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Interviews by testingt [Reviews - 3]

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Not my characters or universe--I'm just having fun



There was no need to feel nervous. His credentials were really quite good; impressive, in fact, compared to those of two of his own teachers. His only drawbacks were his extreme youth and some of his past … associations. But he hadn’t socialized with those people in several years; surely someone famous for offering second chances wouldn’t hold mistaken youthful friendships against him? He’d been told that at least one twenty-year-old had been hired before: that’s why they were putting him forward now. It was highly unusual, but not unprecedented. And he was good at seeming older than his years. Among his other skills.

He had had intensive secret coaching: from Lucius, in manners; from another, in lying to a Legilimens.

There was no need to feel so nervous.

“But,” Lucius had told him, “if you’re nervous, just remember: diffidence can be becoming in such a young man. Use it.”

This was an odd place for a job interview. At least it allowed him the option of a drink, since he was half an hour early. Assuming… did he trust the beverages here, and did he want to interview with alcohol on his breath? He could order butterbeer, which would emphasize his youth. No. Ale should be moderately innocuous.

He ordered from the decrepit barman and sat at a table, facing the main door but with his back carefully to the entrance to the inner room. His back crawled, but he trusted it would make a good impression when Dumbledore entered. It would be natural to watch for Dumbledore’s approach, but leaving his back to another door should make him look like an unsuspicious fool. His sense of hearing was acute enough that he could hear anyone approaching. He’d never frequented this place as a student. He looked around with some interest; surely that would be natural.

What a dive. And few customers at this hour; that suited him. A woman who’d obviously been in the bar for some time now met his gaze; Snape frowned and looked down.

He looked up incredulously when she plopped herself down opposite him in a gust of alcohol-induced bonhomie. Sherry, he diagnosed by the smell. The poverty he diagnosed from the mismatched, shabby clothing; his lips tightened in disdain as memories swept him. She was some years older than he, by her appearance, though with barflies it was hard to tell.

Despite his unwelcoming frown, she spoke soulfully. “I sense, young man, that you too are a seeker after Wisdom.”

His incredulity deepened, joined by amusement. It might be fun to annihilate her. “You sense that, do you?”

“Oh, yes, I have the Eye to see that which is invisible to others.” She drew herself up. Her Eye was certainly visible enough, being magnified hugely by glasses. “I am a great-great-granddaughter of the great prophetess Cassandra Trelawney, and my own talents are such that I’m being offered a position at the greatest of schools of wizardry.” Her smile wavered between pride and fear.

This was his competition? His annoyance vanished in a mixture of interest and smugness. He’d get the position for sure.

“You’ve… applied for a position at Hogwarts?” he asked to make certain.

“Yes, Albus Dumbledore himself is deeply impressed by my abilities.” The bangles on her arm clashed as she raised her glass. She was wearing not one but three shawls; all engaged in sliding off her arms. This unfortunately showed a neckline which, in her case, would have been better to be higher. Her collarbones were singularly unworthy of being exposed.

“I’m sure your abilities are most impressive. As it happens, I too have applied for the position. What an interesting coincidence; perhaps he intends to interview us together.” He smirked at her over his ale.

Her glass sloshed as her hand dropped. The bangles clanked on her arms again. She stammered, “You? But you—you’re such a, an earthy young man! Intense, but… no receptivity to the, the emanations. He couldn’t possibly choose you over, over, the great-great-granddaughter …”

Her eyes were pleading for reassurance. The Sickle dropped. The barfly was advertising herself as a seeress and had applied in that capacity.

Snape decided to play her for a moment. “But I thought that you sensed that I too am a Seeker after wisdom? Surely the, ah, receptivity to emanations was what you sensed in me?”

She said a little shrilly, “But—ah—no, that you sought, but that you needed—guidance, a spiritual influence, to accomplish it. Most young men need a woman’s spiritual influence!”

Snape decided to end the game; she wasn’t worth it. “If your prophetic talent is so great, I wonder it didn’t tell you I’m applying for another position entirely. Or that “wisdom” is the last thing I’d seek! Well, after your company.”

She blinked at him, her face flushing as her magnified eyes filled with tears.

Snape continued with a sneer, “You a seer! I should as soon call you a beauty.” He observed her humiliated flush with satisfaction; saw how she hastily covered herself again with her shawls.

“Pushing yourself forward as a seer. Great-great-granddaughter of the great Cassandra! Least-least granddaughter, more like. You couldn’t predict sunrise with an almanac. You belong in a Muggle carnival, amusing the children. Assuming you can be amusing, which seems improbable.”

She blanched and flinched away uncertainly. By now the tears were streaming down her face.

“And thrusting your company on a younger man; did you really think your dubious charms could interest me more than your dubious claims? Possibly you thought I, like you, was drunk enough not to care?” His cold gaze raked her up and down, lingering maliciously on her gewgaw-covered bosom in a parody of ogling, and he let himself laugh uncontrollably.

