Postal

Fifteen

"...It is NOT alright! It would reflect very poorly on us in the semi-annual review. He could dock our bonuses this year. Or, he could save money and just kill us. You know, his way of 'slashing overheads'?"

"Take it easy," replied another in an equally shaky voice, "we didn't screw anything up, it was Avery's responsibility. Let him fix it."

The glass walls of the rooms along the corridor were thin, allowing the anxious voices of the inmates to carry into the hall. In the back of his mind, Severus remembered a Muggle Studies essay he had once done on a French sociologist's view of the perfect prison, its cells set around a central observation tower from which all the inmates could be studied. Whether the tower was occupied mattered not, as the inmates soon learned to regulate their behaviour accordingly. Glancing involuntarily at the Dark Mark on his arm, he also thought of the painting in the reception area and realised that fear and stress were the normative forces at work here. He knew by experience they were infectious. But he was used to it.

Once he had located J.W. Reid's dark, windowless office at Schweinkopf Overbeck Fink Bròckheimer Pratt, Severus had taken the seat behind the desk. That is, once he could find it. Reid might have looked like a neat, organized individual, but the disarray that greeted Severus was like the aftermath of a Death Eater raid. Bemused, his eyes roamed the walls. If students at Hogwarts thought Snape had strange objects in his office, he wondered at the jumbled assortment of toys and other purposeless articles carelessly crammed onto Reid's bookshelves. Some, if not most of the books, lay, oddly, on the floor. Crumpled paper balls cluttered one corner beneath a makeshift bottomless string basket, suspended over an overflowing bin. In fact, paper covered nearly every inch of the dark grey carpet, save for a narrow strip that served as a path to the door. At the other end of the strip, under towering piles of more paper, files an d post, Severus located the chair. It swivelled and creaked dubiously under his weight. Distastefully pushing the piles to the side, he resisted an overwhelming compunction to cast a Tidying Spell and, instead, buried himself in Rosier's contract with Voldemort.

This curious subset of Muggle terminology was rather difficult to follow in places until he found a glossary on page 106, but his task was not made any easier by the fact that some sentences ran on to one or two pages in length. What was clear was that Rosier was intended to take part in the Dark Knight Spell. Although the precise activities remained unspecified, Severus realised with growing terror that Voldemort intended not just to use Rosier in his Army, but something much, much worse. Severus remembered with a pang his conversations with Esmerelda, years before, about how the spell would be cast and how it would take effect. How na‘ve, how arrogant he had been, thinking that he could protect her from anything, keep her safe from any harm or anything that might come between them. Until that night when he had seen her eyes brim with fear. The fear that he knew was mirrored in his own...

The raised, excited voices he had heard earlier in the corridor cut into his thoughts, growing louder as they approached. Irritable knocking shook the door, followed by muffled voices.

"I thought I saw an absence memo go round," said an unfamiliar, high-pitched female voice. "Are you sure he's in today?"

"He's here, I know he is. 'Saw him this morning, but he never showed up for squash." Severus frowned, dimly recognising the unintelligible lout from the lift banks.

"Well, go on, then. The axe has gotta fall sometime."

They continued to knock until Severus was wholly unable to ignore the man and woman who stepped into the office. He casually slid the contract under the desk and pretended to tug at a tall pile of papers marked "For Shredding." Through narrowed lids he regarded the pair with the usual venom he reserved for Hogwarts students, but they stared back, unphased. Severus grimly concluded that J.W. Reid's choirboy appearance was doing nothing to advance his immediate cause.

"Yes, what is it?" he said shortly. "I'm busy."

The stocky blonde woman bristled sharply. She crossed her arms, angrily pushing her black-rimmed spectacles up a small freckled nose. "Don't you dare take that tone with me, James," she hissed. She pounded a stubby hand on the desk and leaned in to glower at him, magnifying his view of heavily made-up, crinkly lids. "You may think you're hot stuff lateralling in from New York, but as you're new, I'll warn you just this once. You better learn to respect The Way Things Work here, or you'll be out on your ass faster than you can say 'unemployment'!" She was visibly disconcerted when her scolding failed to elicit the desired effect.

The ridiculous image of one of his pug-like fifth years, Milicent Bulstrode, immediately poked at his mind's eye and Severus struggled to camouflage a sneer.

She surveyed him imperiously for an instant before turning to the grey-haired man. "You deal with it, Baddock. I've got work to do," she snipped, storming away importantly as Severus watched in bemusement.

