A/N Thank you, thank you, thank you for the wonderful reviews :-) You people are magnificent. I'm glad you're still with me on this journey. I'm afraid from now on, though, we're going blind into whatever plot the Muse is going to create - the Spyglass idea was *not* intended to happen, it just sort of *did*, and I don't know where I'm going with it yet. Strange things may happen. Let's hope they do :-)
Special thanks to my beta-reader Amy Tureen for her continued input and encouragement! You're the best :-)
Chapter Seven
"Stop wriggling!"
"I'm not wriggling!"
"Yes you are!"
"Oh, for the love of..."
McGonagall glanced down, trying to skewer her colleague with a glare, an attempt which failed given that she was balanced precariously on his shoulders, fiddling with the trapdoor.
"Mind my arm." Snape grumbled.
"Am I too heavy?"
"Yes."
"Well!"
"Just hurry up."
Minerva fumbled for another thirty seconds or so, then gave a sigh and dismounted, landing lightly on the floor. Snape stumbled backwards awkwardly, almost knocking her over. She grabbed his good arm and held him up.
"Circus acts were never my strong point." He complained, dropping down anyway to sit cross-legged on the floor. Minerva knelt beside him.
"There's absolutely no way to open the trapdoor without magic."
"So I imagined."
"It was worth a try."
"No it *wasn't*, Minerva. Now I have an aching back and dislocated shoulder to go with my broken arm."
"It isn't dislocated, you big baby." She prodded his shoulder unsympathetically. "It's fine."
""Hmph."
"It's no good 'hmph'ing. That won't get us out of here."
"What *will*? What's your next big idea, McGonagall? Perhaps we should transfigure into moths and fly to freedom through a crack in the wall?"
But McGonagall was still staring up at the trapdoor.
"Severus."
"What is it *now*?"
"Look."
Snape looked. The trapdoor was slowly, very slowly, opening. The two professors stepped back, unconsciously drawing closer to one another. They both jumped when a ladder appeared out of thin air; after a moment, the grotesque form of Octavian Mont-Strepping appeared, inch by inch, before them, followed by his wife.
"Well!" Mont-Strepping's piggy eyes glinted with spite. "Still here then, I see? Ha ha ha!"
"What do you want?" Snape hissed.
"Just a little word, Sevvy, just a little word with you and your *colleague* here."
"This woman is my wife!"
"Ha ha ha!"
"Hahaha!" Chimed in Agatha. "If that's true, why did she never correct me when I spent the whole evening calling her Minerva?"
"I was being polite!" McGonagall returned, realising the lameness of this excuse. However, to her astonishment, the Mont-Streppings looked uncertain, and glanced bemusedly at each other.
"Hmph. So you're saying you're not Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts?"
McGonagall was flabbergasted. Was it possible - could it be true that the Mont-Streppings were so stupid, she could convince them of the reality of her false identity despite the fact that they had known the truth all along? Surely no one could be so dim-witted! But Snape seemed to think the Mont-Streppings were quite thick enough to be deceived - he quickly put in,
"She most certainly is not. True, there is a resemblance...a, er, *family* resemblance." He paused, hesitated.
"Yes," Minerva jumped in, "I told you my niece was a witch, well, we think she gets it from her....er...grandmother's sister, who is also a witch. Her grandmother's sister is Minerva McGonagall."
The Mont-Streppings were truly confused now. They stared at one another, then at Severus and Minerva. Octavian seemed to come to a decision. He smirked.
"Well then, Severus...if this fine lady is indeed your wife, I'm sure you won't be averse to giving her a little kiss, will you, eh? After all, no man should be ashamed to kiss his wife, even in front of his worst enemy."
"You are not my worst enemy, Octavian. Don't flatter yourself." Snape growled. He turned to Minerva, paused, staring into her eyes. She stared back, raised one eyebrow slightly. It was all the communication they needed. Grabbing her by the shoulders Snape leaned forward and pressed his lips passionately against McGonagall's; she froze for a moment, startled by his apparent enthusiasm, then slid her arms firmly around his neck.
The Mont-Streppings, meanwhile, were looking at one another helplessly. There had obviously been a mistake somewhere. No one could fake a kiss like that.
"All right, all right." Muttered Octavian irritably. "That's quite enough. Put her down, Sevvy, put her down, ha ha ha! Though you might as well make the most of it, it's the last kiss you'll ever have."
