Unhappy Daggers

Chapter 1: Interview With A (Former) Death Eater

An elderly Snape eyed the nervous sort of young man seated opposite him. The man had introduced himself as Martin Andersen of the Daily Prophet, but Snape wasn't at all sure he'd caught this "Martin" person's name correctly. These young whippersnappers sometimes, the old man thought in disgust. The shaky man seemed so nervous his words were difficult to interpret.

Snape cleared his throat. It was a gesture meant to sound impatient and menacing, but it came out as a sort of croak.

That Martin fellow looks as though he’s about to be castrated, Snape thought proudly. He didn't like people coming into his house without invitation. Suddenly, his gloating thoughts were interrupted by a shaky squeak from the pale man.

"I'm from the Prophet," ‘Martin’ was explaining.

"You already said that," Snape replied, wheezing. He was beginning to suspect that the foolish sort of man in his kitchen was just going to faint onto his table and muss his flower arrangement. Snape, even the eighty-year-old Snape seated there, always seemed to have that affect on the nervous and the foolish. Not to mention the students. "So, you're here to interview me, if I am not mistaken." Snape gave a look that said quite clearly that he was never mistaken, and if you told him he was he'd tear your spinal cord out through your nose and use it to suspend you from a tree as a piñata. Even if he happened to be a "harmless old man," he looked like he'd do it. The man, now greenish at the prospect of interrogating Snape, reluctantly started the interview.

"So, erm, uh, where were you born?"

"Devon."

"Did you, um, grow up there?"

"No, my family moved to Saffordshire when I was eight. Now get on with this inquisition and skip the formalities before I bodily throw you out of my house." Snape was coming to the ultimate conclusion: this was a ridiculous practical joke, and some WWN crew would pop out of nowhere and proclaim "Gotcha!" Then they’d leave and he’d be back to cooking his early supper.

"Okay, er, um, ah," Martin stuttered, shuffling his notes. "What made you decide to become a teacher?"

"When I realized how fun it is to bring potions into the lives of the young."

"Really?"

"No."

"Ah, um, then why?"

"Because that's what I liked to do."

"Okay..."

"Any more meaningless titter before I have you leave?"

"Yes, I've one more question...are you dating anyone?"

Suddenly Snape went into menacing quiet mode. The squeamish reporter seemed to take the opening as a sign that Snape wished for him to continue.

"Our readers love, er, a good sort of romance. Do you have an, um, wife, girlfriend? Whoops," the man hastily corrected, misinterpreting the sort of scowl Snape was displaying on his rather wrinkled face. "A husband or boyfriend, perhaps?" the frightened man said apologetically.

Snape proceeded to walk around the table before bellowing at the reporter, who now looked close to tears, to get the hell out of his house and never come back unless he wished to be greeted by twenty armed security elves.

The reporter, taking the hint, left hurriedly, forgetting his hat and leaving Snape standing alone in a now very empty home.

Snape just stood there for a moment, unable to think about the fact that he had a turkey still in his oven, probably now burning into a tender crisp. He couldn't think about whether he'd left anything out on his kitchen counter after he'd come back from the wizard grocer. He couldn't possibly attain the concentration to decide whether to ask that foolish young man he'd just thrown out of his house if he'd like to come back for a cup of tea and if they should reschedule the interview and trick him into drinking some poison. All he could think was one word, one word that told him a story: Rosemary. (A/N: Cheesy, I know. Please don’t remind me.)

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One early morning, rather long ago, Snape had heard a knock on his door. He rolled out of bed and sleepily pulled on a dressing robe, opened his door, and found a rather exasperated looking Professor McGonagall.

"Minerva," Snape said, yawning, not betraying his shock at seeing her there. "What brings you here at this hour?" He asked, although he thought he had a pretty good idea.

Oh yeah, he thought proudly, no woman can resist my snaky charm.

"Don't you remember, Severus?" came her sleepy, yet terse, reply. "Staff meeting. You are twenty minutes late."

Snape gaped. He was never late. And, of course, McGonagall's answer was nothing like what he thought it would be.

Excusing himself, and not too politely, from his fellow professor, he dressed hurriedly and rushed to the staff room.

