Villain of the Piece
Part 2 Youthful Indiscretions
- Chapter 22 -
Chapter 22: Stage
Shows 7th to By the time that the Diagon Alley shops were putting up
their Christmas decorations Severus was already starting to feel bored with his
new job. And one year on from then – when Christmas was approaching
yet again – he was wondering how he was going to last a lifetime as a cosmetic
mediwizard. Cosmetic mediwizardry was
dull. There were too many nose, teeth,
and hair jobs, and not enough of the more interesting and challenging
areas. Yet he had little choice but to stick
it out, and the money that he made from brewing potions in the evenings was quite
good. His mother had been furious at the
loss of the St Mungo’s job so he could hardly walk away from this unless he had
something much better to turn to. He had
never told her what he was doing; she only knew he had a steady source of
income. Severus had also grown weary of the sight of the human form
in all its intimate detail. During that
first interminable year, whenever he didn’t have his own case work, he had sat
in with more senior staff, watching and assisting with their operations. As a consequence he had seen so many beer
bellies, obese buttocks, and stretch marks, that the human body – even the
female human body – held far less appeal for him than it would do to the
average twenty year old wizard. Few young
and beautiful witches patronised Nobody’s Perfect, or if they did they only
wanted their teeth straightened or their hair made permanently blonde. The most memorable event of the year was
nothing to do with work; it was that his mother had split up with her Fortunately for Severus working life at Nobody’s Perfect
was not all bad. Many of the staff were
friendly; there wasn’t the air of ruthless competition that he had feared. There were only two people he particularly
disliked, smug Corinne Butler, and supercilious Bertrand Rackharrow. And, as with Corinne Butler, had formed the
distinct impression that he knew Rackharrow from somewhere. Before collecting his case details for the day, Severus deposited
a box of Skele-Grow on Doreen’s desk and handed her an invoice, letting his
mind wander back months to when he had first met the illusive Rackharrow. It was at this very desk, he mused, on a
morning when Doreen was late and Rackharrow was sorting out his post… “Good morning. I’m Severus Snape” he had said politely. “Would you be Mr Rackharrow?” “I have that honour”
the wizard murmured. He had short, curly,
greying hair, and spectacles with dark red frames. He looked more like a magazine editor than a
mediwizard. “I hope you’re liking it
here, Snape” he added in a bored-sounding voice. “How are you getting on?” “I’m liking it very
much” Severus replied smoothly.
“Everyone is most kind. Erm …
sorry, but I know your face from … somewhere–” Rackharrow eyed him
sharply. “Lucius’s wedding, probably” he
said shortly. “Three years ago.” “Ah, yes! You and Lucius are…?” “Cousins. In a very distant sense.” Severus couldn’t help
it; his eyes flicked around the shabby premises of Nobody’s Perfect, noting a
contrast with Lucius’s habitual surroundings.
Rackharrow read his glance; his dark blue eyes were very sharp. “We don’t all live in
country mansions” he observed acidly.
“Well, not yet.” And with that, Rackharrow had gathered up his post and
headed for his office. And he had hardly
ever spoken to Severus again. The day was another tedious one, but by lunchtime Severus had
completed three noses and an eye colour, and Roydon Macnair, a mediwizard with
whom he got on quite well, suggested they pop out to the Cauldron for some
lunch. As they walked across the road,
two ginger-headed witches passed them, their arms full of shopping bags. “Hi, boys” one of the witches called out. “Corinne” Roydon grumbled quietly to Severus. “And her innumerable sisters. Have you ever met them?” “Well, I seem to remember one of them at St Mungo’s.” “You would. There
everywhere. The hospital, the bank, the
Ministry. There are two at the hospital,
if I remember rightly – Emmiline and Sheilagh.
There’s Maura at the bank, and somebody totally unpronounceable at the
Ministry – See-o-ban, or something.” “How many sisters are there?” “About seven I think.” “And do they all look so alike?” “Nah! You wanna see
Orla!” Roydon drooled. “A dark-haired
beauty. The sultry, smouldery type. Wow!
She’s married, unfortunately.” As they lunched, Severus for the umpteenth time turned over
in his mind the fact that Corinne had known in detail about his sacking from the
hospital and the fact that two of her sisters worked at St Mungo’s. He knew that one worked with Honor in the
laboratories and now he thought he had discovered where the other one was based. The thought pleased him not at all. “Bored yet?” Roydon asked, assuming Severus was thinking
over the morning’s work. “Don’t worry”
he added, “You’ve been here – what – eighteen months? You can admit it’s boring. We only do it for the money.” “I just wish we got a better cut” Severus sighed, thinking
again of the fat-cat who creamed off the profits. “Yeah, don’t we all” Roydon agreed. “But you try and get anything done about
it. Hopeless! When I’d been here a while and cottoned on to
how it worked, I tried to form a union.
