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The Man With the Missing Past by libertyelyot [Reviews - 4]

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A ferment of emotions churned behind Jemima’s studiedly calm façade, principally a strange dismay that he might finally be identified. With a spark of shock, she realised that she had been hoping he would remain anonymous, so that eventually she could claim him, as if he were an item of Lost Property discarded on a late night bus. Why would she want that? She dreaded the information this girl may be able to impart – information relating to wives, children, family, a life awaiting her enigma away from her. But ‘Professor’; that was quite impressive. A faint girly swoon at the thought of his academic seniority mixed in with the rest of the perceptual brew. She had to admit it. She had a crush.

“I’m sorry?” he said to the girl, leaning forward eagerly. “Do you know me?”

“It is you! It’s your voice! I wasn’t sure…what with the Muggle clothes. But…this is incredible; unbelievable. You’re dead!”

She jabbed at his chest, then leaned in even further to take a look at his neck.

“I beg to differ,” said Snape smoothly, swiping her away. “But…you seem to think you know me?”

“Of course I know you,” said the girl, confusion crossing her features. “I’m Pansy Parkinson. You taught me for seven years – you were Head of Slytherin – and the Headmaster too, before you…er…died.”

Head of Slithering? thought Jemima with bemusement. What the hell kind of school was this? And Professors for teachers – clearly it was better funded than the local Academies. A salacious flicker of ‘Call me into your office any time, Headmaster’ buzzed through her thoughts until she swatted it like an irritating fly.

“Do you have time for coffee, Miss Parkinson?” she suggested brightly, but with a steely element that put her words beyond the realm of suggestion and into compulsion.

“Yes, I think so,” said Pansy, and the threesome trooped back down to the Royal Mile, piling into the nearest coffee shop for detailed analysis of the situation.

“So,” opened Jemima, once caffeine had made a welcome appearance on the table. “The Professor here used to teach you. He’s a schoolteacher?”

“Why…don’t you know…?” Pansy suddenly slapped her forehead. “Of course. You gave all your memories to Harry Potter.”

“What? I did what?”

“When you died…you wanted him to have your memories…so he’d know whose side you were on and what he had to do. It came as a massive shock to us Slytherins, I have to say. We were sure you were with the Dark Lord. But…”

“Enough!” Snape held up a hand, wanting to snicker uncharitably at Jemima’s befuddled expression. “Let’s take this slowly, a step at a time, shall we?”

“Sorry, Sir. I’m just so excited!”

“Clearly. What is my full name?”

“Professor Snape. Oh, Severus. Severus Snape.”

Severus! Now that was an unusual name. Jemima had to say, she quite liked it. It beat Dave or Andy.

“Severus Snape,” he said ruminatively. “And I’m a Headmaster, you say?”

“Well, you were. For my last year at Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?”

“School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Ah, yes…that actually rings a bell of sorts. A castle?”

“Yes!” said Pansy eagerly, heedless of the froth moustache her cappuccino had painted on her upper lip. Jemima wondered for how much longer she could suspend her disbelief before the thread snapped. A school of witchcraft? On the other hand…given what she had seen…

“You were the Head of Slytherin before that. And the Potions Master.”

“What is Slytherin?”

“It’s one of the four Houses. You taught Potions, then Defence Against the Dark Arts for a year, then you were Headmaster after Dumbledore died. You killed him.”

“I…what? I’m a murderer?” Severus stared and the plastic stirrer snapped in his fingers.

“No, well, yes, but no. It was more like euthanasia. He asked you to do it.”

“I see,” said Snape, though he obviously didn’t. “If I’m a Potions specialist that explains my having a bezoar on my person. Why do you think I’m dead?”

“Harry Potter saw the Dark Lord make his snake attack you.”

Jemima sat up. It was a snake bite after all!

“He tore your throat. Potter watched you bleed to death. He thought. And before you lost consciousness, you gave him your memories. There was a war on, Professor, have you forgotten? And everybody thought you were on the Dark side…but they’ve had to eat their words now, because it turns out you weren’t.”

“So you’d say I’m quite an influential figure in the wizarding world then?” asks Snape, seemingly rather pleased with himself at the thought.

“Oh gods, yes,” gushed Pansy. “You’re quite celebrated at the moment. They want to build a monument to you. Everyone keeps hoping you’ll turn up at Hogwarts as a ghost…but I suppose you won’t now…obviously.” She trailed off, conscious of her former teacher’s intense gaze.