"Mmph?" Snape demanded. He released McGonagall - who staggered slightly - and turned on their captors. "What do you mean by that?"
Mont-Strepping's tiny eyes narrowed further, his flabby face suddenly becoming wrathful, malicious, almost evil.
"You know what's coming, Sevvy, always a smart one, weren't you, eh? You see, Sevvy, I've got big plans for you...plans involving your imminent, violent death. But as for the Missus - well, my quarrel's not with her. It's just with you, Sevvy. Just you."
Snape decided to try a bluff.
"What exactly is it I'm supposed to have done, Mont-Strepping? Why do you wish me harm?"
The answer completely astonished both Snape and McGonagall - of everything Mont-Strepping might have said - that he hated traitors, that he was being bribed by Voldemort, that he was trying to win the Dark Lord's favour - this was the last thing they had expected.
"You abused our poor Narcissa!"
"Yes but...I beg your pardon?" Snape gasped.
"Our little Cissy! She was engaged to you...best days of her life...until you, you slimy git, broke her poor sweet heart!"
Snape was utterly shocked. He and McGonagall stared helplessly at one another. Surely it could not be possible...it was too much....even the Mont-Streppings could not be so dim as to possess the one thing the Dark Lord would prize, the serpent spyglass, to have it in their cellar and *not even know about it*? Could it be that their little kidnapping venture had nothing to do with Voldemort, but was simply Octavian taking advantage of the meeting with Snape to perpetuate an old family feud? How utterly...gauche!
"Oh, my God." Whispered McGonagall in disbelief.
"So," Mont-Strepping went on briskly. "You can go." This to Minerva, who stared at him blankly. She recovered quickly, however.
"What, and leave my husband in your clutches? Never!"
"Go, woman!" Octavian hissed. "You know perfectly well Sevvy here would never sacrifice himself for you. Or anyone, in fact. He'd see you cursed in a minute if he thought it'd save his greasy hide, wouldn't you, Sevvy, ha ha ha!"
"That's untrue." Snapped McGonagall, coldly. "And I refuse to leave him."
Snape, however, was glaring at her, much to her surprise.
"Margaret," he growled, "what's the purpose in both of us dying here? They're not interested in you. Go, and for Merlin's sake *tell uncle Al what's happened to me*!"
There was a tense silence as two powerful personalities faced off against one another, the wordless battle of wills discernible even by the obtuse Mont-Streppings. Eventually McGonagall was forced to accept Snape's logic; as she had said herself, the mission was paramount: the work is everything, the man is nothing, as Flaubert once said.
"I'll...go then." Murmured McGonagall, still bewildered, and increasingly alarmed. "Severus..."
"Just go." He hissed. Minerva, helpless and apparently quite beside herself - but then, she was a good actress - hesitated again. Mont-Strepping produced a wand from his inside pocket and pointed it at her.
"Unless you want to share his fate, muggle, you'll get out of here immediately! Ha ha ha!"
There was nothing left to do. Snape jerked his head toward the trapdoor.
"Go, quickly, before he changes his mind!"
"Very well." Drawing herself up, McGonagall swallowed down the lump in her throat, and headed for freedom, giving the Mont-Streppings a wide berth. Before she reached the steps, however, she turned back, ran to Snape, took his hand between hers and held it tightly for a moment. He gazed at her sadly.
"Goodbye, Margaret."
"Goodbye, dear." She whispered, and hurried away. The moment she had left the cellar the trapdoor swung shut, leaving Snape alone with the Mont-Streppings.
"Well then, Octavian." The potions master addressed his captor pleasantly enough. "Just what is you're planning to do with me?"
"Put you to death in a horrible fashion, you nasty man! Hahaha!" Agatha squealed before her husband could answer. Octavian nodded vigorously.
"You know, it's really very harsh." Mused Snape. "I've done a lot worse than break poor Cissy's heart. Besides, if you remember, she was the one who jilted me, for Lucius Malfoy."
"Ha ha ha! But it was you who deliberately introduced her to him, just to get rid of her! The thing with that Malfoy git was a flash in the pan. She always loved you. She still does. But you never even answer her owls, poor little thing!"
"Hmm. That's because I don't want Lucius Malfoy to have me hung, drawn and quartered."
