Turncoats And Cold Fire

Knockturn alley was far from quiet. People bustled about, shooting wary glances at other people. Warlocks and young punks who’d spelled their hair electric green or other such raunchy colors stood on corners, passing beer around and smoking black-gillyweed cigarettes. The few wizards and witches who did not often visit the "Underground of the Underground" steered clear of them, unaware that the most dangerous people here were the ones who did not look dangerous.

Severus felt eyes crawling on him, checking him out, wondering how much of a threat he was. He scowled at them. Frankly, right now he wasn’t much of a threat—at least not as much of one as he’d been in his Death Eater days. He was tired; this had been a very long day, and yet he was still running around. He’d ridden his broom all the way from Hogwarts to London, and frankly he was rather sore from it. It put him in a sourer mood than he already was.

But he had to get on with things—mainly contacting all his old network of information-hawkers. Perhaps they’d have a clue as to where he could contact other "turncoats" and bring them over to Dumbledore’s side.

Madam Zelna’s shop was down the street a ways, tucked in between two large old brick buildings. He wove his way around people towards it, his black eyes flicking about, taking everything in. He saw no one he knew, thankfully; most likely the student’s parents weren’t even in London yet. Most of them, if they arrived early to pick their children up from Platform 9 ¾, arrived the morning of the last day of school, which was a few days away.

A magical chime sounded as he pushed open the oaken door. Madam Zelna’s shop hadn’t changed at all in the past decade or so—but then, very few of the shops on Knockturn alley did; those that did usually had indiscreet owners or other things that drew the Ministry down upon them like hounds chasing a fox.

Her shop was not cluttered, but it held a lot of things. She was one of the many owners of odds-n-end shops, and everything from an assortment of used voodoo dolls (rather morbid, Severus thought) to flowers that put the one who smelled them into a coma-like sleep were carefully priced and arranged on the sturdy wooden shelves. Unlike the other shops, though, she had a small café and balcony in the back that actually served some pretty good food (and some rather…suspicious…food for certain kinds of customers). That was the source of her information, people ate, and as part of the payment, they gossiped—and may whatever God they believed in save them if they lied to Madam Zelna. She was an expert on curses, jinxes, and hexes. She knew more of them than many a Death Eater. And some of those used Voodoo dolls in her shop had originated at her hands—she was fond of learning new and foreign magics.

"Severus Snape—how good to see you," a soft soprano voice said from behind the cashier’s counter.

His lip curled in a half sneer, half smile. "Good? I’d think you’d know better than to use such an improbable lie on me."

Madam Zelna came into view. She was a small woman, strangely sweet-looking in a place of hard-eyed warlocks and jaded witches. She had straight blond hair, bangs, and pale blue eyes; really, she looked like many downtrodden and abused women did, except she had a powerful icy glare instead of the hopeless look of the oppressed. "I always try to boost my customer’s egos," she said. "What brings you here after so long, anyway?" She tilted her head up to look at him.

"What usually brings me here," he said cryptically.

"You’ll have to pay."

"I can pay."

"You’re good at that," she said smiling. "Dark and dreary asshole that he is, Severus Snape would never cheat someone of their money." Her eyes twinkled at him, knowing he wouldn’t deny her accusation; he’d called himself that once, long, long ago, and it was certainly still true now. "Would you like some tea?" she gestured towards the back café.

It amused him that she said it as if he wouldn’t have to pay for it. Always the businesswoman. He accepted, knowing a cup of tea—even if not a gift—would chase some of the tiredness away.

"So," she said, leading him deeper into the store, "what do you want to know?"

"Have any other old ‘friends’ been around?" He asked as they entered the back café room and he selected a table to sit at. No one else was there, currently—that was good. He made sure his back was to a wall and all window and doors were within his sight. No use to get offed by some jumpy hit-wizard at this early stage.

Madam Zelna busied herself with getting a pot of tea made. She also added some scones to a plate. He rolled his eyes to himself. Obviously she knew he was not here to buy anything today—yet, at least—so she was trying to get him to eat and drink as much as she could, to make some sort of profit from him.

