seven
The Man Who Sold the World
By Meggory
Her heart was fluttering wildly as her feet pounded the pavement. Each ground-eating stride brought her further away from the man who would kill her and closer to the man who would protect her. The wind chilled her exposed scalp and tangled the ends of her trench coat belt. She ran and ran down the Oxford transport corridor without hesitation or sign of stopping. Suddenly her feet went forward but her upper body, led by her arm, jerked backwards. A strong, bony hand on the small of her back stopped her from crashing to the hard ground, but she found herself looking up at the dark morning sky.
Severus face came into her view, blocking out the weak light of the sun. What the hell is going on, Miss Granger? he demanded, drawing her up and setting her aright.
Glancing behind her to check for signs of followers, Hermione panted, We...have...to...go. Now, Severus. She emphasized his given name as if to correct his own regression. When he made no move to accompany her away from the dangerous vicinity of Headquarters, she grabbed his thin hand and tugged him along. She ignored the indignant glare of protest. Percy Weasley recognized me. I, er, managed to incapacitate him, but it wont be long before he informs Malfoy of my true identity. We have to get into the ghetto, onto the Tube, and out of London before the owls fly. Can you walk any faster?
Only if you desist with the handholding, he snipped, pulling his fingers out of her clutches. With both arms free to swing, his pace lengthened and quickened, and Hermione found herself hard-pressed to keep up. She had forgotten how fast a tall man could walk simply by possessing long legs. So, Hermione, he purred, how have you decided to sneak me into this ghetto of yours?
She pretended to concentrate as she matched his speed, buying her time that would not help her response. I dont know. I have a forged identification card waiting for you inside, but its incomplete without a photograph. I dont suppose you have any brilliant ideas?
Met with silence, Hermione sighed but kept walking. She had five blocks to come up with a solution, and that distance was rapidly closing. I feel like Shakespeare with writers block.
Then write Cymbeline, Severus said quietly. Hermione jumped, not realizing she had spoken aloud.
With a wry quirk of the lips, the bibliophile replied, Im afraid I didnt go on a bender last night. But I have to do something before the audience arrives.
For the second time in less than five minutes, Hermione found herself surprised as her comment was met with what she would definitely classify as a Snape smile. She could have measured the difference with a mathematical compass, but it was there. The brief moment of levity distracted her enough to nearly round the corner to approach the ghetto gate, but Severus again stopped her with a light hand on her shoulder. Perhaps a direct approach will suffice, he said, almost to himself. Ladies first.
With a deep, neither calming nor cleansing breath, Hermione stepped into view of the gate guardhouse and began to walk toward it. She glanced back surreptitiously to find Severus absent from view. Puzzled, she continued on. To her right, her adrenaline-enhanced hearing caught a breathy but firm Reducto.
A wall near the gatehouse exploded in a shower of concrete and an avalanche of thick dust. Throwing her arms up, Hermione shielded her head. Chaos abounded as guards raced away from the gate checkpoint and out of the entrance of the ghetto to try and diffuse the situation; from the screams, a man was trapped under the debris. Severus disembodied voice hissed in her ear, Go now, while theyre distracted.
She did as she was bade. Skirting around the edge of the panicked scene, Hermione approached the nearest guard with her card and wand and not quite pretend face of disbelief and fear. The guard performed the Priori Incantatem distractedly, barely glanced at her card and waved her through before coming to the aid of the trapped mans rescuers. She hurried through the gate and did not slow down until she reached Mr. Librums alley.
The dark passage between buildings was empty of people and cats. Hermione tapped soundly on the door as Severus removed his Disillusionment Charm. His figure returned to view as if Severus-coloured paint had been splashed in the air and left to drip down to the ground. Severus, that was--
Dont lecture me on the dangers of curses, he cut in, pulling his shabby robes closer to his body as if they were a shield.
I was going to say brilliant. Antony and Cleopatra brilliant, in fact.
He did not have the chance to reply when Mr. Librums head poked out of the door. Come in, Miss Browning. Your friend?
