x-oOoOoOo-x

Potions office, 7:52 PM.

x-oOoOoOo-x

Severus Snape was having a pleasant day in all aspects of the word. He had sneered quite a bit, smirked some, and had even found an excuse to give Potter detention. Yes, all was going well.

He sat in his office, grading a stack of papers from a particularly hopeless class of brainless first years. Honestly, he was sure these were worse than usual; had they even looked at their books before the start of term? Sighing, he refilled his inkstand with red and continued to slash away at the parchment, mindlessly correcting the same mistakes in paper after paper...

"Professor?"

He looked up, startled. When had the door opened?

"Yes?"

"I-I was just wondering when our essays would be graded, sir –"

Snape sighed audibly, resting his quill in its ornate stand. "In due time. Now, please –" He directed his eyes to the door, and the mouse of a student was out within seconds.

Slightly ruffled (but willing to overlook it; he didn't want to mar his nice day just yet), he resumed his work with a resigned grimace. As much as he hated to admit it, the essays were taking him a rather long time…

"Sir?"

It was the same student, shuffling its feet nervously against the door frame.

"What?"

"I – I was wondering if –" He hesitated, eyes wide.

"Well, what is it?" he snapped impatiently. "Get on with it."

The idiot's voice shook with anticipation. "I-is it true, sir… that you wear pink –"

Snape stared at it for a moment before reacting. "Leave my –"

"But… but sir, I –"

"Get out, little girl, before I make you –"

"Boy."

"What?" He realized, and his voice dripped sarcasm. "Terribly sorry, boy. Get out of my office."

"I'm twelve."

"What?"

"I'm twelve. I'm not little."

Snape nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of the conversation he was having. Did this moron have any concept of authority? He decided to play along, though – just this once.

"Well, I can't just call you 'boy,'" he said, adopting a smile very uncharacteristic of him. He had a feeling it looked something like a feral rabbit baring its teeth, but he couldn't be sure.

"You could say 'Dennis.'"

"I didn't know you were called Dennis."

"Well, you didn't bother to find out, did you?" The boy – yes, Dennis – stuck out his lower lip petulantly.

Snape felt his demeanor begin to turn sour once again. "Now, Dennis, if you'll leave –" he began.

"Sir, there was another reason I was sent here. You're wanted on the seventh floor."

"By whom?"

"U-um… A portrait, sir."

A portrait? Merlin, he hoped it wasn't the Fat Lady calling after him again. He had experienced one too many inebriated come-ons at Christmas to visit the Gryffindor dormitories again anytime soon. (Then again, he dearly hoped he wouldn't be caught near there at all, drunk or not. He might catch arrogance.)

"…Sir, he did say to hurry –"

He? Snape stood up, delicately replacing the quill in its stand. "Where is this portrait?"

x-oOoOoOo-x

Seventh-floor corridor, 7:59 PM.

x-oOoOoOo-x

"…Ni!"

Ow! Snape clutched his side at the sudden sensation. It felt like he was being impaled with a broomstick.

Dennis turned down a hallway Snape recognized as the path to the North Tower. This was another corner of the castle he preferred not to visit; he had had enough experiences with prophecies to risk bringing another upon himself, legitimate or not. But –

"Ni!" Again he felt pain in his side, and gritted his teeth. Just what was –

"HAVE YOU BROUGHT US A VISITOR?"

Dennis nodded quickly. "Yes, your knightness." He stepped out of the way, setting Snape's vision directly upon a painting of a short man upon an equally stubby horse. Behind him was a motley group of people (and others) he recognized as other paintings and portraits.

"Who the hell are you?" He hadn't meant for it to sound so crass – his style was more of a refined sarcasm – but he supposed sacrifices had to be made in the presence of idiots (and he could already tell that he was dealing with that sort).

The short man drew himself up proudly, and his pony whinnied shrilly. "WE ARE THE KNIGHTS WHO SAY… NI!" His cronies behind him echoed "Ni! Ni!"

The pain came again, but Snape stared straight at the knight, expression entirely nonplussed. He was good at that kind of stare, and he knew it. The knight faltered for a moment, but continued in his strangely high-pitched shout:

"WE ARE THE KEEPERS OF THE SACRED WORDS: NI! PENG! AND NEEE-WOM!"

