Prancing Through Life

Don't sue me, I didn't create any of these characters. That's about it.

Severus Snape angrily swished through the door of the American Ministry. His brow furrowed in deep determination, he strode down the busy New York avenue. He seeped ire from every pore. Apparently, his ambassador-ing meeting had not gone well that morning.

A homeless male hobo watched him from a doorway.

"Damn! There's a man who has every reason to be happy, yet isn't." The young man, only perhaps in his early twenties, made a disgusted face at the approaching British wizard.

"Maybe I should liven up his day a bit."

Snape, oblivious to the unobtrusive young man, stormed onwards past the latter. The next moment, poor Severus found himself face down on the gritty cement pavement.

"Hey."

The young bum grinned toothily. His teeth actually were quite nice, considering his current station in life.

"Be off, mongrel!" Any man who knew Snape would have known not to mess with his ill temper. The hobo, however, had never encountered Snape before—to his definite benefit.

"Nah." The bum kept his foot on Snape's once immaculate black robes. "I think I'll keep my boot here a while." His 'boot' only existed as a pair of worn white New Balance tennis shoes.

"What do you want? Money? I have none," Snape growled. ("At least not the Muggle sort," he added savagely.)

"That's fine. I just want to talk to ya." The bum grabbed Snape's arm and dragged the lanky older man into an invisible cornice.

"What is wrong with you? Why are you bothering me? Who are you?" The stream of questions flowed as Snape struggled in vain.

The bum smiled again, then sat Snape down on a trash can forcefully.

"Mister," he said slowly, "What do you see in me?"

Snape attempted to wrench away from the street-dweller. He had a certain wiry strength, but against this solidly-built young athletic-sort, he found it useless.

"I see a useless parasite of society who ought to be in a mental institution, that's what I see." Snape's eyes burnt more than his scathing words.

"No! Look deeper!" Suddenly, the bum let go of Severus' arms. Snape, startled by his sudden release, paused. The bum's eyes, he noted, had an icy blue tinge, and his skin seemed a bit bluish, too.

"I believe you are very ill." Snape stood. "Get yourself to a hospital."

"You can't see anything more?"

Snape shook his head. "No, and I am very preoccupied with matters of business, currently."

The young man put his head to his hand. "That's a relief. Now, have you heard of Oz?"

Snape's mind flew back to his 6th year geography class. "Yes…I believe so. Population 1,038,328,462 in 1986, located in an unspecific denomination in the clouds, separated into four parts (Munchkinland, Quadling Country, etc.) and ruled by a certain Wizard who calls himself the Wizard of Oz."

"…Right." The man seemed uncertain of these facts.

"So, what about the place?"

"I'm from there." The young man brushed his hand across his face, revealing a set of large tattooed blue diamonds stretching across it. "My name is Fiyero. I am a prince, married to a woman named Sarima. I wish to find a girl of all green, named Elphaba. She is a witch, and I love her."

Snape found himself completely taken aback. "I see." He could think of no reasonable reply.

"Anyways. You seriously need to get real." Fiyero smiled again. "What are you?"

"A school teacher."

"No wonder you're so cross!" Fiyero laughed. "You know what you need to do?"

"What?"

"Take on dancing."

"What the hell do you mean?" Snape blinked.

"Through life. Dance through life. You'll like it a lot more that way."

Snape grunted. "I don't dance."

"Yes, you do!" With that, Fiyero grabbed Snape's hands again, but this time more gently. He dragged the infuriated wizard around in a circle.

"You're scuffing my boots, your majesty." Snape's voice held a slice of sarcasm.

"Then try to actually move your feet! I'm stronger than you, you know, so I could just keep on dragging you around all day."

Snape glared, and they went around in a circle again. Fiyero hummed some sort of catchy upbeat tune.

Snape felt the toes of his boots slowly grinding away on the asphalt ground of the alley. Finally, resignedly, Snape actually began to dance. Rather, it was not quite dancing.

"That's no way to move your feet. You're prancing, Mr. Schoolteacher. Not dancing."

"This is the best I can do, young ingrate."

"Well, whatever floats your boat." And Fiyero began humming again. The two of them danced (and pranced) in a circle for what seemed forever. Snape felt so dizzy that he wanted to faint, but did not in order to preserve his manliness. As though he felt his current actions manly!

Suddenly, as they twirled, he saw a flash of green ensconced in black. "Is that she?"

Fiyero stopped abruptly. He seemed not to know who Snape spoke of. However, as soon as he realized that by 'she' Snape meant his quarry Elphaba, his gaze never left the figure. She clasped a large black handbag and wore a large black hat.

"It is! No other woman has such emerald skin!" With a quick peck on Snape's cheek in thanks, Fiyero leaped away to catch the hasty girl running down the alley.

Stupefied worse than could have come from a curse, Snape tottered for a moment with imbalance. He leaned against a wall until the world stopped spinning. Finally, he stood upright once more. At first, he took a few steps. Then, with a chance thought, he began to do his type of dancing, or 'prancing.' This he continued all the way down the street, beyond the reaches of this story.

Poor Fiyero! All he got from his lovely green woman, as he ran to embrace her, was an umbrella smack and a smear of jade make-up where she slapped him.

It seems that neither Snape nor he had seen the giant billboard above their heads proclaiming, "Wicked! Playing Here Tonight! Live on Broadway!"

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