I thought if we all stood together, the owner ’d not want us all to
‘down tools’ as Muggles say, and would be prepared to negotiate a fairer share
out.” “I never heard anything about that” Severus said. “I take it you were unsuccessful.” “Worst thing I ever tried” Roydon admitted. “Firstly, the owner won’t even meet us. Everything is filtered through Rackharrow,
and you know what a stone wall he is!
Secondly, none of the mediwizards would back me. We all feel shat upon, but no one’ll stand
beside yer. Suddenly everyone has a
reason why it can’t be them – oh I’ve got a mortgage to pay, oh I’ve got
Hogwarts fees due, oh I’ve got this, I’ve got that… Who hasn’t got commitments?” “So what did you do?
Fight alone?” Roydon gave him a sour look. “No, it didn’t even get to that” he
sighed. “Rackharrow got wind of what I
was up to and called me in immediately.
He came on strong a bit, long enough and strong enough so that I thought
I was getting the boot. Then he threw a
bone to this starving dog, and off I went back to work.” Severus didn’t pursue the point but it was clear that
Rackharrow had either bought him off or knew of some detail he could use as a
lever. As he studied Roydon, Severus
gained the impression that it was the former, and that Roydon felt quite guilty
about it. “I’m no hero, Sev” Roydon said sadly. “Roydon Macnair sold out; didn’t even have
the courage of his convictions. Another
drink?” “My round” Severus said.
“Same again?” He went to the bar
and came back with two tankards. “So,
he’s tough, this owner” he added, picking up the conversation once again. “Yeah, he’s tough.
Must be” Roydon agreed. “Built
this business up from nothing. All on
his own at first – did all the treatments single-handed, they say. And when we move out of Knowing he was not alone in his dissatisfaction with
Nobody’s Perfect somehow made Severus feel better about working there. But he decided that one day he must look for
something better. He didn’t know if he
could return to St Mungo’s but maybe a way would emerge. Or maybe a better opportunity would present
itself. A week before Christmas Severus received two owls. One was from his mother to say that there
would be a new face at the dinner table at Christmas, because there was a new
wizard-friend in her life. And the
second owl was from Lucius. Some of us lads
are having an evening out (he wrote).
Narcissa won’t be coming – the baby is due in April and she is being ultra
careful all the way through this pregnancy.
So we are allowed out on our own more than ever these days. On Saturday
night we are going to The Lone Dragon. I
know the landlord and I know that he has booked Simple Simon to perform
there. He’s a tale-teller. If you’d like to
come and don’t know your way to that inn, be at my house at Owl me back to
let me know what you’re doing. Regards, Lucius The owl was waiting for a reply so Severus immediately sent
an acceptance, and by “Johnny’s here, somewhere” Evan explained. “And Balantyne. All the old crowd.” “Sounds like we’ve commandeered the pub” Severus observed. “Hardly” Amycus said.
“Simple Simon’s really popular. Singing
or talking. Wait till we get
upstairs. It’ll be packed!” It was packed when they found their way up to a first floor
meeting room and took their seats. It
was an all-male gathering and already the air was thickening with pipe
smoke. As they sat and waited, the lamps
dimmed and perfumes crept into the air, dispelling the smoke. The landlord of the inn hurried in and placed
a three-legged stool on the expanse of floorboards towards which the chairs
faced. Some of the audience began to feel light-headed, and to
sharpen his senses Severus curled his long fingers into his palms, digging his nails
into his own flesh. A wizard appeared, a man dressed for travelling and leading
a dog on a length of rope. He walked
with light loping strides, his suede boots noiseless on the bare boards. The only sound was the soft click-click of
the dog claws and the clonk of the staff the tale-teller carried. He bowed to the landlord and to the audience,
and there was considerable applause. He
was a young man and yet weather-beaten like a tramp or a hunter. His floor-length coat was muddy green and
damp as if someone has ducked him in a pond; and his lank, greasy hair added to
the watery effect. He took off his hat
and placed it on the stool, but he remained standing, leaning slightly on his
staff. Meanwhile the dog sat obediently
and listened as the tale-teller started to speak… “Gentlemen” he
began, spreading an arm expansively in welcome.
