Title: All in the Name of the Cause
Author: Mousebird
A/N: This was written before The Half-Blood Prince came out, so, of course, there are discrepancies between canon and my own personal universe.
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, and I certainly don't make any money off of them. I'm just taking them out for a walk. They'll be back in time for tea.
"Albus, really, this is the limit!" Snape snarled from the depths of a singularly poofy maroon beanbag at the foot of the Headmaster's desk.
Dumbledore frowned briefly. "Severus, I do understand your reluctance, but this is crucial to the success of Mr. Weasley's plan to remove the Dementor threat." He reached toward the steaming teapot and refreshed his cup.
Snape's scowl deepened. "Really, Headmaster, just because the boy can play chess does not mean that he's capable of orchestrating a war!"
Snape readjusted his lanky limbs irritably and stared at the unbearably pale tea in his hands. The Headmaster always did insist on adding too many sugar cubes despite Severus's protests. Snape privately suspected that Albus hoped it would improve his recalcitrant Potions Master's taciturn disposition.
Dumbledore sighed patiently. "Severus, how else do you plan to transport the potion vats? We've been through this several times already, and I've yet to hear a constructive counterproposal from you."
"Oh, thanks for rubbing that in," Snape thought viciously. As if he didn't have enough on his hands already between spying on an animated corpse with delusions of godhood, developing tricky potions to melt Dementors, and fruitlessly attempting to teach snotty, ungrateful brats the basics of elementary potions, Dumbledore also expected him to come up with sane alternatives to the demented schemes of children? It was too much. As always, though, Snape had no choice.
"Fine. Right. How, may I ask, do you plan to arrange for me to acquire 'driving lessons'?"
Albus smiled in satisfaction. "I believe Mr. Weasley is collaborating with Mr. Thomas and several other Muggleborns to form a squad of competent drivers. His father has already handed his preliminary spellwork over to our research team, and they're confident that they'll have the requisite spells in place by the time you've mastered the basics. It seems that Mr. Potter will be your instructor this evening. He's been recuperating in the hospital wing for the last few days, and Madame Pomfrey informs me that if I don't find something constructive for him to do soon, she shan't be responsible for the consequences."
"Mmmph!" Snape sputtered as he choked on his cup of nauseatingly sweet tea. After a brief coughing fit, during which Dumbledore rose to thump him soundly on the back, Snape managed to gasp, "Of course." Cough. "Of course he is."
Albus's eyes twinkled benignly. "I assure you, Severus, the boy is fully qualified. He obtained his Muggle license last summer, and he was able to observe the Weasleys operating the first incarnation of our final assault vehicle."
Snape smiled thinly and placed his inedible, and, coincidentally, stone-cold mug of tea on the floor. "Would this, by any chance, have anything to do with a certain sickly blue Muggle contraption that happened to 'assault' the Whomping Willow back about five years ago?"
Dumbledore turned away momentarily and coughed discreetly. "Yes, well, I assure you that Mr. Potter has excellent qualifications. I expect you to be ready by eight o'clock tonight. You'll be meeting him in the Great Hall. We're all counting on you, my boy." He turned around again and smiled cheerfully.
Snape's initial grim smile had faded. He struggled out of the hideous poofy beanbag and made his way silently to the door. His back was stiff and his silent protest was clear.
"Oh, Severus," Dumbledore called as Snape's fingertips brushed the doorknob. Snape paused. A faint jingle rang out into the still air.
Severus turned around with the air of a man who is fairly certain that he has done nothing to deserve his fate. "You'll be needing these," Dumbledore said with a hint of a chuckle twitching behind his beard.
"Laugh it up, old man," Snape thought. Dumbledore's eyes twinkled as Snape snatched the oddly shaped keys dangling from an inferior Muggle chain and stalked out the door.
As he made his way back to the relative safety of his dungeons, Snape wondered what the crude representation of an elephant could possibly have to do with the Muggle art of driving. He'd heard that some Asian wizards considered the white elephant to be a good luck charm. "I imagine I'll need it with Potter in charge," Snape mused bitterly. All this for proper air transport of his potion ... all in the name of the cause ...