Of Lions and Lamps
By Meladara
The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, and WB.
I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.
A/N: Inspiration often comes in the oddest moments and places. This bit of fic came to me after a spot of silliness between Laralee88 and I, while sitting at my daughter's dance class. It made both she and I smile. I hope it makes you smile too! The lovely Linlawless did a quick beta for me! (Thank you, dear! ~squishes~) Enjoy and have a lovely weekend! (Look for In Aster Stars: A Tale of Mystery and Magic to be updated in the next day or two!) ~Mel
He sat with the lamp in hand, quite unsure what to make of the gift. The gold of the base and the crimson of the shade garishly clashed with the tasteful, muted greens of his study. Was this some obscure female ritual that signified her desire to change their relationship status? Did this mean she wanted to do things such as select drapes and linens?
Severus shuddered and then looked to the woman sitting next to him anxiously awaiting his response.
"You don't like it, do you?" she blurted, dismay marring her face.
"N-No," he stammered much to his chagrin. "Hermione, it is a... a... fine lamp. Thank you. I like it very much." The drivel coming from him made him nauseous, but he had no choice. He had no desire to upset her. It was Christmas, after all. "It will be a perfect for my late night reading sessions," he heard himself continue.
Hermione smiled, seemingly appeased, while Severus contemplated the wherefores and how-tos of the feminine mind and what thought process within it had allowed her to reason that such a selection was acceptable.
For a time, the offensive lamp had been set aside, holiday activities superseding its placement upon the table for which is was meant — much to his own relief. However, in due time a certain curly-haired female inquired, said lamp was placed, and then it was quite purposefully forgotten. It was either forget about it or brood, and he had been told recently that brooding, while adorable in a five-year-old, did not become Potions masters who were entering their fiftieth year.
Now that it was in place, it seemed to mock him. The brassy sheen of the body caught his eye each time he moved across the room. Again, he wondered what had possessed her to saddle him with the offensive thing, but he could not puzzle out her reasoning. Perhaps she had sincerely believed that it was a tasteful addition to his room and that it would provide a solution to his problem with insufficient lighting. A problem which, incidentally, he had not even been aware existed prior to her arrival in his life.
Knowing he was stuck with the dreadful thing, he resolved to stay as far as possible from it until another solution could be found. He wasn't the head of Slytherin for nothing, and he was sure he could think of a suitable solution.
He had been avoiding his study for days, choosing instead to pass his evenings at Hermione's or to read in his bed, rather than look at the ugly thing. However, tonight he was completely spent — it had been a rather trying week filled with an unusually high number of exploding cauldrons — and he wanted nothing more than to claim his chair with book and brandy in hand. If the damned wretched lamp was there, then he'd start making it earn its place in the room.
Fetching the crime novel that Hermione had thrust upon him the previous evening and pouring himself a generous tumbler of brandy, he made his way to the once-beloved room, thinking only of the comfort that awaited him this evening.
As Severus opened the study door, the pitch black darkness bled out into the hall. Resigned to his fate and to its use, he shuffled the book and glass into one hand before drawing out his wand. Then he gave the wand a deft flick in the direction where he knew the lamp sat.
In an instant, the room was flooded with bright and harsh light. As Severus blinked, a deafening roar tore through the room, and despite himself, his eyes sought the source. His eyes widened owlishly as he took in the sight of the giant lion head that currently was illuminating his study via its gaping maw.
He did not register the crash of the tumbler, nor did he notice when the book, too, fell to the floor where it promptly began to soak up the spilt brandy.
No. He was too stunned by his sudden revelation. The chit had pranked him. She had given him the ridiculous lamp as a gift with a look of complete and perfect innocence — with the ease of a seasoned Slytherin, he realised with pride — and had soundly got him back for teasing her. Though he still believed that she stomped about ready to 'roar to life' at the slightest provocation like all true Gryffindors, no matter her protestations.
As the lion head receded and the room began to glow with a tasteful amount of light — which he noted was rather suited to an evening of reading — he contemplated with delight his luck in procuring such woman as Hermione Granger as a part of his life.
(If he also thought of ways to get revenge, he certainly wasn't going to share them with us.)