Four hours later, Snape emerged from the staff room and went to breakfast with the other teachers. He was tired, and just wanted to crawl back into bed. But he had to teach, and he had the second year Ravenclaws. He brightened at the prospect of finding some wonderful excuse to deduct at least one hundred points from that house before lunch.

By the time his first class was finished, he was asleep on his feet and felt like skipping lunch, but as he reached the door, it was flung open and a tall, elegant woman stepped in.

She was lean and dark, with her long coal-black hair pinned luxuriously to the back of her head. She wore a navy blue sheath dress, a waist length black dress coat and very dangerous looking shoes. Upon entering, she glanced around the room and her hazel eyes fell on Snape, who was standing less than three feet from her.

"Sevvie!" the woman breathed. Snape just stared blankly at her for a moment and then whispered incredulously one word:

"Rosemary?"

Rosemary’s large, shining eyes welled up with tears of disappointment. She was like that, sometimes sulky and prone to violent mood changes, although Snape had always suspected that she had joined Voldemort because she was such a good actress. And, of course, because she held such petty grudges against most people she’d met.

"What?" Snape asked incredulously. He quickly recovered, however, enough to retain his rage at her unexpected arrival. "You thought I’d just forgive you and leap into your welcoming arms-- so that you could knife me like you meant to when we broke up? Then… oh, then you could crawl back to your Voldie with my head on a platter for a biscuit and a pat on the head?"

Snape would not stand for this treatment. He should slap her with a dueling glove. "No way," Snape asserted, "are you staying with me, you back-sliding, double crossing slut!"

Snape thought that Rosemary had had enough and would proceed to take her leave. But she instead started on in a threatening manner. "That’s it, you jerk!" she shouted, "I run away, leaving my family and all my friends, and I go to the one person I can think of to help me, and you slam the door in my face! I’ll be leaving now, and if Voldemort finds me, I don’t suppose you’ll care!"

She turned to go in a huff, leaving Snape in the dungeon alone with an idea. "Wait!" he said suddenly rushing out after her. "Rosemary!" He exited the room and nearly ran headlong into Rosemary, who seemed to have been waiting for him to rush after her. "If you’re so sincere, let Dumbledore give you a truth serum."

Dumbledore was sitting in his office when the door opened and in stalked Snape, closely followed by Rosemary. "Headmaster," Snape said importantly, "I’ve got someone who wishes to tell you something."

An hour later, Snape came back to the door of Dumbledore’s office with a vial of Veritaserum. He wanted to see if Rosemary could tell the truth at all. If she wasn’t lying, she could prove to be a useful spy, provided no one knew that she had turned. If she were lying, Dumbledore would turn her over to the Ministry, and either way she wouldn’t have to sleep on Snape’s couch for an indefinite period of time.

As he entered the room, he saw Dumbledore and Rosemary loitering silently by the large birdstand on which the Headmaster’s pet phoenix, Fawkes, was perched. Dumbledore didn’t seem to completely believe Rosemary’s story, but Snape felt even less sure. He wanted to believe her, he’d loved her, but last time he did, he’d almost gotten himself killed. He didn’t want to go through that again, so he asked Dumbledore for a more definite test. This need for certainty was the only reason for Snape to carefully step over the threshold of Dumbledore’s office and gingerly transfer the clear vial from his own to the Headmaster’s.

"Well, I do not believe there is any need for ceremony." The old professor spoke steadily for one of such great age.

"Another month," came Snape’s slow reply. "Headmaster, what are we going to do with her for a month while we don’t know whether she’s dangerous or not?"

"Well, Severus, she should stay with you." Dumbledore continued, ignoring Snape’s hushed objections, "I think it best, Severus. She could be killed if we let her leave, or she could get into trouble. You do have a couch, Severus?" asked Dumbledore, correctly guessing Snape’s next tact. It looked to Snape as though Dumbledore wouldn’t relent in his side of the argument, and it wasn’t wise to quarrel with your employer, anyway. At least this would be an opportunity to look after Rosemary and see what she was up to.

So, as a very defeated Snape led very tired Rosemary back to his rooms, he tried, against his nature, to be optimistic. As it didn’t work so well, Severus Snape spent a lost afternoon scowling as he stalked the corridors by the entrance hall, hoping to cheer himself up by catching possible rule breakers.