Taking two long strides, Baddock closed the door and turned to Severus with a mixture of bewilderment and awe. He loosened his tie with a thin hand.

"Dude, what has got into you? You can't talk to Pritchard like that, she's practically a partner." He covered the length of the small room in two strides and waved a hand in the air dismissively. "And I'm not even getting into the whole pulling-a-no-show-for-our-most-important-squash-cup-match thing..."

Severus replied with a scowl. He didn't want to have to endure decoding this man's narrative when he had more pressing matters to attend to. He had to find out what part Rosier was going to play in summoning the Dark Knight, or better yet, stop him. But he couldn't do that with--

"Jimbo, did you hear anything I've just said? What is with you today?" His eyes narrowed at Severus suspiciously. "You're not yourself at all."

Behind the desk, Snape blinked, hoping he was managing to convey a look of innocence. His own facial muscles hadn't had much experience in that area in the past, but perhaps Reid's had.

"I've just said," continued Baddock, "that The Trunchbull wants you in his office to explain this"--he was waving a draft letter in front of Severus's face--"and you're just looking at me like--"

"What?" said Severus, suddenly jolted to the present. The Trunchbull. Rosier. "Rosier wants to see me in his office?"

"Yeah, man. Like NOW," said Baddock exasperatedly.

Severus thought of the Callum Rosier he knew and narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

"You really aren't listening, are you, Jimmy? This. This is why." He unfurled the pages in his hand and flung them at Severus.

***

As if he'd been hit with a Gut-Wrenching Curse, a convulsive twisting spread throughout his abdominal region, like white heat. Clutching the document in his hands, his steps became more leaden as he passed through the grey corridors in search of Rosier's office.

Rosier knows I'm here, he thought grimly. It was the only explanation. Why else would he be summoned to the man's office on the basis of two typographical errors and a dangling participle? Rosier was no great genius, and not known for his subtlety. Such a flimsy excuse had to have been fabricated just to lure him into his lair. It's a trap, said a voice in his head.

But Severus was not about to back out. He checked for his wand, thinking of the last time he had crossed Rosier, fifteen years ago in a dark alley not far from Godric's Hollow: thick neck and wide shoulders, crouched hungrily over something struggling behind him in an obscure recess. In his frantic rush to try to save the Potters that night, he had only a split second to prioritise and sped on, hoping that he had not really seen what he thought he saw. The suddenly limp feet of a man dangling behind that monster's knees. Just one of the nightmarish scenes that haunted Snape in sleep since his turn from the Dark and the sacrifice of his wife.

His wife. He would capture Rosier and find Esmerelda if it was the last thing he did. And it may very well be, he thought grimly. Turning a corner, he swallowed hard. He had arrived in front of the large corner office bearing the nameplate "Callum S. Rosier".

A mousey-looking woman in the cubicle outside the door fixed him with large, fearful eyes. "Mr. Reid?"

Severus stood blinking at her for a moment. He heard an insistent voice in his head begging, no, ordering him not to go in, but he ignored it. He would do this. He needed to do this. For Esmerelda.

Reid's voice cracked as it escaped his dry throat. "Ro--Mr. Rosier wanted to see me."

The woman leaned across her desk, peering nervously into the open door in a way that he was certain was not her normal manner. She avoided his eyes, making him feel more as if he'd been marked for the gallows. But before she'd opened her mouth, a growl issued from the corner office. "REID! Get in here. I've been waiting too long for you."

What met him on the other side of the door was a surprise. The man standing behind the elaborate cherry wood desk wore a dark blue business suit and a particularly horrid tie that reminded him of Dumbledore's sleeping robes. It was chocolate brown with winged pink pigs. Severus felt slightly at ease thinking, Not only does this lunatic have no moral sensibilities, but he also clearly has no taste. Otherwise, Rosier looked exactly like he had in the photos, complete with the plastic smile that Severus instinctively knew not to trust.

"Shut the door," barked Rosier.

His ruddy face was large, uneven and puffy, and the beady eyes, narrowed into thin slits, followed Snape as he crossed to a chair and sat down. Severus was alarmed to feel his Sneakoscope starting to whirr uncontrollably, digging uncomfortably into his side under his cloak. He just hoped it was as well-disguised as his robes.

Severus decided to make the opening gambit. "Baddock said you had some questions about this?" He laid the pages on the desk.