“Wizards all. My name is Simon
Lambton. Welcome … to my world.” One-handed he
swung the staff slowly round, dimming the lamps still further. “Let me take you
back” he continued, “To the time of my forefathers … Picture a time before time
… in the mild south … where the white cliffs rise in a wall against the sea …
and the land behind is dotted with the hamlets of Muggles, and peppered with
the secret lairs of magic folk. That was the
time of my ancestors. Of Jack and of
Jill. And this is the tale of them both. But it starts with Jack… Jack o’ Lambton
was his name. He’s now a warlock of some
fame. A house he built
upon a hill. A hidden house – it stands
there still. And happy was
Jack except when Muggles brought to his door a whole heap o’ troubles. They could not
see his pretty garden, so on it they trespassed without asking pardon. To build a
church was their intent. But old Jack,
he would not relent. He’d not give up
his land to them, and not reveal his home to them. And when he
employed wizardry, he’d not beset them openly. Yet he would wield
his power! For every day,
at close of day, the stones they had dragged up the hill Old Jack would
downward fling again with many an oath and a glower. But Muggles they
will not give in; they’ll engines build when muscle fails Or call more men
to lend a hand. And this they
did, Till Jack felt a
trace desp’rate. The fields were
sown. The crops were grows. The harvest safely gathered home. And still their
church had not been built. And still
Jack’s house stood not revealed. But nor had
Muggles given yield; though they were mighty puzzled. But puzzled or
not, they wouldn’t stop So Jack, he grew
more desperate. So north he went
and east he went, and called upon a hound of hell, A Padfoot whom
he knew might tell a way to break this stalemate. The Padfoot
could not speak in words but wrote with claw on Dunwich Sands – Take ye the sword of statue’d knight and when
full moon is riding night Carve through the cliffs, through hills of
green, a channel. And do not be seen! Carve it on your western border. Cleve right through, a knife through butter. Do this ’fore dawn, and then the sea will inward
rush, and Muggles flee. And leave their homes and ne’er come back. And all the land will be for Jack. ‘Thank you,
Padfoot’ said poor Jack. ‘Accept from me
this coney, bright I was to have
for my supper tonight. But I’ll not sup
till this be done – It must be all
done in one night, And I am grown
quite desperate.’ The Padfoot took
the coney fair and scribed last warnings with his paw Within one night! Before cock crow! Before the sun begins to show! Also beware a local girl, a lover o’ Muggles, a
witch name o’ Jill. For she’ll think what you do is ill. She is quite tender hearted. Let not your heart be melted. But Jack did not
read all these words, he did not see some washed away By a freak
wave. Nor dare he stay. He bid goodbye
and off did rush to find the sword that he must use. He prised it
from a Crusader whose statue stood in churchyard near. And at next full
moon he did start, to draw a line upon the ground. And from the
cliff edge marked a trench that widened and grew down and down. But Jill espied
what he was about and saw the danger of it. She pitied him
in his desperate plight but could not leave him to it. So Jill burgled
Jack’s hidden house and found a candle and a sieve. These humble
kitchen things were all she needed to help the Muggles live. She lit the
candle behind the sieve and Charms she placed upon them too. She raised them
to the hen house window and left the light its work to do. And seeing the
bright, diffusèd light, the cockerel thought ‘The sun is up and I’ve not made
to-do’. And so he crew
and crew and crew. Over and over,
cock-a-doodle-do! The stone sword
stopped its magic work. The land re-healed
and shows no maim. No sign of that
deep cut remains; the land is free of swordsman stain. And poor Jack
knew that he was beat. And by a greater
magic feat Than ever he
could muster. ‘I’m
overwhelmed’ he said to Jill. ‘I cannot
counter your powerful Charms, so fall into my waiting arms. If we two live
together, here, I’ll not fall prey to lonely fear. Together we’ll
keep the Muggles confounded with out the need to make ’em drownded.’ ‘If I’m to be
your wife’ said Jill, ‘You’ll have to improve your rhyming skill.’ And they did
laugh and they did marry, and by the cliff edge made their home. And never a
church did it become, for they did fend the Muggles off. But now Jack did
so carefully. For now – his
heart – was melted. A burst of applause broke out. Although the story had not been long, it had transported
the listeners, partly because scents of the sea had crept into the air, and the
mewing cries of gulls; the tale-teller had conjured an impression of the Quietly a barmaid ferried in tankards of Christmas Ale, and
money changed hands with hardly a need for words. Everyone was waiting for the tale-teller’s
next story. He told three in all, getting more applause each time. At the conclusion of the third he passed his
hat around and there was a clinking of coins. “So, is that where you live?” Evan asked as the tale-teller
reached over to take back his hat. “The
cliff-top house of your first story?” “Nah!” Simon replied.
“No – I wish! But it is a wizard
home even to this day. It’s not hidden
now. Muggles just don’t realise that the
owner’s a wizard.” “But that hardly solves the problem, does it” said a steely
voice from behind them. Everyone turned. The wizard who had spoken sat alone at the back of the
room. With the lamps so dim, the back of
the room was dark, and his face, shadowed by the hood of his cloak, was barely
visible at all. His voice was high and
cold, and somehow it demanded attention.