"Ha ha ha! You'd prefer us to do it, then! Ha ha ha!"
"Hahaha!"
"Ha ha ha!"
"Quite." Snape murmured. "I don't suppose you're planning to leave me here until I rot, by any chance?"
"No."
"No!"
"No, Sevvy! We've got better plans for you. And don't think there's any chance of escape..."
"No chance!" Agatha chimed in.
"...because we've done something terribly clever!"
"Clever!" Echoed Agatha.
"Ha ha ha!"
"Hahaha!"
"It's a curse," Mont-Strepping went on. "I think you can imagine what kind."
"A binding curse, by any chance? Hardly clever, Mont-Strepping. It's the obvious thing to do in any kidnapping situation. I suppose," Snape added casually, "you're keeping the Wainthrops secure in the same manner."
Octavian looked at Agatha. Smirked.
"He knows."
"Hahaha?"
"But it won't do him any good! Ha ha ha! You think you're so clever, Sevvy..."
"Clever." Said Agatha.
"...but you've got it wrong this time. You may know all about the Wainthrops, but what you don't know is where they are now!"
"Then why not tell me? You may as well, I'm going to die a horrible death, after all."
"Ha ha ha! Too true! Too true! All right, then, we will tell you. Where are the Wainthrops, he asks? Ha ha ha! You're looking at 'em, Sevvy! You're looking at 'em!"
There was a significant pause. Then Snape said:
"Ah. Yes, I thought so."
"Ah indeed! Ha ha ha! Now you're going to die. Slowly, and horribly, ha ha ha!"
"I think not, Mont-Strepping!" With a lightning movement Snape brought his hand to his mouth. Agatha peered at him uncertainly.
"Hahaha?"
"Stop him!" Octavian roared, lunging forward. But he was too late. Snape gave a cry, crumpled to the floor and lay still. Agatha prodded him.
"He's dead!"
"Poison, damn him!" Octavian growled. "Wifey must've passed it to him. Saved himself from dying a slow painful death. Deprived us of our amusement too. Git!"
"Git!"
"Still, we finished him off, eh, Aggie?" Octavian grinned as he gazed down at the potions master's lifeless body. "Ha ha ha!"
"Hahaha!"
"Ha ha ha..."
A/N Gasp! Is this the end? Well, no, there's another chapter to come.
Special thanks to my beta-reader Amy Tureen for her continued input and encouragement! You're the best :-)
Chapter Seven
"Stop wriggling!"
"I'm not wriggling!"
"Yes you are!"
"Oh, for the love of..."
McGonagall glanced down, trying to skewer her colleague with a glare, an attempt which failed given that she was balanced precariously on his shoulders, fiddling with the trapdoor.
"Mind my arm." Snape grumbled.
"Am I too heavy?"
"Yes."
"Well!"
"Just hurry up."
Minerva fumbled for another thirty seconds or so, then gave a sigh and dismounted, landing lightly on the floor. Snape stumbled backwards awkwardly, almost knocking her over. She grabbed his good arm and held him up.
"Circus acts were never my strong point." He complained, dropping down anyway to sit cross-legged on the floor. Minerva knelt beside him.
"There's absolutely no way to open the trapdoor without magic."
"So I imagined."
"It was worth a try."
"No it *wasn't*, Minerva. Now I have an aching back and dislocated shoulder to go with my broken arm."
"It isn't dislocated, you big baby." She prodded his shoulder unsympathetically. "It's fine."
""Hmph."
"It's no good 'hmph'ing. That won't get us out of here."
"What *will*? What's your next big idea, McGonagall? Perhaps we should transfigure into moths and fly to freedom through a crack in the wall?"
But McGonagall was still staring up at the trapdoor.
"Severus."
"What is it *now*?"
"Look."
Snape looked. The trapdoor was slowly, very slowly, opening. The two professors stepped back, unconsciously drawing closer to one another. They both jumped when a ladder appeared out of thin air; after a moment, the grotesque form of Octavian Mont-Strepping appeared, inch by inch, before them, followed by his wife.
"Well!" Mont-Strepping's piggy eyes glinted with spite. "Still here then, I see? Ha ha ha!"
"What do you want?" Snape hissed.
"Just a little word, Sevvy, just a little word with you and your *colleague* here."
"This woman is my wife!"