Yes, Mr. Librum. The door opened and Hermione entered, motioning for Severus to follow her lead. I cant thank you enough for all youve done.
For all youre paying me, its the least I can do. The former librarians voice echoed a bit against the bare plaster walls as they descended to his work room.
From behind her, Severus muttered in her ear, What are you paying him?
Never mind, she snapped. Somehow she did not want him to know she had given up her prized books for his sake. Somehow she thought he would be disappointed, or angry, at her sacrifice on his behalf.
He did not reply. Instead, they watched Mr. Librum open the secret door and followed him into the work room in silence. The little man crossed to his desk and flitted about his desk drawers for a moment before gesturing for Hermione to sit in the chair. Erm, Mr. Slope, would you kindly stand against the wall there? For a good picture? The aura of cold superiority that Severus held about himself as physically as his robes were making the librarian nervous. Hermione met her former professors eye and shrugged at his deathly glare.
Slope? His voice was smooth and quiet, as if he were asking a particularly hapless Neville Longbottom if his potion was supposed to be orange at the end of class.
Already done, she replied with mock cheerfulness. Against the paleness of the wall, she took especial notice of his pasty skin and jutting bones. Although--you still look too much like yourself. Cant you do something about it?
Facial hair is a good way to do it, Mr. Librum piped up, overcoming his nervousness with a good suggestion. A beard is quite good at changing ones appearance.
I cannot grow a beard in thirty seconds, Severus protested flatly.
The Headmaster could, replied Hermione, careful not to use Dumbledores name. While she trusted Mr. Librum to the extent of forging documents, he did not need to know more than necessary. Remember what happened to Fred and George?
To both her great amusement and surprise, Severus pulled out his wand and muttered Senescere. Unlike the golden Age Line of the Triwizard Tournament, Severus line marked the floor in front of him in a silvery black sheen. With a barely repressed sigh, he took one step forward. Instead of being thrown backwards, he simply bounced off the floor and returned to his place against the wall. The white of his face jarred against the sudden thatch of black hair sprouting from his cheeks and chin. While the Weasley twins had sported long white Dumbledorian beards, Severus was now the annoyed owner of a well-trimmed, jet black beard. Hermione refrained from making a comparison to Sirius Black.
Mr. Librum gave a short-lived round of applause for Severus display; he tactfully ignored the presence of a true wand and fiddled with his camera instead. Er, if you would kindly look forward, Mr. Slope? he said faintly. Severus turned his indignation away from Hermione and onto the poor librarian. Yes, good. Mr. Librum wiped the back of his hand across his brow to keep the nervous sweat out of his eyes. His finger moved, the flashbulb popped, and Mr. Librum hastily excused himself to develop the photograph. Theres tea things over on the round table, he called over his shoulder as he entered his darkroom.
So what else have you fabricated for me without my permission or knowledge? Severus demanded as he stalked to the table and began to prepare a pot of tea for both of them.
You told me you would come with me as long as I made all the preparations. An identification card is necessary to wipe your arse in Britain these days, so perhaps a little gratitude that I was able to pull it all off would not be out of order. I even organized clothing for you and food for both of us. On which youll have to put a stasis charm, of course, unless you prefer your bread moldy or stale. She refrained from making a strangled sound of frustration. So I made up a new name for you. Get over it. Would you rather it said-- she lowered her voice, --Severus Snape, Death Eater traitor and member of the Order of the Phoenix, here I am, kill me now?
While he did not have the grace to look abashed, his shoulders hitched minutely. I suppose we would not get far. The tip of his wand waggled and steam poured out the spout of the china tea pot. The librarian only had tea in bags, and he threw in one round packet before closing the lid. Although you could have consulted me.
I have neither a time-turner nor the ability to make myself invisible, Severus. Time was a limiting factor.
He did not reply as he set two teacups right side up and waited for the tea to steep properly. As if unbidden, his hand wandered to his face and stroked the new beard in disbelief. Its not terrible, Hermione told him.
