surroundings; she was shocked to realize she did not know where she was. She turned in a circle to gain her bearings and nearly shrieked aloud when Seamus Finnegan stepped into her view.

He was looking less shifty today for some reason. “Oi, Hermione. What’s a nice girl like you doing over here?” Ah, that was it. Seamus looked less shifty because everything around him appeared shiftier and shabbier than usual. She had stumbled into the domain of the black marketeers and gamblers, the gophers and the traders.

“I didn’t realize.” Seamus put a light hand on the small of her back and began to guide her back in the direction of her own part of the ghetto. “Oh, Seamus. I need you to get something for me. A few things, actually.”

He looked at her with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “Like what? I don’t have any more books. And I’m still missing part of your last payment.”

“I know. But if you get these things for me, the payment will well make up a lost bottle of wine.”

His eyes gleamed greedily, and Hermione would not have been surprised to see him rub his hands together enthusiastically. “What do you need, my friend?”

“Clothing. Men’s Muggle clothing and a set of outer robes. And some shoes. And some blankets.” Hermione ticked off her list on her fingers. She had enough clothing to last for quite some time, and whatever Seamus acquired could be magically tailored to fit Severus. “Nothing colourful. Make it dark and warm.”

Seamus said nothing as they walked toward the more lawful part of the ghetto. The only difference between the two areas was the number of people crowding into alleys. Finally, he glanced at her and said, “What is this for, Hermione?”

“When have you ever asked that before, Seamus? It’s not important. Just get me the clothes.”

“And what are you planning to give in return?” he asked cautiously.

She gave him the same conspiratorial grin that she had given Mr. Librum earlier that evening. “Every stick of furniture in my closet. I won’t be needing it for a while.”

For a split second Seamus appeared to be basking in joy at the prospect of trading for scarce items like upholstered chairs and mattresses. Then his eyes turned on her, narrowed. “Where are you going, Hermione?”

“Away. And that’s all you need to know, Seamus Finnegan.” Hermione planted her fists on her hips and did her best Professor Snape glare; while she did not think she had the scowl perfectly, apparently it was good enough for her former classmate. He threw up his hands in defeat.

“Fine.”

“And I need them for tomorrow morning. Leave them inside my door.”

Seamus’ eyes bulged out of his head, but he nodded slightly. “Done.” They shook hands, parted as friends, and Hermione hurried to her own building.

Her closet was dark and empty when she unlocked the door and slipped in unnoticed by her neighbours. The less they saw of her before she vanished, the longer it would be before anyone reported her missing or began to talk amongst themselves. She lit a few candles sitting on the windowsill with her wand and dropped into her armchair to survey her meagre possessions. The clothes hung on a wire strung over her bed would all come, shrunken of course. The books she had left for Mr. Librum. Severus’ copy of Moste Potente Potions lay on her tidily made bed, as solitary and mysterious as its true owner. From under her chair Hermione dragged an old leather satchel she had once used to supplement her school bag’s book capacity. She wrapped the book in a clean tee shirt Harry had found for her in Muggle London before the War broke out--Captain of the Spaceship Learn-venture!--and carefully stuffed the bundle in the satchel. Setting the satchel aside, Hermione slid off the chair and began to prod at the worn floorboards around her mattress. Her fingers probed the spaces between the wooden planks until a loose board vibrated under her hand. With a smile, she pried the board up and stuck her hand inside the small crevice underneath. From the dark, musty space came a small leather billfold her grandfather had made for her years and years ago. She peeked inside; her amassed fortune consisted of two hundred pounds in small denominations and three Galleons. The money went into the satchel.

After a grueling half hour of shrinking her clothing and packing it neatly in her travelling bag, Hermione checked the time on the small, wind-up bedside clock and nearly leapt into bed. She set the alarm to ring at four; that would give her enough time to accomplish everything that required accomplishing the next morning. Her head hit the hardened pillow, but it was a while before her mind finally settled down and let her sleep.

*

For the second day in a row, Hermione arrived at the Death Eaters’ London Headquarters before Georgina. Instead of lighting the ovens and putting on the tea, however, she stole into the pantry with her nondescript satchel. With difficulty, she shrank several loaves of bread and stuffed them into her bag. A few apples, a tin of tea, a box of plain vanilla tea biscuits, and a handful of bouillon cubes joined the bread. There was little else she could take that would not spoil, stasis charm or not; meat was simply not a good idea without refrigeration. The fruits and vegetables in the kitchen were closely watched by clerks, and she would not get Georgina into trouble for her pilfering.