The last two words sent his brain into a fit of dizziness, but he ignored it. "Excuse me?" he drawled. "Do you need something?"

"THE KNIGHTS WHO SAY NI DEMAND A SACRIFICE!"

Snape rolled his eyes. He recognized the little man now as Sir Cadogan, the moron who had attempted to safeguard Gryffindor Tower from Black a few years ago. His first impression remained correct. "Well, what is it you want?"

"WE WANT…" He paused dramatically. "A SHRUBBERY!" A pair of minstrels played a dissonant chord in the background.

"A what?"

Sir Cadogan lifted his arms, nearly toppling from his pony, and a chorus of "Ni!"s arose from his followers.

Snape doubled over; that had actually hurt. "Fine! I'll get you a shrub – a shrubbery," he croaked.

"YOU WILL FIND US A SHRUBBERY, OR YOU WILL NEVER PASS THROUGH THIS HALLWAY ALIVE!"

"Yes, yes, I will. Now, please –" Turning around and finding that Dennis had disappeared, Snape hobbled out of the corridor to a familiar gargoyle statue, which was scratching its head idly. "Drooble's Best Blowing Gum," he said dully, and it reluctantly moved aside to allow him passage to the headmaster's office, shooting him a glare as he passed. Bloody thing had never liked him, for whatever reason.

"…and that, my dear Minister, is how we know the earth to be banana-shaped."

Cornelius Fudge's engaged voice sounded through the heavy door. "This new learning amazes me, Dumbledore. Explain again how sheep's bladders may be employed to prevent earthquakes."

Unfortunately, Snape did not give him a chance to reply; he swung open the doors and strode majestically into the office. (He did love that word: majestic. It certainly did describe him at this moment.) "Headmaster, I would like to have a word with you about one of our paintings."

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said, peering at him good-naturedly over his spectacles. "Have a seat."

Snape looked around and saw no available chairs or couches of any sort.

"I'll be going, then, Albus," said Fudge, making for the door.

" Goodbye, Alice."

"Cornelius."

"Ah, yes. Goodbye, Cornelius." The Minister shut the door behind him. "Yes?"

Snape cleared his throat. "Yes. Sir Cadogan has appeared to –"

"Sir Cadogan!" Dumbledore exclaimed gaily. "Excellent fellow. Just met with him last week –"

"No, sir. Sir Cadogan is the mo – the knight occupying a painting in the North Tower, and he has absolutely no respect for his superiors. He has threatened me with a curse if I do not bring him a… a shrubbery." He rolled his eyes with distaste.

"Did you say a shrubbery?"

"I did, sir." He looked on with mild horror as Dumbledore adopted a rather unnerving smile.

"Well, shrubberies are my trade! I am a shrubber. My name is Roger the Shrubber. I arrange, design, and sell shrubberies."

"…Are you drunk, sir?" He really hoped not. Dumbledore was eccentric enough without the influence of alcohol.

"No!" he snapped. "I just have a headache, okay?"

He nodded slowly. Perhaps he should keep quiet.

x-oOoOoOo-x

Seventh-floor corridor, 8:36 PM.

x-oOoOoOo-x

Snape headed down the spiral staircase, a shrubbery hovering at the back of his head. He had gotten the blasted thing after a long lecture from Dumbledore (or Roger, as he now preferred to be called) about the importance of respecting his elders. Hmph. He didn't see at all how oil on canvas deserved his respect.

A clamor arose from the painting at his appearance.

Sir Cadogan caught sight of Snape and gave him his most intimidating leer. "HAVE YOU BROUGHT US A SHRUBBERY?"

"I have," Snape said grimly. There was an excited "Ni!" from one, but was it shushed by the others.

"SHH!" Sir Cadogan said. "WE ARE NOW… NO LONGER THE KNIGHTS WHO SAY NI."

Snape dearly hoped this didn't mean all his work was for naught. "Then what are you?"

"WE ARE NOW THE KNIGHTS WHO SAY 'ECKY-ECKY-ECKY-ECKY-PIKANG-ZOOP-BOING-GOODEM-ZOO-OWLI-ZHIV."

"Fantastic."

"NOW, GIVE US THE SHRUBBERY!"