It itches, was the curt, annoyed reply. His hand did not stray to the facial hair again. Satisfied with the steeping time, Severus poured two cups and handed her one. Unsurprisingly, Mr. Librum had no milk, but Hermione wanted for a bit of sugar. As she took her first tongue-searing sip, the librarian stepped out of his darkroom holding a small square.
Wonderful things, magical developers. The ingredients are nearly impossible to find, but somehow the gophers manage, he spouted happily. Shaves off hours of work. He sat down behind his desk and pulled out a small brown glass jar. He twisted off the cap and pulled it off, revealing a thin, goopy brush covered in rubber cement.
You brew your own developer? inquired Severus, almost politely and with a hint of interest.
Mr. Librum glanced up and nodded. Yes. Its simpler now that Ive brewed it so often. Practice makes perfect. He carefully spread a thin layer of rubber cement on the back of the photo and on the waiting spot on the card. My photos are barely noticeably different from the official ones because my developer is so effective. Unfortunately, my cauldron is pewter instead of iron. It gives the photographs a slightly yellow tint, but it passes as wear. Once the rubber cement was dry, he firmly pressed the photograph onto the card. With one final inspection to his satisfaction, he held out the card to Severus.
The Potions Master rested his tea cup on the desk and plucked his new identity out of the librarians hand. His silence was tangible as he examined the black writing, carefully scrutinizing every angle of this little piece of parchment that now gave him a sort of shackled freedom to exist in this new Wizarding order. Finally, the card vanished into an inner breast pocket and Severus nodded to Mr. Librum. My thanks, he said. Again with the almost politeness! Hermione nearly giggled at the idea of Severus Snape coated in honey. Miss Browning?
Yes. Hermione set down her cup and shook hands with the librarian. Thank you so much, Mr. Librum. I will arrange for your payment to arrive within the hour.
You are very welcome, Miss Browning. Good luck. Short farewells over, Hermione led Severus out of the secret door and back up into the ghetto streets.
The sun was well into the morning sky when they emerged from the alley, and the omnipresent bustle of the ghetto was beginning to thicken as half-blooded witches and wizards went about their daily business of cueing for weekly rations or reporting for their work details or assigned jobs. Severus stuck closely to Hermiones shoulder as they wove their way through the throng towards Hermiones building; his presence was both calming and unnerving. His looming figure was protective, but his radiant attitude made her anxious to lead him to her shabby dwelling. She ducked out of the street and onto the strangely less crowded pavement when her apartment building came into view. Severus strode right behind her, face impassive but his eyes darting everywhere to take in this unfamiliar place. A tightening of his lips belied his cool expression.
Hermione waved casually toward their destination. Thats my building, she informed him, hoping it would help ease his stressed state of mind.
Fine, he replied shortly. With a badly hidden sigh, Hermione entered the building and climbed the stairwell in her usual careful manner.
Dont touch the banister. All she heard in return were footsteps on the stairs behind her. She reached her closet door and opened the unlocked door. Draped over the chair was a bundle of dark, slightly worn mens clothes of various sizes. Severus followed her into the miniscule room and awkwardly closed the door behind him. His head brushed the ceiling. These are for you. She pointed at the bundle. If you would be so kind as to shrink them, we can leave immediately.
With some foolish wand waving, Severus did as she asked. As she shoved the tiny bits of cloth into the leather scrip, he said, I never expected this.
What, my hovel? she asked. Something in his voice suggested her living conditions were not on his mind.
That I would be able to leave. These words left his tongue voluntarily, but as if realizing what he had revealed, his mouth shut with an audible click to protect the façade of the Greasy Git.
Me neither, she said softly. Hoisting her bag onto her shoulder, she gestured towards the door. Lets go before Seamus gets here. Hell be wanting his furniture, and I dont feel like haggling with him.
A knock on the door froze Severus hand on its way to the door knob. Hermiones eyes widened with the fear left from her run in with Percy. Calm down, it could just be Mrs. Bartholomae. Who is it? she called, her voice tremulous.
