| Live Journal fic 1: Allergy |
[Aug. 8th, 2007|11:27 pm] |
Hi there. I don't have much fan fiction on LJ as I tend to just use it for fun and to post when I'm updating new stuff on Ashwinder. So, I'm manually backing up the little bit of fic stuff I have here in case the great migration happens.
First up, we have the first thing I ever wrote:
Allergy
Rather unusually, Severus Snape was panicking. He knew he’d got another vial of Polyjuice Potion but he couldn’t find it anywhere.
He scrabbled around under the bed, checked his pockets, his suitcase, the bathroom, the wardrobe, the chest-of-drawers, the bedside table, the wastepaper basket, the windowsill and (in desperation) under the bed again. Snape stood up and heaved a monumentally frustrated sigh.
This was a bad idea, because the inevitable consequence of under-bed scrabbling, followed by an angry huff, was a string of four violent sneezes and a very snotty nose. Inserting one long index finger into his ear canal, in a futile attempt to get rid of the itch at the back of his throat, Snape concluded that he’d dropped the bloody, buggering potion whilst Polyjuicedly Floo’ing to his room at the Leaky Cauldron the night before.
He stood in the middle of the room and twirled slowly in a circle, muttering, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…”
Turning to a mirror on the wall he gazed at his horribly distinctive reflection.
“Ten minutes to totally change my appearance, without using my wand,” Snape muttered.
“Fuck, indeed,” said the mirror.
A sharp rat-a-tat-tat rung out from the bedroom door. Snape covered his mouth with his hand in horror. They’d picked up his trail. He had to leave now. No Apparating – that required a wand. Where to Floo? Not back to Malfoy Manor, it would be full of hung-over Aurors by now. He needed somewhere quiet and dark and empty.
The knocking started again, louder and more insistent. Snape wiped his runny nose on his sleeve, grabbed his suitcase and chucked all the Floo Powder he had onto the sadly smoking log in the very average-sized fireplace. “Twelve, Grimmauld Place,” he hissed. And into the fireplace he crawled.
After a spot of uncontrolled squirming and spinning, the Floo attempted to spit Snape out at his destination. Because of his lanky frame and the size of the entered fireplace, this was not a smooth operation. Head first, Snape slid across a cold, stone floor. The suitcase was trapped under his body and came into sharp contact with his knackers. He yelped with pain, sneezed again and fetched up, sooty, snivelling and breathless against the solid leg of a familiar wooden table.
A familiar face, containing a pair of wide, brown eyes, appeared upside-down in front of him. He sneezed at it. The eyes blinked and the face drew back a couple of inches.
“Fucking hell! I’ve seen you spray mucus in anger a few times before, but nothing that spectacular!”
Severus peered blearily at the face.
“You seem to have switched tongues with Mundungus Fletcher. An unfortunate accident I’ve yet to hear about?
“You try living with Harry and Ron for a year, and see what it does to your vocabulary.”
“Oh, sweetheart, the words 'been there, done that, bought the t-shirt' spring to mind. Are you going to continue exchanging pleasantries with me indefinitely, or should I allow you a minute to contact the Aurory?”
“You’re talking to a fellow murderer. We can spare a few more minutes to chat.”
“Really? Who had the displeasure?”
“Bella Lestrange”
“How the hell did you manage that?”
“I shot her in the head.”
“What?"
“Uh-huh. I thought it would be nicely ironic if the bitch went down in a Muggle fashion. So, I sent Lee Jordan off to Brixton with a couple of hundred quid, got myself a pistol and shot the fucker, next time I saw her.”
“You’re not exactly subtle, are you?”
“I told you. I’ve spent a year in the constant company of Harry and Ron. Subtlety bit the dust after about thirty-six hours.”
Severus pondered. She hadn’t hexed him yet, and although she knew his wand was under a permanent trace, she also knew that in an Unplottable house all the normal rules did not apply.
“Thanks for the tiara hint by the way, Molly did her nut when I blew it up. You should have seen the look on her face!”
“What makes you think I sent the information?”
“No one but you would write, ‘Potter, doubtless though it may be that you feel you have the matter well in hand, it is highly unlikely you have bothered to consider the Prewett family tree’.”
“I don’t know, it could have been Lucius.”
“Considering Ginny put him in a coma four days before the letter arrived, we thought that rather implausible.”
“How did you blow it up?”
“Well, after two I got bored with the sledgehammer, so I tried some plastic explosives. Voldemort was a silly bloke really; he was so sure of the superiority of magic, that he never stopped to consider the fact that the only way to destroy a Horcrux is by physical force.”
Snape’s jaw dropped.
“So, all you had to do was find them, then hit them with something hard and heavy?”
“Uh-huh. Or sharp. Or blow them up, or run them over with a car or something.”
“So, Albus’ hand…?”
“He was a silly bloke too. He got himself into that state because he was trying to be clever. The whole situation was Not. Your. Fault.”
“Does this mean I can get up now?”
“Naturally. You can wipe you nose if you like, too.”
A hanky was waved in front of his face. Severus took it, blissfully blew his nose and carefully stood up. His companion straightened her spine, elegantly crossed her legs and gestured at the nearest chair.
“Take a seat.”
“Thanks. How long have I got before the cavalry arrives?”
“I’m not expecting anyone. It’ll take a couple of days for the Sambuca to wear off, before anyone notices my absence.”
“Must have been a good party.”
“One of the best. A few too many toasts to the memory of dead people for my liking, but you can’t have everything.”
“No, I suppose not. Who did we lose?”
“We lost Neville, Luna, Hagrid, Kingsley, Mad-eye, Tonks, Remus, Hester, Arthur and Charlie.”
Severus winced. No wonder the survivors got hammered. His companion scratched her nose, thoughtfully.
“Do you fancy a drink? My hang-over is kicking in, and I’m not quite ready to face the world sober.”
Severus hadn’t got pissed for seventeen years.
“That sounds like the best idea since somebody said, ‘Hey Albus, have you ever heard of a Penseive?’”
His companion laughed delightedly.
“When I’m sober, do you want me to pop to Hogwarts with Harry and a couple of Aurors?”
Severus really, really did.
“What do you want in return?”
His companion’s gaze swept slowly down from his face, to his chest, to his lap.
“Give me a couple of hours and I’ll think of something.”
She Summoned a dusty bottle of Firewhisky from the pantry, conjured a couple of tumblers with well-practice ease and poured Snape a double.
“Here’s to the dead and the dying. May our enemies fry while our friends stay high,” said Snape.
“I’ll drink to that,” said his companion. And she did. |
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