"A few ‘friends’ have been ‘round," she said. Then she shot him a look. "You know I won’t say who." Then she smiled. "Your turn."

Severus scowled. "That’s about as useful as telling me that you’ve seen five people enter Gringotts today," he snapped.

"What if I told you two were men, one a woman, and two children?"

He snarled.

She grinned. "Just yanking your chain." She strolled over to his table and set out the tea and the scones. "One was an old ‘friend’ of yours. Had a kid with him—scrawny little thing. A bratty child, I’d say, even if I’m not a mother. Just the way he looked around, with big greedy eyes." She paused. "Looked like the father and little brother of another young hellion who likes to poke around my shop."

Severus poured himself a cup of tea, stirred some sugar and cream into it, and took a sip. "Buying or asking?"

"Both. Now, I want something from you."

Severus casually picked up a scone, buttered it, and took a bite. He watched her as he chewed. She stared back. "Look for an increase in people buying anti-evil charms."

She wrinkled her nose. "What kind of info is that?" Then she stopped, and glared.

He chuckled at her, a rather nasty little laugh.

"Right. Anti-evil charms." Then her eyes widened as she seemed to put two and two together. "Oh shit."

"No, really?" He washed down his scone with a gulp of tea.

Madam Zelna’s fingers, which had been playing with her saucer, turned white as she gripped it. "He’s back?" she hissed.

"Any other visitors?" Severus asked, ignoring her question.

She looked peeved that he didn’t answer her, then reflected back. "A rather large man who seemed a bit slow entered with the man with the child."

Hmmm…Lucius Malfoy and his younger son had to be the first ones she mentioned, especially if she considers him to be a "friend" of mine. He wondered who the large man was, though—then it hit him. Grant Goyle, or Charles Crabbe. Actually, it probably was Charles Crabbe—Goyle wasn’t as stupid as he pretended to be, even if he was only a glaze in the Death Eater hierarchy.

"And you," she added. She glanced towards the door. "Somehow, I wouldn’t be surprised if some more ‘old friends’ come visit me tonight."

"Are there any old friends with whom you’ve kept in contact with?" he asked. Zelna was not the only person he had to alert today; the problem was that he didn’t know where most of the other turncoats lived—and another problem was that if he was supposed to spy he couldn’t readily reveal he was a turncoat himself. Ah, the "challenge". Not.

"Sev-er-al…" she drawled out, looking at him suspiciously. "Some still come around for tea and scones."

Fiddling with his teacup in a moment of thought, then taking a sip, Severus wondered if he should just pass the information on through her—but then he wouldn’t be able to talk to them face to face. Which he was sure he needed to do. Yet she would not be willing to tell him where they lived. During the last war with the Dark Lord she’d prided herself on being neutral—even though many had threatened her (and even vandalized her store upon occasion) because of it. He was sure she would take the same stance this time. He didn’t blame her. Dumbledore probably wouldn’t blame her since she wasn’t really on Voldemort’s side and Voldemort might—well, not likely but maybe more than to those firmly on Dumbledore’s side—be merciful to her if he won. Survival of the self first, damn all the others. He understood her views. Indeed, if he didn’t owe so many debts he’d take the same stance.

"It’s not very busy here right now," he said suddenly. "When does it get busy here? Perhaps I could come back and…chat…when it gets busy."

She understood him. "Try tomorrow. It fills up about noon. You’ll probably run into some old friends then."

Tipping his head back Severus finished off his tea, licked a stray crumb from his lips, and set the cup down with a little clink. "Until tomorrow then," he said, and slipped her a Galleon. Strictly, he didn’t have to give her that much, but he decided that the change would probably pay for tomorrow—he half knew he’d probably have to scoot out of her place quickly if the wrong person came around. Like Lucius Malfoy. Especially if he brought his brat Draco with him. He rose, a graceful gesture considering he ached from the long broom ride, and nodded to her. "Good day."

Madam Zelna picked up the Galleon and blinked at it. "Wait…change…"

He ignored her, like he’d done many times this day, and left.

Fin Chapter Two