Seamus. Open up, Hermione. Hermione inched past Severus, awkwardly sliding past him in the inadequate space to reach the door. Slowly, she cracked open the door enough to focus on the man standing at her step. Cmon, I dont have all day. Ive furniture to move.
Er, can you come back later? she asked him. His air of impatience thickened.
No, I cant come back later. I already have buyers, and they want their merchandise. You promised, Hermione. Dont tell me youre backing out. The freckles began to darken as slowly rising anger tinted his face red. Just let me in.
Seamus, I-- Hermione was trying to think up a good excuse when Seamus pounded his hand on the door and forced it open. Caught off guard, Hermione flew backwards into the wall but watched with perverse interest as Seamus Finnigan was suddenly face to face with his long-dead Potions professor. Severus held his wand out in a classic dueling position, every muscle tense and ready to fight this interloper. His mouth twisted, baring his teeth like a cornered jackal. Seamus stood completely still, too shocked and terrified to blink.
Close the door, Mr. Finnigan, Severus hissed. That voice, so hoarse and ill-sounding just a day ago, now sounded precisely like the bad tempered bat of the dungeons. Smooth and malicious, clear and menacing, that voice brooked no argument and demanded utter and instant obedience. Seamus immediately closed the door with a gentle tap of his foot. You always were a vulgar little boy, and I can see nothing has changed.
Seamus opened his mouth to protest, but Severus cut in, Bite your tongue. I realize your pathetic brain is having difficulty processing this situation, so allow me to assist you. You are going to sit down in this chair. We are going to leave. You will not follow, nor will you tell anyone about seeing either me or Miss Granger. You will wait here for one hour, then you will go about your business as if this encounter never occurred.
Seamus nodded and stumbled into the chair. He folded his hands in his lap as if he were being hauled in front of Minerva McGonagall and looked nowhere but directly ahead. Severus nodded not with approval, but with finality, and turned to Hermione. Lay on, Miss Granger.
Erm, Seamus, if you could send that bundle to Mr. Librum, Id be grateful. Hermione pointed to her paper-wrapped package of books in the corner. She shot her old classmate an apologetic but thankful glance before leaving her miserable closet behind.
The walk to the Tube station was short and uneventful. The wait for the train was long and anxious. Hermione and Severus stood against an old, yellowing concrete wall, slightly apart from the milling crowd but not too separate to attract the attention of the low-level Death Eater guards patrolling the platform. The light was dim, and Hermione did not notice that Severus had leaned closer to her to speak in her ear. Why are we taking this godforsaken Muggle contraption? he asked casually. If she did not know better, she would have sworn there was a hint of apprehension in his voice.
The Northern line is the only Tube line that still runs properly. The rest have collapsed, or travel to unauthorized areas of the city, she explained quietly. There is a checkpoint at High Barnet leading out of London. Well be able to get through. I hope.
He cast her a quizzical expression then shook his head. No, I meant why are wizards using Muggle transportation?
Hermione smiled ironically. Because the magical forms of transportation are unreliable. The city is blanketed with anti-Apparition wards. Airspace is patrolled constantly for broom traffic; any nonmilitary personnel riding brooms are immediately shot down without warning. With the wizarding population lacking proper wands, Malfoy needed a way to move us about to our work details and other menial labours without calling attention to our enforced lack of magical ability. The tube doesnt run on electricity, though. Im certain theyve cast locomotor on the trains. Any half-blood who decides to join the Death Eaters are placed on spell duties; they spend all day casting mundane charms that the purebloods believe beneath them. As her last word fell from her lips, a rush of wind and a hum announced the arrival of the train.
Hermione and Severus stepped away from the wall and into the mass of elbows pushing to board the orange-fronted train. No curt voice warned them to mind the gap; the pair of escapees jumped into the crowded car just as the doors whisked shut. Hermione held onto the nearest pole, and Severus imitated her stance as the train jerked into motion. She swayed with the motion of the train, trying to wait patiently for the line to end. The Tube now only stopped at about half of the stations, but her patience soon wore. She began to make mental note of which stations they were passing: Kentish Town, Highgate, West Finchley. At this last stop, most of the wizards and witches disembarked, leaving Hermione and Severus alone in their car. The train sped to life for the last time, and the hard ball of fear clenched in Hermiones stomach. Finally, the train pulled into the final station. The blue, red and white sign on the wall outside fadedly announced High Barnet.