“Who is this Harry Potter? If he has my memories, I need to find him and get them back.”

Pansy faltered. “You might not want them,” she said under her breath.

“I might not want them?”

“Well, from what Potter has said, your life was pretty grim. There was a lot of…unhappiness. Perhaps you gave him your memories so you wouldn’t have to have them any more, seeing as you obviously managed to stop yourself dying. Perhaps you wanted this new life.”

Jemima held her breath. This was an interesting theory all right. Severus Snape had wanted people to think he was dead, so he could turn his back on his past in the most effective way possible, lacking even the memory of his own name.

Severus sat silently, thinking about this for a long time, sipping at his double espresso while obscure shadows played across his fathomless eyes.

“That’s entirely possible, Miss Parkinson,” he said at length. “I don’t want to be found. I want to forget. Shall we leave now?”

He led the group out of the coffee shop and into a deserted side street.

“So are you going to…” began Pansy, but before she could continue he had pushed her against a railing and had his wand at her temple.

“Obliviate,” he declaimed. She slumped to the floor.

“What now?” moaned Jemima, but he took her hand and pulled her swiftly away from the limp figure of the girl. “What have you done to her?”

“She won’t remember she’s seen me. I had to do it; she could not have kept it quiet. I need some time to think.”

“We should go back to the hospital.”

“No, Jemima. I’m not going back there. I’m discharging myself.”

*

“But…you…well…no…it’s….you can’t,” said Jemima, conscious of sounding like a babbling imbecile. “You’ve nowhere to go,” she pointed out.

“I’ll manage.” He ran a finger along the slim black length of his wand. “I have all I need.”

“You…but…Severus.” The sound of his name on her tongue pleased her; it felt so intimate. “What will you do?”

“Find my memories,” he said. “Speak to Harry Potter and determine whether or not I really want them back.”

“Once you’ve shown your face they’ll know you’re alive,” pointed out Jemima. “And then any hope you had of quiet retirement from that existence will be gone.”

“I appreciate that, Jemima,” said Snape irascibly. “I don’t intend to tackle Potter in broad daylight in a public place. And of course I will assume some form of disguise.”

“Disguise?”

“Miss Parkinson inferred I was a spy. Presumably I have a talent for this kind of thing.”

Jemima smiled despite herself, a picture of Snape decked out like Groucho Marx floating unbidden into her mind.

“Listen, Severus,” she said earnestly, placing a hand on his forearm. “You don’t have to do this on your own. Come back to the hospital and…”

“I will not come back to the hospital,” he insisted forcefully. “I know why I have no memories. I don’t need your help any more. I don’t need to take up your time and public money.”

“But I want to help you.” ‘Please don’t leave me’ screamed through her head. “I can’t just abandon you.”

“I rather think it’s the other way round, Jemima.” Severus’ voice softened as he looked into the beseeching blue eyes of the woman he was starting to think of as a friend. “I’m sorry. I can’t carry passengers.”

“At least let me provide you with a place to stay,” she offered, trying to keep desperation out of her tone and persuasion in. “I don’t want to think of you sleeping on the streets. And every spare bed in Edinburgh will be taken with the festival on. Except mine. Stay at mine tonight. Just for tonight. Please. While you’re making your plans.”

“You did say spare bed, didn’t you, Jemima? Just to clarify.”

Jemima stopped breathing momentarily, trapped in the implication of his words like a fly in a web.

“Of course,” she said, swallowing.

“All right then,” he said at length. “A little time and space to think might be in order.”

Jemima’s breath returned. She fished around in her handbag. “Here’s the key,” she said, handing it over, thinking all the time ‘You’ve really lost it now, Pepperdine. Giving your house keys to a near-total stranger about whom you know only weird and unbelievable things’. “I have to go back to the hospital now. My shift finishes at six. So I’ll see you…around seven?”

He inclined his head. “I’ll see to dinner,” he suggested.

Her heart skipped a beat. “Lovely. See you later.” With reluctance, she walked on down the alleyway, past Pansy, who was starting to come around, blinking and rubbing her head. When she turned to look back at Severus, he was no longer there.


The Man With the Missing Past by libertyelyot [Reviews - 4]

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