At four o’clock, Snape returned to his chambers to find Rosemary gone. He left the dungeons to find her out side the great hall, talking to his very least favorite student, Harry Potter.

As he approached them, he heard her say, "Ah, you must be a bellhop. Be a dear and fetch me a vodka and tonic; no ice, and don’t forget the swizzle stick. Or a cosmopolitan might be nice. Hell, just bring me all the drinks the bartender knows and I’ll choose the one I like. And while you’re at it, get me some nice little crackers, or some candy. Yes, I need some chocolate, I haven’t eaten in hours!"

To Snape’s great delight, he saw Potter look very confused as he rushed away, hastily explaining that it was time for supper. Snape was starting to remember why he loved this woman.

As Snape led Rosemary into the Great Hall, the room went silent. Snape looked around, and noticed that the house tables were gone and had been replaced by smaller, rounder tables. Various students, all of whom wore dress robes of different colors, surrounded all of these minute tables, and all of their eyes were on him. The Yule Ball! How could he have forgotten? They'd just had that damn early morning staff meeting about it. Rosemary, meanwhile, having glanced around, prodded Snape in the naval with her elbow.

"How come you didn't tell me that this was a formal dinner?" she hissed, clearly embarrassed.

"I'd overlooked that small fact when I came in!" he hissed in reply, pulling her back through the door.

"Here," she said, reaching for her wand.

Snape flinched, remembering that the last time he'd seen her do that he'd woken up in a hospital three months later, lucky to be alive. It would have been front-page news if baby Harry Potter hadn't brought down the Dark Lord just a few hours after the attack on Snape.

Coming back to the present, Snape saw that Rosemary had performed some sort of robe-charm, and was now wearing a set of form fitting, sea-foam green dress robes.

"And now," she said, "You'll be needing something, too." She muttered something and Snape found himself standing there in comfortable but, to his horror, very magenta, robes. "Sorry," Rosemary was apologizing, "that's the only color I can manage in men's clothes." She paused, looking him over slowly. "But you do look very dashing." She sauntered off towards the Great Hall, leaving Snape scowling as he dashed to catch up with her.

Snape pulled out a chair for Rosemary and sat down next to her, noticing that everyone was staring at them. Even though he knew he couldn't trust her, he wanted to keep an eye on her in case she tried anything.

Or decided to take off her shirt, came a whispering from a rather disagreeable portion of his brain. Dumbledore had seemed to think that if she tried anything, it would be against Potter... Dammit! He had told her who Potter was, pointed him out, and if she wanted to try anything against him, now she knew where to look. Not that he thought Potter special, but that was what Voldemort always wanted- a very dead, speccy Potter. Dammit!

Trying to console himself, he glanced at Rosemary out of the corner of his eye. She was looking at him, but when he turned his face towards her, she grinned and turned away.

Bitch, he thought, although he also couldn't help noticing the way her smile looked in the candlelight. Quickly brushing the thought aside, he recalled the last time he had seen that smile, paired with the malice in her eyes as he had collapsed from the poison in his drink. He assumed that she had, all those years ago, dumped his assumedly lifeless body in a Muggle landfill, where he had awoken.

He concentrated on his plate, hoping to avoid an unpleasant and rather hindering fit. He sat in silence while the food came, listening to Rosemary's voice as she struck up a conversation with a nearby ghost. Soon the dancing would begin, Snape knew, and soon all the annoying students would file onto the floor, giggling, and awkwardly find dance partners to cling to as they revolved around each other like miniature solar systems.

How disgustingly cute, Snape thought. Sure enough, at that moment over three-fourths of the people in the hall wandered onto the dance floor as the first song began. Snape occupied himself in picking out couples and betting himself whom would be making googley eyes at each other by Monday, which offered perfect excuses to deduct points from any house other than Slytherin.

He saw Ron Weasley dancing very closely to Hermione Granger, but he had already been taxing their house for weeks because of the way they acted together. Normally, Snape found this sort of behavior disgusting, but with Rosemary sitting right by him, he both wanted to jinx them and applaud them.