But Rosier fumed in silence, his eyes boring a hole into Snape's face. The man continued breathing heavily and glowering until Severus realised (not without some irony) that he was meant to feel intimidated. Instead, he sat still, calmly meeting Rosier's stare. Just as Snape's patience was wearing thin, Rosier finally spoke, his bloated face twisted into a sneer.

"I've been watching you, Reid. And I don't like your attitude." (Snape raised the brow of his mind's eye as high as it could go.) Rosier leaned menacingly across the desk. "I want you to get this straight. You. Work. For. Me. Not the firm, not the group. ME. I decide whether you have free time and what to do with it. I decide when you go to sleep and what you dream about. You belong to me, Reid. And don't you forget it." Rosier sighed and abruptly crossed to the other side of the desk, changing tack completely. He clucked, sounding almost... paternal. "Reid. Boy. You should understand that to work with subordinates, they must always feel two things"--Rosier felt the need to raise his fingers to enumerate--"fear and guilt. Power is understanding how to use those to your advantage." He leaned in closely to Severus meeting Reid's blue eyes. "And I hope you feel plenty of both of those things."

Snape, who, in his real life was already quite well enough acquainted with both fear and guilt, was finding it impossible to take Rosier seriously. Especially while he was wearing that tie. Snape shot Rosier a steely gaze, then realised immediately his mistake.

Rosier looked at him, startled. Then he frowned suddenly, studying Severus carefully, as if seeing him for the first time. Then his eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Reid. Tell me. Why are you here, really? Hmm?"

Severus felt his throat go drier than the Sahara. "What... what do you mean?" he choked.

"You're from Boston, aren't you?"

No, he's trying to trick you. New York. You're from New York. "Uh, no," Severus heard himself repeating after the voice in his head. "New York."

"And where did you go to law school?" Rosier was eyeing him cautiously now.

Harvard. Harvard Law School. "What?" Severus heard himself say aloud. Just SAY IT! "Harvard. Harvard Law School."

Rosier eyed him calculatingly. "What year?"

God DAMMIT! Severus's brows flew up at the cry in his head.

Three forceful raps on the door interrupted them before it opened. In the threshold was A.L. de Sauveterre. Severus noticed that her face was flushed and she was breathing rather quickly. A lock of dark hair escaped her ponytail.

"Axelle, I'm in a meeting," snarled Rosier.

Then she did something that surprised both Rosier and Severus. She waved her hand at him dismissively.

"Sorry, ol' boy, but we need Reid urgently. The AOL exec's on the phone in my office; he's about to board the plane for Dubai. We can't find Avery and the only other person on the account is Reid. 'Promise I'll send him right back when he's done." She beckoned at Severus with her hand and pulled him out the door, closing it in front of a stunned Rosier.

Severus didn't know whether to scowl at, growl at, or thank her. Before he could decide, she had pulled him into an internal room that was filled with beeping and whirring machines, but was otherwise empty.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked irritably. "I was just about to stun Rosier."

She crossed the arms of her black suit. "The hell you were. One more strike in that little pop quiz and there wouldn't have been enough left of you to fill a Petri Dish."

Severus's eyes darkened. "You were telling me not to go in? You were feeding me those answers... But how did--Why--"

She sighed, her green eyes pleading. "Professor, you really don't have enough time for me to explain it all now. Your life is going to be in grave danger in another few seconds, unless you leave, so I suggest you go now and we can play Big Game Hunter another time. Okay?"

Snape's face showed his fury. "Who are you to give me orders?! I am not leaving until I find out what they've done with my wife."

"You will leave now, or there will be no hope of you ever seeing each other again. I promise you."

"What do you mean?"

She pushed the door ajar long enough for Severus to hear Rosier's secretary calling across the hall, "Mr. Rosier, Thomas Riddle is waiting for you in Conference Room 1."

"You're not safe here, Professor. Any minute now, they'll figure out who you are. Please. Just go. Esmerelda's alive, don't worry."

Severus continued to stare at her dubiously.

She shot him an exasperated look, then smirked. He was getting a lot of those today, he thought. She pointed at his robes. "Severus, is that a Sneakoscope in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

"I beg your pardon?" he stepped back indignantly. She sounded like Baddock.

She glanced quickly at the closed door, lowering her voice. "The Sneakoscope. Is it moving? I can tell you it isn't, because I'm telling you the truth. You've got to go. Now."

"But Rosier--"

She waved her hand. "Don't worry. You'll get another chance at him, I swear. Now, go."

She walked with him to the elevator banks, pausing briefly behind a corner as a heavily bandaged man with wrinkled, greyish skin disappeared into the Conference Centre.