I'm back, boys and girls! I won't tell you too much about what goes on in
this chapter, but be sure not to miss the gratuitous Order of the Phoenix
reference near the end. (Sorry, I couldn't resist.)
Disclaimer: Don't you have better things to do than read disclaimers that tell you things you already know?
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Chapter 4: Cooking Lessons
Severus Snape was not amused.
He was pacing up and down the hallways of Malfoy Manor, looking like a large, disgruntled bat. A very dangerous large, disgruntled bat.
Passing the study door for the twentieth time that afternoon, he glowered at it as if to make the locking spells that Lucius had placed on it evaporate by the sheer force of his glare. During his tenure as a professor at Hogwarts, he had used that glare on students many times, and to great effect. The door, however, was unimpressed.
Giving up, he called, "Lucius?"
There was a muffled sound from within.
"Lucius?"
"Go away."
"Ah, it speaks." It occurred to him after he spoke that sarcasm might not be the best option in this case, but it was too late to retract what he had already said.
And besides, Severus Snape was never wrong.
"Are you coming out, or do you want me to break down your door?" He winced inwardly; here was one of the many side effects of too much time spent with that idiot Gryffindor, Sirius Black. Black might not have been either a Death Eater or a mass murderer – a pity, really, as either condition might have improved him – but in the far-too-numerous conversations they had had since Dumbledore had foisted their companionship off on one another – all three of them – Severus had long since come to the conclusion that Black was still the same foolhardy jackass with all the subtlety of an enraged volcano who had thought it would be amusing to feed a "Slimy Slytherin" to a werewolf.
Giving himself a mental shove, he pulled himself back to the task at hand. He had better things to do than consider that… that… Gryffindor. "Lucius?"
The door opened.
Had Severus not kept complete control of himself, he would have gaped at Lucius' appearance. His normally sleek hair was disheveled, his robes were wrinkled and spotted with – well, whatever it was – and he looked as though he hadn't shaved since he had shut himself in his study several days ago when faced with the rather bizarre prospect of "getting in touch with his inner child" – whatever that was supposed to mean.
"Sheverush," he said in a slurred voice, breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. "What're ya doing 'ere?"
"You invited me here, Lucius," Severus replied as though speaking to a very young child. "Remember?"
The other man blinked owlishly. "Did I?" He shrugged. "Well, come in. The floor ish til – hic! – tilting shomeshing awfuh, buh I feel wunnerful."
Severus followed him into the study, stepping over several empty brandy bottles, and cursing whatever divinities might be listening for putting him in this situation. Whatever atonement he owed the world – and he owed plenty – surely it could not be as harsh as trying to teach a very drunk Lucius Malfoy how to bake.
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Five hours, three more bottles of brandy, and twelve sacks of upturned flour later, a very disheveled Severus Snape had Apparated to Remus Lupin's somewhat ramshackle house in the countryside. Given its secluded location – monthly werewolf transformations weren't exactly conducive to an active social life – the house had been deemed the perfect location of the headquarters of the Semi-Official League Of Wizards Fighting Against Voldemort. (Nobody could be bothered to think of a better name.) Walking from the Apparition point to the house – Dumbledore had set up anti- Apparition wards around the place as an added precaution – he was greeted by the sight of Sirius Black in his Animagus form… frolicking.
"Enjoying yourself?" Severus called acerbically as he passed.
With what could only be called a doggy shrug, the dog changed into his usual form. "You could say that," he replied with an insouciant grin. "You seemed to be doing well enough with Malfoy. Doesn't have too much in the way of talent at cooking, does he?"
Severus stopped dead in his tracks. The only possible way that Black would have been able to witness that scene was if…
"That… woman… isn't here, is she?"
The grin grew, if possible, even wider. "Right on one." They started walking toward the house. "She came by this morning. Said she missed the unique atmosphere."
Severus snorted in spite of himself. If one could say anything for the mood of the house when that… that… woman was there, one could certainly say that it was unique.