"Ha ha ha!"
"Hahaha!" Chimed in Agatha. "If that's true, why did she never correct me when I spent the whole evening calling her Minerva?"
"I was being polite!" McGonagall returned, realising the lameness of this excuse. However, to her astonishment, the Mont-Streppings looked uncertain, and glanced bemusedly at each other.
"Hmph. So you're saying you're not Minerva McGonagall, deputy headmistress of Hogwarts?"
McGonagall was flabbergasted. Was it possible - could it be true that the Mont-Streppings were so stupid, she could convince them of the reality of her false identity despite the fact that they had known the truth all along? Surely no one could be so dim-witted! But Snape seemed to think the Mont-Streppings were quite thick enough to be deceived - he quickly put in,
"She most certainly is not. True, there is a resemblance...a, er, *family* resemblance." He paused, hesitated.
"Yes," Minerva jumped in, "I told you my niece was a witch, well, we think she gets it from her....er...grandmother's sister, who is also a witch. Her grandmother's sister is Minerva McGonagall."
The Mont-Streppings were truly confused now. They stared at one another, then at Severus and Minerva. Octavian seemed to come to a decision. He smirked.
"Well then, Severus...if this fine lady is indeed your wife, I'm sure you won't be averse to giving her a little kiss, will you, eh? After all, no man should be ashamed to kiss his wife, even in front of his worst enemy."
"You are not my worst enemy, Octavian. Don't flatter yourself." Snape growled. He turned to Minerva, paused, staring into her eyes. She stared back, raised one eyebrow slightly. It was all the communication they needed. Grabbing her by the shoulders Snape leaned forward and pressed his lips passionately against McGonagall's; she froze for a moment, startled by his apparent enthusiasm, then slid her arms firmly around his neck.
The Mont-Streppings, meanwhile, were looking at one another helplessly. There had obviously been a mistake somewhere. No one could fake a kiss like that.
"All right, all right." Muttered Octavian irritably. "That's quite enough. Put her down, Sevvy, put her down, ha ha ha! Though you might as well make the most of it, it's the last kiss you'll ever have."
"Mmph?" Snape demanded. He released McGonagall - who staggered slightly - and turned on their captors. "What do you mean by that?"
Mont-Strepping's tiny eyes narrowed further, his flabby face suddenly becoming wrathful, malicious, almost evil.
"You know what's coming, Sevvy, always a smart one, weren't you, eh? You see, Sevvy, I've got big plans for you...plans involving your imminent, violent death. But as for the Missus - well, my quarrel's not with her. It's just with you, Sevvy. Just you."
Snape decided to try a bluff.
"What exactly is it I'm supposed to have done, Mont-Strepping? Why do you wish me harm?"
The answer completely astonished both Snape and McGonagall - of everything Mont-Strepping might have said - that he hated traitors, that he was being bribed by Voldemort, that he was trying to win the Dark Lord's favour - this was the last thing they had expected.
"You abused our poor Narcissa!"
"Yes but...I beg your pardon?" Snape gasped.
"Our little Cissy! She was engaged to you...best days of her life...until you, you slimy git, broke her poor sweet heart!"
Snape was utterly shocked. He and McGonagall stared helplessly at one another. Surely it could not be possible...it was too much....even the Mont-Streppings could not be so dim as to possess the one thing the Dark Lord would prize, the serpent spyglass, to have it in their cellar and *not even know about it*? Could it be that their little kidnapping venture had nothing to do with Voldemort, but was simply Octavian taking advantage of the meeting with Snape to perpetuate an old family feud? How utterly...gauche!
"Oh, my God." Whispered McGonagall in disbelief.
"So," Mont-Strepping went on briskly. "You can go." This to Minerva, who stared at him blankly. She recovered quickly, however.
"What, and leave my husband in your clutches? Never!"
"Go, woman!" Octavian hissed. "You know perfectly well Sevvy here would never sacrifice himself for you. Or anyone, in fact. He'd see you cursed in a minute if he thought it'd save his greasy hide, wouldn't you, Sevvy, ha ha ha!"
"That's untrue." Snapped McGonagall, coldly. "And I refuse to leave him."
Snape, however, was glaring at her, much to her surprise.
"Margaret," he growled, "what's the purpose in both of us dying here? They're not interested in you. Go, and for Merlin's sake *tell uncle Al what's happened to me*!"