He grinned at her back as she ran from the room. He saw that the barman had been watching the byplay; he raised an insolent eyebrow at the old man’s expression of disapproval. Well, that had been refreshing. He was much more relaxed now. Snape took a pull of his ale and sat back in satisfaction.



Snape waited to be invited to sit down. He straightened his dark green robes carefully as he did; he could do nothing to make himself look attractive, but he knew he was dressed with utmost propriety. Lucius’s wife had chosen the robes for him; the effect was sober, mature, but she assured him, not overstated. He tented his hands confidently and regarded the old man.

Black eyes met the blue ones squarely. “Headmaster. Thank you for consenting to consider my application.”

“I was, Severus, somewhat bemused to receive it. Teaching is a profession that calls for not just great knowledge, but great patience in imparting it. And most of its practitioners are motivated in large part by a strong desire to serve others. My recollections of you leave me in no doubts as to your abilities or knowledge—but my impression was that you were most concerned with serving yourself, and lacked both interest in and patience with others. So why would you wish to teach?”

A blunt opening and an easy one; Snape had practiced answering a hundred versions of this question.

“I admit, I do think most in terms of serving myself in this, sir. I cannot pretend to be motivated by philanthropy. Nor do I expect, to be frank, that I should choose teaching as a lifelong career. I think I can do the work competently; and the advantages to myself, of several years of experience here, would be many. First, my current position, though responsible for one of my youth, offers no real opportunity for advancement and no easy way to make connections to facilitate doing so. A position back at Hogwarts would leave me much better positioned for further advancement once I left. And I—made the wrong associations when I was here as a boy; I could do better now, and it would serve me to do so.

“Moreover, I think the experience could teach me much of value. You may recall, Headmaster, that my skills in, shall I say, group interactions, are somewhat limited. And learning how to communicate most effectively with members of other Houses should be of great use for me in my later life. I know I have the knowledge for the position, but I shall have to learn how best to impart it and learning that will serve me.

“Further, I confess that the schedule attracts me, sir. I understand that my responsibilities will leave me much less free time during term than my current Ministry position, but the prospect of uninterrupted time during breaks more than compensates; you understand that pursuing research interests often demands more than a few hours in the evening.

“Finally, I think I should enjoy—a newer and more difficult challenge.” At the top of his mind, where Dumbledore could easily read it if he chose, Snape also plastered a hope of proving his old detractors wrong. Lucius had coached him in that one: it would be natural to feel it, to hope to gloat, but suspect to admit it openly.

Dumbledore regarded him though the half-moon glasses. “Mmm. As I recall, Severus, in school you did show a certain aptitude for tutoring your fellows. But only the brighter ones; with those less intelligent than yourself, which alas is most of us, you tended to acerbity bordering on brutality. Ridicule or worse. Do you think your tolerance of those who are not your equals in intellect and power has improved with age?”

Snape chose his words carefully. His, ah, tutoring experience was unlikely to serve him here; he’d mostly taught hexes to his fellow Slytherins. Odd that Dumbledore pursued this issue at a tangent. “I was younger then, and certainly… less wise, Headmaster. I doubt I’d teach the same way now. Or quite the same subjects.”

He’d rehearsed that last with Lucius; he thought it sounded well. He met the blue eyes candidly. They looked back at him ironically. “What about your fellow teachers? Do you think you’ll find it easy to make allowances if one of your fellow teachers seems incompetent by your high standards?”

“I feel sure, sir, that you’d only hire those of the highest standards of competence.”

Now the blue eyes looked amused. “That was your opinion as a student?”

His seventh year. That DADA hack he had sent to St. Mungo’s in April. Snape flushed and spoke stiffly, “As I remarked a moment since, Headmaster, I was—less wise, several years ago.” Three, to be precise.

“So you can assure me you’d treat colleagues, or prospective colleagues, with propriety and consideration, even if you did not personally… respect… their competence?”

“I can assure you of that, sir.” Snape nodded decisively.

The old wizard’s head tilted and he met Snape’s eyes probingly. Snape held them, projecting quiet deference, confidence, and diffidence mixed with hope. Dumbledore mused, “You seem quite sincere. A good thing to know.”

He stood suddenly. “I don’t think I need take any more of your valuable time. Thank you for your interest, but I fear you do not meet our needs.”

Snape went cold. What could he possibly have said wrong, and in so little time? He stammered, “Is it my youth? Would it be worthwhile re-applying in a year or two?”

The voice was inflexibly courteous. “That would depend very much on how you mature. Thank you for your time. Now if you will excuse me, I have other business to which I must attend.”

The old man swept out in a swirl of plum-and-silver robes. The part of Snape’s mind that always noted useful effects to make his own marked the swirl. The rest was frozen in panic.