And noisy. Very, very noisy. He recalled with a shudder that awful scene involving the jar of paint and the smoked herring.
Trying to keep an optimistic outlook and failing miserably, he walked through the door, a still-smirking Black following close behind. Probably didn't want to miss any of the show, the miserable cur.
"Miss Mafinki-Phurphenblossom," he said, throwing the first punch. "It's so utterly delightful to see you again. I've grown weary of the tedium of being able to hear myself think."
"Nice to see you too, sweetheart," she snapped. She looked at him speculatively. "Tell me, is that your hair, or did something crawl on top of your head and die?"
"Oh, brilliant comeback," he sneered. "I'm quivering in awe of your genius."
"Elba, Severus," a quiet voice interjected from the living room doorway, "would you mind waiting until later to behave like children?"
"Aw, c'mon, Moony," Black said mock-plaintively. "Think how much more space we'll have if they kill each other off."
Stepping into view, Remus Lupin gave his longtime friend a very long look. "That's not funny, Padfoot."
"Oh, don't worry on my account," Severus drawled. "My life's ambition is to be insulted by an unwashed Azkaban escapee."
Black grinned wolfishly. "You mean your old friends have never insulted you?"
"Probably not," that insufferable woman cut in. "Since our greasy compatriot here doesn't have any friends, he can't very well be insulted by them, can he?"
"No," Black said thoughtfully, "that's not true. I'm sure that the fungus in the Hogwarts dungeons will always be there for him."
That woman nodded sagely. "Yes, you're probably right. He probably has a very nice relationship with the pickled crocodile livers as well."
"Very funny," Severus said scathingly. "If you've finished admiring your comic wit, would you mind it terribly if we actually do something constructive with our time?"
"Thank you, Severus," Lupin said gravely. His face was expressionless, but there was muffled laughter in the werewolf's eyes.
Damn him.
"Well, then," Severus said as professionally as possible under the circumstances – Black and that woman were making faces at each other and gesticulating wildly. Severus looked at them briefly, decided that he was better off not knowing, and turned his full attention on Lupin. "Voldemort has decided to move his plans for the Cake forward," he began.
"Well, obviously," that woman snapped. "Details, Snapiekins, details. What exactly is Voldemort doing?"
Severus clenched his teeth at the sound of another one of that woman's ridiculous appellations – an appellation that would undoubtedly be repeated many times, from the gleeful look on Black's face – but managed to say, "The Dark Lord has not chosen to confide in me, but he did instruct me to increase the pace of Lucius Malfoy's training, which indicates that he has some definite time constraints. Bear in mind, though, that what lesser Death Eaters are doing is only the first stages of creating the Cake. That's all that I can glean for now." He glanced at that woman. "Unless our resident quasi-deity would like to shed some light on the subject?"
Frustration filled that woman's face. "I told you, I'm not capable of giving you any specifics that you don't already know." She shrugged. "Believe me, if I could be more direct, I would."
Black raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I don't believe that there's nothing we can do," he muttered. "Isn't there, Elba?"
That woman shrugged again. "Like I said before, we can't do anything until the school year starts – and then it's up to Potter."
"Oh, wonderful," Severus groaned. "Excuse me while I go reserve a coffin for myself."
That woman stared at him coldly. "Don't judge what you don't understand," she snapped. "The boy isn't all-powerful, but for this task he is more than capable."
Severus arched an eyebrow. "We'll see."
There was a brief, awkward silence. "So," Black said brightly, "has anyone come up with any ideas for a name? Arabella spent the whole morning chasing me with her broomstick when she heard what we had." He rubbed his head. "For an old woman, she's the most athletic person I've ever met."
"What about the Order of the Phoenix?" Lupin suggested, ignoring the last comment. "It's an appropriate name for a group that's fighting the Dark Arts."
Black considered it. "Nah," he said finally. "It'll never catch on."
Disclaimer: Don't you have better things to do than read disclaimers that tell you things you already know?
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Chapter 4: Cooking Lessons
Severus Snape was not amused.