There was a tense silence as two powerful personalities faced off against one another, the wordless battle of wills discernible even by the obtuse Mont-Streppings. Eventually McGonagall was forced to accept Snape's logic; as she had said herself, the mission was paramount: the work is everything, the man is nothing, as Flaubert once said.
"I'll...go then." Murmured McGonagall, still bewildered, and increasingly alarmed. "Severus..."
"Just go." He hissed. Minerva, helpless and apparently quite beside herself - but then, she was a good actress - hesitated again. Mont-Strepping produced a wand from his inside pocket and pointed it at her.
"Unless you want to share his fate, muggle, you'll get out of here immediately! Ha ha ha!"
There was nothing left to do. Snape jerked his head toward the trapdoor.
"Go, quickly, before he changes his mind!"
"Very well." Drawing herself up, McGonagall swallowed down the lump in her throat, and headed for freedom, giving the Mont-Streppings a wide berth. Before she reached the steps, however, she turned back, ran to Snape, took his hand between hers and held it tightly for a moment. He gazed at her sadly.
"Goodbye, Margaret."
"Goodbye, dear." She whispered, and hurried away. The moment she had left the cellar the trapdoor swung shut, leaving Snape alone with the Mont-Streppings.
"Well then, Octavian." The potions master addressed his captor pleasantly enough. "Just what is you're planning to do with me?"
"Put you to death in a horrible fashion, you nasty man! Hahaha!" Agatha squealed before her husband could answer. Octavian nodded vigorously.
"You know, it's really very harsh." Mused Snape. "I've done a lot worse than break poor Cissy's heart. Besides, if you remember, she was the one who jilted me, for Lucius Malfoy."
"Ha ha ha! But it was you who deliberately introduced her to him, just to get rid of her! The thing with that Malfoy git was a flash in the pan. She always loved you. She still does. But you never even answer her owls, poor little thing!"
"Hmm. That's because I don't want Lucius Malfoy to have me hung, drawn and quartered."
"Ha ha ha! You'd prefer us to do it, then! Ha ha ha!"
"Hahaha!"
"Ha ha ha!"
"Quite." Snape murmured. "I don't suppose you're planning to leave me here until I rot, by any chance?"
"No."
"No!"
"No, Sevvy! We've got better plans for you. And don't think there's any chance of escape..."
"No chance!" Agatha chimed in.
"...because we've done something terribly clever!"
"Clever!" Echoed Agatha.
"Ha ha ha!"
"Hahaha!"
"It's a curse," Mont-Strepping went on. "I think you can imagine what kind."
"A binding curse, by any chance? Hardly clever, Mont-Strepping. It's the obvious thing to do in any kidnapping situation. I suppose," Snape added casually, "you're keeping the Wainthrops secure in the same manner."
Octavian looked at Agatha. Smirked.
"He knows."
"Hahaha?"
"But it won't do him any good! Ha ha ha! You think you're so clever, Sevvy..."
"Clever." Said Agatha.
"...but you've got it wrong this time. You may know all about the Wainthrops, but what you don't know is where they are now!"
"Then why not tell me? You may as well, I'm going to die a horrible death, after all."
"Ha ha ha! Too true! Too true! All right, then, we will tell you. Where are the Wainthrops, he asks? Ha ha ha! You're looking at 'em, Sevvy! You're looking at 'em!"
There was a significant pause. Then Snape said:
"Ah. Yes, I thought so."
"Ah indeed! Ha ha ha! Now you're going to die. Slowly, and horribly, ha ha ha!"
"I think not, Mont-Strepping!" With a lightning movement Snape brought his hand to his mouth. Agatha peered at him uncertainly.
"Hahaha?"
"Stop him!" Octavian roared, lunging forward. But he was too late. Snape gave a cry, crumpled to the floor and lay still. Agatha prodded him.
"He's dead!"
"Poison, damn him!" Octavian growled. "Wifey must've passed it to him. Saved himself from dying a slow painful death. Deprived us of our amusement too. Git!"
"Git!"
"Still, we finished him off, eh, Aggie?" Octavian grinned as he gazed down at the potions master's lifeless body. "Ha ha ha!"
"Hahaha!"
"Ha ha ha..."
A/N Gasp! Is this the end? Well, no, there's another chapter to come.