He had failed.

The Dark Lord had been grooming him for this, and he had failed. It was possible, given how he’d been kept out of the normal range of activities, that the Dark Lord only valued him for this role. In which case he might be dead within the hour. Or, depending on the Dark Lord’s degree of anger, he might punish Snape himself, or use him to test new potions or curses. The very best, the very lightest punishment he could expect would be to be given to new recruits as practice for their Cruciatus.

His punishment would not lighten for being delayed; he knew the Dark Lord would expect a quick report. But he was too shaken to Apparate safely. His own sweat chilled him; he sat shuddering in the chair.

Dumbledore had said he’d other business to attend to. Just to interview the barfly, or was there something shady going on? Picking this dive to conduct interviews surely suggested the latter. If he picked up information of interest, his punishment might be mitigated. Snape’s pallor eased and he managed, with difficulty, to stop his shaking. He focused and eased out of the room, casting an old Slytherin charm for deflecting attention.

Snape moved soundlessly down the hall, stooping at each keyhole to listen. At the third he heard a murmur; to his disappointment the voice was the barfly’s, sounding anxious and ingratiating. Snape slumped against the door in renewed despair.

Then a voice unlike anything he’d ever heard in his life, harsh and authoritative, came from the charlatan’s room. “The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…”

What the bloody hell? Was the barfly capable of authentic prophecy? Vanquish the Dark Lord? If he captured a true prediction about the Dark Lord, he’d be rewarded beyond his dreams! He pressed himself to the keyhole, straining to be sure of each word. The slightest turn of phrase could be critical. “Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…”

A hard hand caught him and slammed him against the opposite wall. The old barman was less decrepit than he looked. “What the hell are you doing, boy, listening at keyholes?”

Snape shook in a crazy mixture of elation, triumph, and terror. Even interrupted, what he’d heard was well worth the Dark Lord’s forgiveness. Now what would the old goat lover do to him? Not kill him, not Cruciate him, he was sure.

Shake him by the collar like a dog.

Snape struggled ineffectively against the wiry arms. When the old man slammed him back against the wall and raised his wand, however, Snape was more prepared.

“Obliviate!”

Snape blocked the spell with ease and laughed in the old man’s face.

The barman slammed open the door and grabbed him by the collar again, throwing him into the room. “Dumbledore!” he roared. “This, this piece of trash was listening in!”

Snape pushed himself off the floor, still laughing. He plastered one thought firmly across the whole top of his consciousness: He can recover Obliviated memories.

Aloud, he whispered, “Are you going to kill me, old man?”

Know your enemies’ weaknesses. He’d been coached about this one.

The blue eyes pierced him; Snape staggered at the force of the mind against his. His thoughts scattered as if in a hurricane. Wandless and nonverbal—no wonder the Dark Lord fears him! That thought coalesced with difficulty in the storm of images and emotions. One image wavered under the weight of Snape’s fear: a wizard whose thoughts had been forcibly taken. Mindless and broken. Snape’s fate, to be cracked like a nut, if the old man Obliviated him. And to no point at all, except to see Snape punished; the prophecy would be extracted like a nutmeat. The only way to keep it secret was to kill him.

When Snape could see again, the Headmaster stood arrested, looking suddenly much older. Where another man might have slumped, he straightened in defeat. He said nothing, but shook his head repressively when the barman raised his wand.

Snape made a show of straightening his clothing. He didn’t look at the barman, whose heavy grip hovered near Snape’s wand hand. His own hands were still shaking, but his voice came smoothly. “I merely… came the wrong way. I was looking for the facilities on my way out. I assure you I had no wish to intrude on any private conversation.”

The barfly looked a bit dazed. She cocked up her nose and sniffed, “Listening at the keyhole? How ill-bred! No doubt, sir, you were hoping for tips for your own interview. I doubt such a pushing young man would seem attractive to the Headmaster. Quiet competence and unassuming manners make a much better impression, you know.”

Her hauteur was slightly spoiled by her tipsy stagger.

Snape’s eyes widened and he suppressed his laugh with difficulty. She hadn’t a clue. She didn’t know what she’d said, or even that she’d said it. She didn’t know she wasn’t a complete charlatan. Oh, this was rich.

Snape smiled at her tenderly; she had just saved his life. He looked past her to Dumbledore and his smile broadened in triumph. He’d known the old man couldn’t do it.

The blue eyes were diamond-hard. The black ones danced with mirth as Snape realized he’d won. Won everything. His position with the Dark Lord, previously—shaky— would be unassailable now. And Dumbledore—hampered as he was by morals and laws—couldn’t even openly denounce Snape as a Death Eater. He’d learned it by illegal Legilimency—inadmissible in any official testimony.

Snape issued his final dare to the Headmaster, grinning openly.

“I’m just leaving now.”


Interviews by testingt [Reviews - 3]

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