The doors did not open, however. Instead, a Death Eater boarded their car and marched directly to them. Hermione did her best not to cower, but she noticed Severus was hunched over in an attempt to detract attention from himself. The Death Eater was obviously a half-blood soldier; he wore no insignia of an officer but sported the thin bars of a noncommissioned member. He could not have been much older than Hermione.
The Death Eater puffed out his chest. What is your purpose here? he demanded.
Suddenly, Severus uncoiled. That is not your concern. You will take us to your superior officer.
The boy looked shocked that a scruffy Impure would speak to a Death Eater guard in such a manner. Anger flashed across his face. He pulled out his wand and made a motion with it. Lets go, you insolent bastard. One wrong move and Ill kill you where you stand. Somehow, Hermione was not convinced by his threat. Perhaps it was the slight crack on stand. Curious as to what Severus was planning, she followed him closely off the train and onto the platform.
The Death Eater directed them down the deserted platform and towards a squat, square building at the end of the tracks. The three of them entered through the open door, and the Death Eater pointed at an office with windows looking into the hall. Closed blinds blocked the interior view. The boy shoved his way in front of Severus and rapped smartly on the door. From within the office, a low voice shouted, Come.
The Death Eater opened the door and stood on the threshold. I have suspicious passengers, sir.
Send them in, Markin. Markin stepped into the office marginally, allowing Hermione and Severus to enter.
A middle-aged man sat behind a small desk, shuffling papers and peering through his half-moon reading glasses. He had captains rank emblazoned on the cuffs of his well-pressed black uniform and a single medal bar attached to his left breast. The nametag on the right breast read Rampton. The man glanced up at the two Impures invading his office and directed a mild look at his underling. That will be all, Markin. Return to your post.
Markin snapped a salute. Yes, sir. He turned on his heel and marched out of the office, and Hermione thought she saw Rampton roll his eyes.
Identification cards, please. Rampton held out his hand over his desk, and Hermione fished hers out of her pocket. Severus, however, remained perfectly still. The captain gazed evenly at Severus, the mild look gone and replaced with a commanding, intimidating look. Intimidating for anyone other than Severus Snape. Your identification card, mister, before I have to take it from you.
Hermione realized she had greatly underestimated her Potions professor since the day they met as he moved his arm with blurring speed. In a whirl of robes, Severus whipped out his wand and pointed it between the eyes of the unsuspecting Captain Rampton, whose hand had barely twitched towards his own wand.
Severus voice was low and frozen. You will never get your hands on my identity. Imperio.
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Authors Notes:
1. Thank you to all my amazing reviewers and readers! As per my last authors notes, I will now explain Severus new name of Asmund Slope. Two people guessed Slope correctly. Both Larilee and sophierom guessed that Slope was the character of Obadiah Slope from Anthony Trollopes Barchester Towers. Alan Rickman played Slope in the BBC adaptation. As for Asmund, JuneW had a few good guesses. I wasnt kidding when I said it was obscure. Asmund is the father of Grettir Asmundarson in the Grettisaga, an Old Norse saga, circa 1300. Grettir is a man who is not really bad, but who becomes an outlaw and essentially a monster through a lifetime of bad choices and a vile temper. Sound like anyone?
2. While I have ridden the Tube, I have never been on the Northern Line. I apologize for any and all mistakes regarding the setting of Euston and High Barnet stations, but I could only find limited pictures.
3. Shakespeare fans: for those of you who love Cymbeline, dont take offense. My Shakespeare uni class, including the professor, unanimously agreed that Shakespeare must have written it the morning before opening night after drinking himself into a stupor. I chose Antony and Cleopatra as the brilliant play because too many people hate Hamlet because theyve been forced to read it. That, and Antony and Cleopatra rocks. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll.
4. Senescere--Latin verb to age.