Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the incomparable J. K. Rowling. No money is being made from this.
Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition – Season Seven – Round Four
Beater 2 for the Tutshill Tornados
Round Four: Don't Take Things Out of Context
Except … that's totally what we're asking you to do :P
Each position has a line of dialogue taken from a film or TV show which you are to use as inspiration* for your story and include the quote as a line of dialogue!
(Punctuation, tenses and pronouns can all be changed.)
BEATER 2: "Uh … no, thanks. No snip snip." Bob's Burgers
[object] pendant
[creature] Hippogriff
[action] hide
Thanks to the Tutshill Tornados for betaing!
The Drunken Adventures of Sev and Lu
Words: 2016
"Severus, could I have a moment of your time before you retire?" Lucius asked as the Death Eaters filed out of his formal dining room.
"Naturally," Severus drawled and led the way to Lucius's study.
It had been the same routine ever since Lucius had been released from his stint in Azkaban. He would pretend to need a word, but all he ever wanted was a stiff drink and company. If he was being honest, Severus was a little fed up with the routine, but he put up with it—he was a guest in the man's home, after all, and, in all fairness, he had nothing better to do than get wankered with an old friend.
Lucius closed the study's ebony door with a click and pulled a small, velvet-coated box from the pocket of his robes.
"It'll have to be a 'no,' I'm afraid," Severus quipped, making Lucius's eyebrows twitch in confusion. "I think marriage would ruin our friendship. And I'm absolutely certain Narcissa wouldn't approve."
Lucius smacked him on the arm with a chuckle.
"It's not for you, you plebeian. It's for my wife."
He slowly cracked open the box and revealed its contents to the candlelight. Sat on a moulded cushion of blue silk was possibly the most horrendous piece of jewellery Severus had ever laid eyes on. The oval pendant was a locket of scalloped gold, encrusted with tiny sapphires. A cursive letter 'M' was picked out in diamonds and it hung on a thick rope chain made of the same gold as the pendant. Large and gaudy, it would look ridiculous hung around Narcissa's delicate neck, and Severus suspected it would look more at home on a Christmas tree than an aristocrat.
"Do you think she'll like it?"
Severus looked into the desperate eyes of his oldest friend and decided to be economical with the truth. "I can just see her in it," he said. "She'll be the talk of the next ball."
Lucius breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
"What's the occasion?" Despite the ugliness of the necklace, he was curious as to why Lucius seemed to have so much riding on it.
"If we're going to have this conversation, I need a drink." That said, Lucius sloshed several fingers of fine Scotch into a pair of cut-crystal tumblers and sat heavily in one of the wingback armchairs that flanked the empty fireplace. Severus took the other one, enjoying the brief burn of his drink as he took a sip.
He waited while Lucius girded his loins with the drink. One sip. Two.
"Narcissa hasn't spent the night with me since I came back from Azkaban," Lucius said after his third sip of Scotch.
"What? Not even to…?" Severus let the implication hang between them. He knew they hadn't been getting on, but he hadn't realised it was quite as bad as that.
"Not even to shag," Lucius confirmed. He leaned forward in his chair, conspiratorially. "In fact, the only time she lets me kiss her is when other people are there to see. It's driving me mad." He threw himself into the soft seat at his back and groaned.
"Believe it or not, I know exactly how you feel."
"You mean you want to shag my wife as well?" Lucius asked.
"It's my life's ambition," Severus deadpanned. Lucius's chuckle warmed his chest a little. "And you think buying her a necklace will do the trick?"
"No," Lucius sighed, tucking the small box back into his pocket. "I suppose that's wishful thinking on my part." He took another sip of his drink and Severus followed suit. "Who was she?"
"Who was whom?" Severus asked, feigning confusion and draining his glass. He was going to need another drink.
"Don't play coy with me, Severus. Who was the woman who wouldn't sleep with you?"
"You already know." Severus hated how small his voice sounded as he said it.
"Not the Evans girl?" Severus nodded. "But that was years ago! Are you telling me you haven't had a lay in twenty years?"
Severus snorted derisively. "Of course, I'm not telling you that! My needs have been... adequately met. Just not by her."
"Or my wife."
"Or your wife," Severus agreed.
"Good," Lucius huffed. He summoned over the bottle of Scotch from the sideboard and poured them another few fingers each. "I think she's been… what did you call it? Adequately meeting Yaxley's needs."
"Don't be daft," Severus said. Privately, he thought that Lucius ought to be more worried about Yaxley's wife.
They sipped in silence for a few minutes, refilling their glasses when they ran dry.
"Didn't Evans marry James Potter?" Lucius asked suddenly, as though snapping from a reverie.
"Yes." How she could choose that cocky prat over him, he had no idea. "What of it?"
"So, you were in love with Harry bloody Potter's mum?"
Severus simply nodded, not bothering to correct the were with are.
"Well, bugger me." Lucius let out a low whistle.
"I'll take a pass on that."
"I'll hold you to that," Lucius said with a smile. "Chess?"
"As long as you're black."
Severus and Lucius had been playing chess together for nearly three decades. Severus could remember their very first game; he'd been a homesick first-year and Lucius, a prefect in his final year, had taken pity on him. Their games had evolved over the years. Some were long, drawn-out affairs that required absolute silence. Some were snatched in between various meetings and engagements, a chess clock used to keep track of whose turn it was. This game, however, was of the drinking variety. Every time they lost a piece, they took a shot. Every time they queened a pawn, they took a shot. Every time they were put in check, they took a shot. They'd opened a second bottle of ludicrously expensive whisky before Severus managed to corner Lucius's king.