As she fastened the buckles on the satchel, she heard the exterior door open. The heavy footsteps announced Georgina’s entrance. Hermione pushed her way out of the pantry with a bit of shame in her eyes. Georgina whirled upon hearing her coworker behind her. “Good gods, Hermione, you’ll give me a heart attack.” The older woman eyed her lack of work attire and the satchel slung across her shoulder. “What are you doing, dear?” she asked flatly. When Hermione hesitated, her tone became concerned. “Are you in trouble?”

Hermione nodded. “It’s Malfoy. I can’t stay here any longer, Georgina. I have to go somewhere else.”

Georgina looked very surprised, but thankfully kept a cool head. “Of course. I understand. Do you have enough to eat? I have to put in an order for more supplies tomorrow; I can cover whatever you take.”

With a grateful smile, Hermione opened her bag and showed the cook what she had taken. Muttering to herself, Georgina crossed to the large Muggle-style refrigerator that operated on a cooling charm and pulled open the steel door. She hunched over for a moment, rustled around, then reappeared holding a bunch of carrots and some large navel oranges. “Take these, too. You don’t want to get scurvy.”

“What is going on here?” Both women jumped at the imperious sound of a new voice in their domain. Hermione turned to find Percy Weasley once again standing in the Headquarters kitchen. Today he held a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a pair of half-moon reading glasses in the other.

“Er, just a spot of inventory, sir,” Georgina replied, her voice an octave higher than usual out of terror.

Percy squinted at the cook suspiciously. Oh, gods, Percy, don’t put on your glasses. As if to spite her, the former Head Boy of Hogwarts lifted the lenses to his eyes and shot a hard glare straight at Hermione. Suddenly, his face slackened; his eyes widened and he nearly dropped the parchment in his hands. “Hermione? Hermione Granger, is that you?” Wonder tinged his voice, and for a moment she could almost believe he was the good, kind Percy she had met so many years ago. She offered him a smile, desperate to believe there was a sliver of mercy and understanding left in him.

His next words were a cold dagger to her throat. “It would be better if you were dead.” Death Eater Percy Weasley lowered the glasses from his face and slowly placed them in his pocket. Incrementally, his gloved hand moved to the handle of his wand.

You will not stop me, you traitorous bastard! Rivers of terror and rage flowed through her body; Hermione flung up her hands as if to stop a train and willed Percy to stop what he was doing. His wand shot out of the delicate grip of his thumb and forefinger and hit the wall, audibly cracking in half. Percy staggered under the force of her wandless magic, his face twisted with shock and anger, and collapsed against the door.

The last vestiges of her power did not leave her but lingered momentarily at her fingertips, making them tingle. She returned her attention to Georgina, who was staring at her not with fear but with awe. “You’re Hermione Granger. You fought for the Order. You fought with Harry Potter,” she said slowly. With every word, a smile grew on her face. “I thought you died at Diagon Alley.”

“You must not ever tell anyone anything to the contrary. For all intents and purposes, Hermione Granger did die at Diagon Alley,” Hermione ordered. “Perhaps you should leave too, Georgina. At least leave Headquarters.”

Georgina waved her off. “I’ve dealt with worse. The poor boy simply fell down the stairs. The wax is always slippery. Go, Hermione. You need to go now.”

Impulsively, Hermione threw her arms around the large woman and squeezed her with gratitude.

“Go, before he wakes up.”

Hermione hitched her satchel on her shoulder, took a deep breath, and ran faster than she had ever run.

---------------------------------
Author’s Notes:
1. Thanks to all my spectacular reviewers! I lurve you all!
2. Please forgive the lateness of my update. The three hours I was going to use to write turned into waiting in the pouring rain and near-freezing wind to see the Queen. It was worth it.
3. A hero cookie will go to any one who can figure out the literary importance of the two names Hermione joins together to make Severus’ new alias. Slope is pretty easy; Asmund is rather obscure. The answer will be posted in next chapter’s author’s notes.
4. “Librum” is the Latin accusative declension for “book.”
5. Hermione randomly comes across Severus’ actual birthday, according to the HP Lexicon. I realize most copyright pages do not have full dates, but I’ve found that old British books sometimes do. So go with it, okay?
6. “Captain of the Spaceship Learn-venture” belongs to Tony Esteves and Steve Waldman, taken from their excellent comic strip “Primatology.”