His garb was black but that did not make him unobtrusive. Quite the contrary. It was as if an electric shock had run
through Severus as soon as the black-clad wizard had spoken. His very presence made the hairs on Severus’s
neck prickle. “What do you mean, sir?” Simon asked of the black-clad
wizard. “Why, simply that Muggles continue to be the bane of our
lives” Lord Voldemort replied smoothly.
“We still have to hide from them or find surreptitious means to disrupt
their plans. Change their minds for them
without their knowing. It’s so tedious. And fraught with problems – if we make some
mistake in our magic we are held to be entirely in the wrong. Where is the justice in that, tale-teller? We are the masters, therefore our needs should
be paramount; and they should bow the knee and take what’s left. We should not have to hide or skulk. We should be able to walk free and hold our
heads high.” This met with instant applause and so many mumbles of
“Here, here” that Voldemort stood up and made a tiny bow. “Come forward, sir” said Simon. “I have told my tales, now let’s here yours”
and he gave up the centre of the stage to the Dark Lord and dragged his stool off
to one side, his dog pattering after him. “You are very kind, Mr Tale-teller” Voldemort said
graciously. “Well, you spoke of freedom” Simon replied, “But that is a
puzzle because I consider that I am free – I go where I please and play to any
who’ll listen. So I want to hear your
take upon this notion of freedom.” “You keep hidden your wizard power” Voldemort pointed
out. “You shrink, just as your forefather
did, from discovery by lesser folk. We
all hide our wizard power, do we not, gentlemen? And grow paranoid of discovery.” “But if we tell the Muggles we exist” said a voice “They’ll
more than likely panic. We don’t need
that. We’re okay as we are.” “Are we?” Voldemort said sharply. “Are we well served as things stand? I could point to many brilliantly gifted
wizards struggling in our shrunken world to find suitable employment while
these know-nothings live in relative luxury.
Surrounding us. Squeezing us
out. Hemming us in. The world is standing on its head, gentlemen! And getting worse, while Muggle-lovers run
the Ministry.” There were more mumbles of support but also a further dissenting
voice. “No, that’s codswallop if yer don’t mind my sayin’ ” the voice
piped up. “My sons – they both got jobs,
okay. I got no worries on that score.” “No. Nor have I”
said another. “I grows me own food – I
sells me surplus. No one can take that
from me.” “And do the Muggles know you are there?” Lucius asked,
screwing his head round to face the dissenter. “Well, no. I keeps
meself ter meself, like” came the reply.
“I’m self-sufficient, see?” “And there is the nub of the problem!” Voldemort said
triumphantly. “You dare not reveal your true
identity – indeed none of us are allowed to – and therefore you are at risk
from blundering Muggle interference! Yet
you say all is well! You – most
estimable but inattentive farmer – have not been listening to the tale-teller. You have missed the point of his first story. What if the local Muggles want to redevelop
your land? What if their government
decides to run a motorway through it? Or
what if they build some factory that pollutes it?” The farmer looked bemused, but merely shook his head,
setting his jowls quivering, so Voldemort pressed on with his argument. “Who do you think takes constant care of such things?” he
asked the audience. “Monitoring the Muggle
plans and making subtle adjustments? We
are living on a knife edge. Being kept
safe by the goodwill of the Ministry, and with no say in how they do it. But how much can we rely upon it? How much, and for how long? Will tomorrow be the day of our rude
awakening? Let too many Muggle-lovers get
a grip on the Ministry and one day we will find they do not assist us. They will take the side of the Muggles and we
will find ourselves the losers. The
losers in our own land. Us! The cream of mankind!” In the smoky gloom the debate hotted up. Gradually the mood of the room changed; fear
was seeping across it, fear that wizard interests were not as safe as they had
supposed. Not safe while those in power
did not acknowledge the innate supremacy of wizard blood. The fat farmer remained silent but the
original dissenter, a broom-maker from And minutes later Goyle’s friend Crabbe also moved close. Lucius caught their eye and gave a discrete nod… Severus never saw the nod, but for a time that moment was
the last thing he could remember. - Author's Notes - Chapter 22 The inspiration for Simple Simon’s poem comes from many
places: For example J R R
Tolkien was not afraid to re-write nursery rhymes to fit them into the ancient
times in which he set his stories, such as the Cat and the Fiddle song in The Lord
of the Rings. But mainly I must pay
tribute to Ralph Whitlock for his book In
Search of Lost Gods – A Guide to
British Folklore. In that book you
will find mention of Boggarts, Padfoots, etc, etc, and the numerous legends about
interrupted church building – the usual culprit being the Devil who is said to
throw down the stones each night. Also
the ‘Devil’s Dyke’ in For the rest it is inspired
by places I know on or near the |
- Chapter 23 -