A/N: I know, late again! You'll have to bear with me for three more weeks until I graduate. Ick, why can't there be a Degree in Sweeney Todd? God I would be first in line to sign up for that university. =D

~Jay-Walking Muggles~

"Listen to me love," said Mrs Lovett, pushing the screen door in front of the stranger's face, "you look capable enough ter be doin' the killin' yerself. Wot you need us for?"

"Indeed," said Sweeney, raising his hackles.

"Publicity," said the man nonchalantly, inspecting his nails. Really, he was casting furtive glances back at the gagged teenager, as if he were unable to believe he was really there.

"Oh?" Mrs Lovett re-opened the door.

"I and a small group of…friends," the hook-nosed man said meaningfully, "have been searching for that treacherous child for more than fifteen years. We wish to celebrate his capture in a way that the Dark Lo – our leader, sees fit."

"You mean by publicly humiliatin' the boy on national tele?" Mrs Lovett beamed. It sounded right up their alley. She turned to Sweeney. "Please love? The genl'emun clearly loves our show."

Sweeney was frowning and twisting his razors, which could only mean he was seriously considering the proposition. "Prudence, my dear," he said at last, holding her at arm's length from the door. "We have no idea who he is."

The robed man sighed. "Severus Snape," he confessed, pulling out a scroll that listed his credentials.

"Oooh you've done quite a bit of actin' sir," Mrs Lovett squealed.

"Only in my spare time," Snape winked surreptitiously.

Sweeney rolled his eyes. She was always going batty when one of her favourite 'stars' came on TV, especially those two actors with the funny surnames and bohemian haircuts were interviewed. Deep, Dope, Dape…? No that wasn't it…and the other one with the dark glasses….Beardon, Button, Burkin, Barton? He gave up. Sweeney slammed his razor into the woodwork.

"Love?" Mrs Lovett and the stranger were staring at him. "Wot's wrong dear?" she frowned, probably wondering if he was losing it.

"Memory loss," Sweeney muttered, finally deciding to open the door. "Come in then, Mr Snape."

The baker gasped. "Could I…could I trouble you for yer autograph sir?"

* * *

"I'm Mrs Lovett," said Mrs Lovett warmly over several cups of tea. "And this is Mr Todd," she repeated, getting up to refill the gentleman's tea cup with another tot of gin.

"Yes, my pet, we've established that," said Sweeney grumpily. "When can we get to torturing the brat?"

"Patience, love, patience. I've called management an' they said they can delay the show for 'alf an' hour."

Mrs Lovett sighed. It was only recently that she realised Sweeney had a slight addiction….very well, an obsession. He couldn't leave off torturing even one day…sometimes two….frequently three times a day. Nellie couldn't understand it. It was as if he wasn't happy unless he was torturing, or planning to torture someone, or thinking about torturing in general….

"I don't want anymore delays, my pet." A little green vain popped up in the corner of Sweeney's head.

The baker patted his trouser leg affectionately and ran a hand through his silver streak. "Hush love." Down her corset, she'd stuffed a special question sheet she'd been carrying round with her all week. She'd been saving it for Mr T, only she didn't know how to break it to him. He needed help, an' if he wouldn't listen to her, perhaps TA would lend a listening ear and a friendly hand.

She turned to the stranger. "Another cup of tea, sir?"

"No," scowled Snape.

They were already late for Sweeney's show, but Mrs Lovett insisted on them always being alert and steady. Which meant downing five cups of gin-an'-tea to calm her nerves.

"Mrs Lovett," Sweeney said frostily from his flowery arm-chair (Mrs Lovett's décor, not his), "get back here. I need some more tea."

"I don't know wot you're on about," Mrs Lovett said breezily, taking a peep in his tea-cup. "It's full as a baby's bladder."

"No, it isn't," the barber hissed, pouring it onto the floor. "Now, fetch me another."

Couldn't she see she was embarrassing him, with all her fussing and smothering and mothering? He was the Demon Barber of Fleet Street, after all. Didn't she know he had a reputation to maintain?

Mrs Lovett apparently didn't think so. She landed a cherubim kiss on his forehead, brushed the crumbs off his vest, and reached over to pick up the tea-cup. "Now love, you is awfully cranky today. You sure you've 'ad your mornin' nap?"

Without another word, Sweeney got up from the frilly chair, upended the table and all the lovely cakes and glasses, and stormed out the door.

Mrs Lovett turned to the stranger. "Wot's got his goat then?"

But the stranger was about as interested in relationships as Sweeney Todd.