"Checkmate," he said, voice still surprisingly steady.
"What?" Lucius asked in shock, rubbing his eyes and staring at the board in horror. "Bugger."
Looking up from the board, Severus gazed blearily around the room. The Scotch made his head spin as he surveyed the walls and studied several stuff heads mounted on wooden plaques and hanging from the picture rail. He'd never even noticed them before.
"Where did all the heads come from?" Severus asked.
"My father used to hunt magical creatures and keep their heads as trophies." The words were soft and vaguely slurred. "I've no idea what he did with the rest of them."
"But why the eagle?" Severus asked in confusion.
"Eagle?"
"You have a unicorn, a Mooncalf, an Erkling, and a Graphorn." He pointed to each in turn. "But then you just have an eagle. A regular, non-magical eagle. Why?"
"That's not an eagle!" Lucius said in outrage voice. "That's a Hippogriff!"
"Why, for the love of Merlin, would anyone mount the head of a Hippogriff on their wall? They're only interesting because they're half-horse and half-bird! Why not just have the whole thing stuffed?" Severus was completely perplexed.
"My father may have been rich and good at hunting, but he had all the brains of a Flobberworm." Lucius pointed to a framed picture of a beautiful, haughty-looking woman that was sat on the mantelpiece. "It was my mother who had the intelligence in that marriage. She did more for this estate than any true-born Malfoy ever did. And here I am, becoming more like him every damn day."
Instead of listening to his friend, Severus became fixated on the so-called Hippogriff head and stood to get a closer look. He stopped right beneath it and looked up before succumbing to laughter, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor. It was just so ridiculous; he couldn't wrap his drunken mind around the logic that went into making that decision.
Lucius joined him in laughter, seemingly confused. They both soon had tears streaming down their cheeks. Every time one of them managed to stop, a single glance at the other set them off again.
"Lucius!" a shrill voice echoed from outside the room, immediately cutting off their hysterics.
"Shit, hide!" Lucius said as he jumped from his chair to duck behind the heavy curtains. "She hates it when I drink."
Severus shifted to his knees and crawled under the desk, taking his drink with him.
"Lucius!" Narcissa yelled again, slamming open the heavy door and letting it crash against the wall. "Where are you?"
Severus watched as her stilettoed feet strode into the room. Presumably seeing it empty, she twirled around and slammed the door once more on the way out, muttering about "inconsiderate bastards" all the while.
Severus held in his laughter until he could no longer hear the clacking of her heels on the marble floor. When he finally extricated himself from between the desk and Lucius's office chair, he stopped short. Lucius was gazing at himself in the large Foe Glass that hung opposite the desk.
For a moment, Severus thought he was looking at the shadowy figures that prowled within its depths but, as he got closer, Severus realised that Lucius was examining himself. His eyebrows were pulled tight in concentration and he was wearing a scowl.
"What's wrong?" Severus asked after an awkward minute.
"Look at me," Lucius said, flourishing a dramatic hand towards the mirror.
"I know what you look like."
"I'm a mess."
"Yes," Severus agreed. His friend's hair hung in stringy clumps around his pallid face, he had several days' worth of stubble coating his chin and cheeks, and his once bright eyes were as dull and grey as a Monday morning in winter. "You look like shit."
"No wonder she won't sleep with me," Lucius whined.
"I certainly wouldn't," Severus said with a smirk. "Have a shave, comb your hair, get some sun, and you'll be good as new!" He looked over Lucius thoughtfully. "Hold on, I have an idea!"
Severus stumbled over to the desk and rummaged around in one of the draws until he found what he was looking for: a large pair of antique-looking scissors.
"You have so many split ends! A quick snip and they'll be all fresh and new."
Lucius turned even paler as he spotted the approaching scissors. "Uh … no, thanks. No snip snip." He gathered his hair up protectively. "No one but a trained professional goes near my hair."
"Suit yourself," Severus said with a shrug, letting the scissors drop to the Persian rug beneath his feet. "We can hire someone to make you beautiful again tomorrow."
Lucius beamed at him through the glass and Severus let himself slump down into his armchair.
"I think I'm going to be sick," Lucius said with a whimper, rushing towards the waste paper bin.
Severus thought that he should go over there and look after his friend—hold his hair or something—but the chair was deliciously soft and the thought of standing made his head spin uncomfortably. His eyes felt heavy all of a sudden, the sheer effort of keeping them open too much to bear.
When Narcissa found them the next morning, Severus was slouched forwards in one of Lucius's precious wingback armchairs and her husband was propped up against Severus's legs, a trail of sick decorating his robes. Narcissa wrinkled her nose in disgust. He was a mess.
She spotted a small velvet box lying near his hand, as though he'd fallen asleep clutching it. Summoning it to her, she caught it deftly in a manicured hand and lifted the lid. It was possibly the most hideous thing she had ever laid eyes on, except perhaps a hungover Lucius. Azkaban must have addled his brains more than she'd thought.
A quick wave of her wand and the curtains sprang apart, letting brilliant sunshine stream into the room. Dropping the pendant in the befouled waste bin, she turned on her heel and left the study, slamming the door unnecessarily loudly behind her, and marched off to the upper floors, determined to vanish every single bottle of hangover cure in the manor.