"…Death Eater. Should have gone to Azkaban but…" The braying voice held an almost hysterical note as it escalated in volume and venom.
"Premier Death Eater," Kingsley Shacklebolt said from his position behind the Daily Prophet, his feet on his desk.
The low tone seemed to squash all noise as it echoed around the Aurory. The rustle of robes heralded a concerted turn toward his relaxed position. Sighing deeply, he lowered a corner of his paper to peer at his counterparts. "Premier Death Eater and Order Spy for twenty odd years, got more balls than your average bowling alley, assuming you were referring to Severus Snape, that is?"
"How would you know?" The brayer turned out to be Auror corporal Aliatus Parkinson, one of the Light Parkinsons, who seemed to be more fanatically light to compensate for the fact that most of the Parkinsons were Dark and his niece had played an infamous part in the last battle.
Kingsley cast a wandless manifesto fulgoris and the phoenix tattoo on his shoulder flickered to light causing an almost reverent hiss of appreciation amongst his fellow Aurors. "I served with him for seven years," the Auror sergeant said flatly. "Severus is a nasty piece of work; mean, sarcastic and bitter but he is Order and has been Order longer than almost anyone still living. He bears the mark of the Order and I would trust him with my life, have trusted him with my life on many occasions." Kingsley slammed his feet to the floor and stood up so abruptly that people stumbled back in shock. "You, Parkinson, are going to accompany me in guarding our favourite Spy while he delivers potions to St Mungo's and if you so much as squeak out of turn then I personally will twist your arms off, without the aid of a spell, understand me?"
Parkinson's look of terror and horror was priceless!
oo0oo
The three crates were carefully loaded onto a wheeled trolley and pushed from the dungeon. Severus was quite happy with his solution until he came to the first set of stairs. Some twenty minutes later the hot and sweaty Potions Master had physically carried the three crates up to the Great Hall and was leaning against a wall panting heavily when Professor Dumbledore appeared at his elbow.
"My dear boy, you should have asked for help." The old man tutted as he drew his wand. He was shocked when his Potions Master ripped it from his hand with an anguished cry of 'no'!
"No magic! Not if you want your precious school to remain standing!" Snape snapped furiously, waving his arms and stepping up to protect his crates with his body if necessary.
"My most sincere apologies," Dumbledore bowed with that damned twinkle in his eye.
"I have charmed the crates to be magic repellent so that the ambient magic cannot penetrate but even that charm will not protect the contents against the interference of old coots who DO NOT UNDERSTAND SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS," he bellowed, all but stamping his feet in his tantrum. Huffing furiously, Severus loaded the crates back onto their trolley and began to haul them into the Great Hall.
"Er, Severus, can I have my wand back?" the headmaster asked humbly as the irate man left his burden and stomped into his place for breakfast.
Severus glanced at the wand clutched firmly in his fist then growled as he thrust it out to its owner, a faint flush of pink washing his cheeks. "Sorry," he muttered grudgingly.
"Quite all right, my boy. Have you arranged your journey satisfactorily?"
"I thought so until the Ministry insisted I needed an escort," Snape growled, eyeing his kipper as if it was offending him. "Bloody Aurors, noses where it doesn't concern them, pain in the backside, never content to leave well enough alone…" He continued to mutter and complain all through breakfast, much to the Headmaster's amusement.
When Shacklebolt and Parkinson arrived less than an hour later, Severus had managed to work out most of his temper on the surrounding staff and students and was in a less vicious temper with coffee and kippers inside him. Shacklebolt he could stand, a plain spoken man of good principle and a loyal Order member, the other was Parkinson, a complete waste of space. Pointedly ignoring the second Auror, Severus instructed Kingsley on the handling of the crates, assigning the two larger to the Aurors and keeping the smaller one for himself.
They loaded the crates and themselves into a thestral drawn carriage and were quickly whisked off to meet the eight-thirty Express to London. Settling into a compartment, Snape pulled a book from his pocket, engorged it and settled to read the journey away. Shacklebolt copied him almost action for action but Parkinson had obviously forgotten to bring along some sort of time filling entertainment. By the time the journey was half over, Severus had had enough and hexed him into immobility, Shacklebolt merely nodding his thanks to the older man before both returned their attention to their books.
As the train pulled into Kings Cross station, Shacklebolt released the spell and shook his head as his Corporal began to berate them both impartially, shaking the pins and needles out of his legs and hands.
"Serves you right for being a whiner," Kingsley said indifferently and picked up his crate carefully. "Shall we go now?"
"Indeed, I have arranged for a carriage to take us straight to St Mungo's," Snape said pleasantly, his bad mood completely cured.
"A carriage?" Shacklebolt questioned as they exited the station on the Muggle side then stopped dead.
"Oh, don't worry, the Muggle repelling charms are excellent." Severus reassured him off-handedly.
A magnificent coach and four stood in the bus loading bay, the matched grey horses nodding and bowing their heads, the black coachwork gleaming in the weak autumn sunshine. A gold crest on the door declared it a Snape carriage and the coachmen wore hereditary Snape livery. As soon as the three men approached, one of the footman jumped down and threw open the door, putting down the steps and curving an arm to assist them to enter. The second footman hurried over to relieve the men of their burdens but was waved away by the tall, black clad man.
"Nothing like being inconspicuous, is there?" Parkinson jibed as he snuggled down in the butter soft leather upholstery.
"You would prefer a Muggle transport?" Snape asked as the footman awaited instruction. "St Mungo's, and no sudden jolts."
"Of course, my Lord," the man murmured with a bow and disappeared a second before the coach pulled away from the curb smoothly.
"This is a beautiful carriage, Severus," Kingsley said, stroking the silk lining beside his head.
"My great-grandfather had it commissioned in 1850 for his mistress. The stable staff were very pleased to get it out and use it. Carriages need a bit of use to preserve them properly," Snape replied casually. "The horses are a breed the family has developed over time; good for pulling or heavy hunting but not for hacking."
"OOh, lar-di-dah!" Parkinson muttered in falsetto tones making his fellow passengers shake their heads in disgust.
"Couldn't you find anyone who was better company, or at least semi-intelligent?" Snape asked in disgust.
"Sorry, I thought… but then, I was often the optimist, wasn't I?" Shacklebolt sniffed and shook his head as the carriage drew up in front of the wizarding hospital.