Turning his eyes away from that pair, his eyes caught a hint of silver: Draco Malfoy was dancing with some redheaded girl he didn't recognize, and seemed very pleased. Hmmm, thought Snape, I don't suppose she's from our school. Only when she turned around as the song ended did he see that it was the Weasley girl, what's-her-name, the quiet one. Wow, people will speculate on this for the next year, Snape thought in a bored mental voice.

Just then, Rosemary tapped his arm. "I don't suppose you'll dance?" she asked, her large wheat colored eyes turned inquiring by the dim lights reflecting off her plate. Snape chose to ignore the hard note in her voice.

"Um," he replied smoothly, not realizing what he was saying. She's probably got a knife! a voice inside him was forcibly protesting. She'll try to kill you again!

But, just at that moment, Professor Flitwick came to discuss end of year exams and Remus Lupin, who was back by popular demand as DADA teacher, swept Rosemary onto the dance floor.

Stupid bastard always had a thing for my Rosemary, thought Snape bitterly, only to awaken from fifth year and realize that she was no longer his. In all the tortuous hours spent agonizing in a clash of hatred and love, he’d never thought of it like that. A wash of pain overcame him as he watched Rosemary Thiamin (his true love no matter how many times she tried to kill him) dance the evening away with that uppity werewolf. The only good part of that dinner from that point on, in Snape’s opinion, was twenty minutes later when Harry Potter came by the table, looking for "a tall, bossy woman in a dark blue dress." Snape was exceedingly pleased to note that he was carrying a tray with about fifteen drinks, oyster crackers and a large bar of chocolate.

Hours later, Snape was nodding off in his chambers. The set of rooms were really more like a flat than teacher’s rooms. Snape had a kitchen, a separate bedroom and a full bathroom. None of that mattered to him just then. Rosemary had left the dance floor with Lupin, and after the ball was over Snape couldn’t find either of them. Maybe it was the candlelight maybe the heavy liquor or maybe Snape was just confused. Maybe she had slipped a love potion in his drink. But he missed her.

Just when Snape was about to give up and trundle to his bed, the door opened and a tired looking Rosemary came in.

"I’m sorry I took so long, Severus," she said coolly. "Remus asked me to eat at his table and tell the other faculty members about my world-famous pecan pie recipe-"

"Erm… what, this? It’s salad dressing!" She said, offended by Snape’s dirty mind. "I had a salad!"

"Okay, then what took you so long?"

"None of your damn business!" Rosemary was now shouting, which was not a good sign. "Will you help me unpack tomorrow? Or are you too sickened by my vegetarianism?"

"No, I’ll help you unpack."

That night, Snape slept fitfully. He was dreaming of Rosemary, and his mind unwillingly formulated several unappetizing theories closely related to his suspicions about the origin of that "ranch dressing" before he woke up to prepare for class.

When Snape arrived at his chambers to prepare for the double block of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students that awaited him after lunch, he noticed that Rosemary was there, sitting on his couch with a book entitled "Evil Temptress: How To Be One In Twelve Easy Steps." Upon seeing him, Rosemary deftly slipped the thin volume under one of the lumpy sofa cushions and greeted him with a brisk "Aren’t you going to help me unpack? I’ve been waiting for ages…"

With a sigh that seemed to contain the words "sod off" hidden in it somewhere, Snape reluctantly began to sort through Rosemary’s numerous articles of luggage. The first thing he picked up happened to be a framed picture. "Rosemary, what do you want me to… hey, what the hell is this guy doing?" he finished demandingly, looking closer at the moving picture he was so reluctantly holding mere inches from his face. "And who on Earth is this?" He added as somewhat of an afterthought.

"Oh, that’s just a Muggle actor. And he’s being covered in chocolate and whipped cream, if you must know…"

"Does this mystery… "actor"… boy have a name?"

"Never you mind," Rosemary was dismissing the ideal of a name with a wave of her slender hand, clearly trying to make some sort of point.

Snape personally felt that it was unhealthy for anyone to own a picture involving such inappropriate use of food items, and voiced this opinion under his breath. "Well, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to look at it!" she fumed, snatching the photo out of his hand.