He left the tea-cup unattended, stood, clasped her arm and brought her close to his ear. "This charade must stop, Bella. The Dark Lord is waiting, as we speak, for further developments."

Twenty minutes later….

The stranger had been stuffed beside the boy-wizard in the backseat. She and Sweeney had managed to lift him up and carry them between them into the coach.

Along the way, an old, gnarly stick had fallen out of the man's pocket, and Mrs Lovett had accidently trod on it, breaking it clean in two.

"Man must be balmier than we thought," Mrs Lovett mused, "carryin' around dry twigs in his pockets."

Without warning, Snape hiccupped. "Bella you twisted minx," he half-snarled, half-gurgled in semi-consciousness. "What sort of insidioussss…hic….muggle….hic…..drink did you poison me with?"

"Nothin'," Mrs Lovett said coquettishly, strapping herself into the driver's seat of the coach next to Sweeney. "Only 'alf a bottle of gin," she muttered slyly. 'Twasn't as if it was hard. The man could barely stomach his drink. Half a bottle of gin, and Mrs Lovett had been wanting to turn handstands in Mrs Mooney's grimy apartment…

"Drive, Mrs Lovett," the barber ordered ominously.

Mrs Lovett did as she was bidden, and gave the horses a firm shake of the reigns.

They were off.

She looked over at Sweeney looking thunderous in the passenger seat of the coach. Probably imaginin' all the ways he could torture that devilishly handsome Severus Snape, Mrs Lovett thought. Just think, she told herself, when we've had the show runnin' a few months an' the ratin's start pourin' in an' we 'ave enough gold to stash underneath our floorboards me an' Mr T will go sailin' in the Bermuda Triangle wif that sweet black and white bathin' ensemble I sewed for his up-an'-comin' birthday….

"Oooh would you look at that gorgeous glove shop on the corner Mr T ain't it pretty…an' flippin' doilies I've always wanted ter try one o' 'em pies on Fleet Street…."

"LOOK OUT WOMAN!"

Two daft teenagers steeped out in front of Mrs Lovett's on-coming coach.

Or rather, Mrs Lovett had accidently swerved onto the side-walk.

"EeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkKKK! FLAMIN' LOVE-STRUCK FOOLS LOOK WHERE YOU'RE GOIN'!!! DO YA WANNA BE ROADKILL???"

"It's a little late for that, Mrs Lovett," Sweeney said, a little more subdued now that he had seen two teenagers trampled under their coach.

They got out and inspected the wheels.

"A trifle messy, but there's no permanent damage," Mr Todd said about the wheels.

They scraped the two bodies out from under the coach with a spare shovel borrowed from the flower-shop on the corner. The red-haired boy, or what looked like it had been a red boy, was easily got out. The frizzy-haired girl was a lot more difficult, on account of her hair being stuck to the wheel.

"Phew!" Mrs Lovett exclaimed when they'd finally finished cleaning up the mess. "For there ain't no good mechanics around on Sattadays."

"Filthy….hic….mudbloods…" came the commentary from the back-seat.

"Vile Death-eaters!" bellowed the boy from the backseat. "You'll hang for this Snape! Professor Dumbeldore will hear of this!"

Mr Todd and Mrs Lovett looked at each other. They clambered back into the coach.

"Wot's he on about then?"

"Damned if I know, Mrs Lovett."

"I thought you taped him up good –"

"I asked you to do that."

"Wot you snivellin' for anyways?" Mrs Lovett snapped, turning around at last.

"They were my best friends," Harry Potter cried. "We were planning to graduate and become great actors on the London Stage and uncover our body parts and the innermost depths of our souls – all of that is dashed now! You killed them! You murdered Ron and Hermione!"

"Bellatrix….leather collar….chains…..purple lampshade….hic…" came the dream-time fantasies of the hook-nosed man beside Harry Potter.

* * *

Meanwhile, in Advertising News:

Devastatingly Handsome Judge seeks woman to be his Bride. Or Plaything, depending on her fancy, social station, temperament, etc.

Woman must be:

Beautiful

Blonde (although Bird-nest haired, busty Brunettes will be considered).

Single, Married, Over the Age of 12 or Widowed

Note: Widows must be under the age of 35, unless exceptionally good-looking

Not very Bright (Again, Beautiful Geniuses are excepted).

Crackpots, ninnies, gold-diggers, old maids, spinsters, woman who sing and are fond of finches and linnet birds NEED NOT APPLY.

For all SERIOUS enquiries seek out Beadle Bamford on the corner of Fleet Street. A large Red Banner with a Heart will be displayed.

Am Willing to Pay for Services.