"I would, O Knights Who 'Til Recently Said Ni," he said tensely, "but I have no way of –"

"LAY IT AT MY FEET."

"What?"

"AT MY FEET." He pointed at the ground below his tiny feet. Snape dropped it underneath the picture, and the knight nodded approvingly. "NOW, YOU MAY PASS."

Snape opened his mouth to say 'I don't want to pass; I just want to go back to my office and sleep,' but he didn't get the chance; a brightly-clad Sybill Trelawney swung down from a previously-unseen ladder and blocked his path.

"Oh no, not you," he mumbled. Unfortunately, she heard him.

"PROFESSOR SNAPE!" she trilled, and Snape sighed. He was really getting tired of the caps-lock speak.

"If you wouldn't mind, Sybill, I would like to –"

"YOU DON'T FRIGHTEN ME WITH YOUR SILLY KNEES-BENT, RUNNING-AROUND ADVANCING BEHAVIOR!"

It took him a while to remember what she was going on about, and he winced at the hazy memory. He would never go to another birthday celebration again.

"GO AND BOIL YOUR BOTTOM, YOU SON OF A SILLY PERSON!"

He didn't feel like telling her that yes, that feat was entirely possible to accomplish.

"I DON'T WANT TO TALK TO YOU NO MORE, YOU EMPTY-HEADED ANIMAL FOOD TROUGH-WIPER."

"Glad the feeling is mutual," he muttered.

"YOUR MOTHER WAS A HAMSTER –"

He took his chances and darted past her, narrowly avoiding a fist.

" –AND YOUR FATHER SMELT OF ELDERBERRIES!" she called over her shoulder as he sprinted down the hall.

x-oOoOoOo-x

Potions office, 8:44 PM.

x-oOoOoOo-x

Wheezing, he slammed the door behind him and reinforced it with his wand. He would have no more of that – that – foolishness. Madness. Folly. Stupidity. Synonyms be damned. He was just going to finish this batch of papers, have a nice bath, and go to bed early…

As luck would have it, he was interrupted within seconds.

"Hullo, Silas," said Professor Binns as he floated through the wall.

He forced a smile. "Good evening, Cuthbert."

"I was wondering if you would help me with a problem of mine," Binns said drearily, furrowing his silvery eyebrows.

"What kind of problem?" He was apprehensive already, having had enough of his own problems for one night.

"Yes, well…."

x-oOoOoOo-x

Potions office, 9:28 PM.

x-oOoOoOo-x

"….Are you suggesting that coconuts migrate?"

"They could be carried."

"What, a swallow carrying a coconut?"

"It… it could grip it by the husk…"

"It's not a question of where he grips it! It's a simple question of weight ratios! A five-ounce bird cannot carry a one-pound coconut."

Damn Cuthbert Binns and his knowledge of physics. That was a Muggle occupation, anyway – wizards had no need for such trivial things as math and the like.

"In order to maintain air-speed velocity, a swallow needs to beat its wings forty-three times each second –"

"I must be going, Cuthbert," Snape said abruptly, standing up. "I have to meet with a student. See you later." He walked out of his office, only to recoil quickly: Professor McGonagall was standing directly outside.

"Severus –"

He held his hands up in defense. "Minerva, whatever you're about to say right now – don't say it. I have had enough –"

"But –"

"I don't want to hear it! I won't have any more shrubberies, or coconuts, or elderberries –"

"Severus –"

"Next thing I know, you'll be challenging me to a duel or spouting off French –"

"Silencio!"

He opened his mouth in protest, but settled for a glare given the absence of his speech.

"Now, Severus –" She placed a goblet firmly in his hand. "Madam Pomfrey was terribly worried this evening. Said you'd forgotten to take your meds."

Remembering again too late that he couldn't talk and succeeding in resembling a goldfish, Snape accepted the potion wordlessly.

"Do try and remember next time, alright, Severus?" She smiled kindly and walked off. He stared after her for a moment, mind processing her words, and angrily lifted the goblet to his lips.

Damn Minerva McGonagall and her superiority. Her father probably smelt of elderberries anyway.

x-oOoOoOo-x

Sigh. I promised myself I wouldn't post these out of order, but… here it is.

Also written for HedwigBlack's Weekly Challenge (Monty Python) and Budapest All Over Again's Painfully Bad Competition.