He was pacing up and down the hallways of Malfoy Manor, looking like a large, disgruntled bat. A very dangerous large, disgruntled bat.
Passing the study door for the twentieth time that afternoon, he glowered at it as if to make the locking spells that Lucius had placed on it evaporate by the sheer force of his glare. During his tenure as a professor at Hogwarts, he had used that glare on students many times, and to great effect. The door, however, was unimpressed.
Giving up, he called, "Lucius?"
There was a muffled sound from within.
"Lucius?"
"Go away."
"Ah, it speaks." It occurred to him after he spoke that sarcasm might not be the best option in this case, but it was too late to retract what he had already said.
And besides, Severus Snape was never wrong.
"Are you coming out, or do you want me to break down your door?" He winced inwardly; here was one of the many side effects of too much time spent with that idiot Gryffindor, Sirius Black. Black might not have been either a Death Eater or a mass murderer – a pity, really, as either condition might have improved him – but in the far-too-numerous conversations they had had since Dumbledore had foisted their companionship off on one another – all three of them – Severus had long since come to the conclusion that Black was still the same foolhardy jackass with all the subtlety of an enraged volcano who had thought it would be amusing to feed a "Slimy Slytherin" to a werewolf.
Giving himself a mental shove, he pulled himself back to the task at hand. He had better things to do than consider that… that… Gryffindor. "Lucius?"
The door opened.
Had Severus not kept complete control of himself, he would have gaped at Lucius' appearance. His normally sleek hair was disheveled, his robes were wrinkled and spotted with – well, whatever it was – and he looked as though he hadn't shaved since he had shut himself in his study several days ago when faced with the rather bizarre prospect of "getting in touch with his inner child" – whatever that was supposed to mean.
"Sheverush," he said in a slurred voice, breath heavy with the scent of alcohol. "What're ya doing 'ere?"
"You invited me here, Lucius," Severus replied as though speaking to a very young child. "Remember?"
The other man blinked owlishly. "Did I?" He shrugged. "Well, come in. The floor ish til – hic! – tilting shomeshing awfuh, buh I feel wunnerful."
Severus followed him into the study, stepping over several empty brandy bottles, and cursing whatever divinities might be listening for putting him in this situation. Whatever atonement he owed the world – and he owed plenty – surely it could not be as harsh as trying to teach a very drunk Lucius Malfoy how to bake.
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Five hours, three more bottles of brandy, and twelve sacks of upturned flour later, a very disheveled Severus Snape had Apparated to Remus Lupin's somewhat ramshackle house in the countryside. Given its secluded location – monthly werewolf transformations weren't exactly conducive to an active social life – the house had been deemed the perfect location of the headquarters of the Semi-Official League Of Wizards Fighting Against Voldemort. (Nobody could be bothered to think of a better name.) Walking from the Apparition point to the house – Dumbledore had set up anti- Apparition wards around the place as an added precaution – he was greeted by the sight of Sirius Black in his Animagus form… frolicking.
"Enjoying yourself?" Severus called acerbically as he passed.
With what could only be called a doggy shrug, the dog changed into his usual form. "You could say that," he replied with an insouciant grin. "You seemed to be doing well enough with Malfoy. Doesn't have too much in the way of talent at cooking, does he?"
Severus stopped dead in his tracks. The only possible way that Black would have been able to witness that scene was if…
"That… woman… isn't here, is she?"
The grin grew, if possible, even wider. "Right on one." They started walking toward the house. "She came by this morning. Said she missed the unique atmosphere."
Severus snorted in spite of himself. If one could say anything for the mood of the house when that… that… woman was there, one could certainly say that it was unique.
And noisy. Very, very noisy. He recalled with a shudder that awful scene involving the jar of paint and the smoked herring.
Trying to keep an optimistic outlook and failing miserably, he walked through the door, a still-smirking Black following close behind. Probably didn't want to miss any of the show, the miserable cur.
"Miss Mafinki-Phurphenblossom," he said, throwing the first punch. "It's so utterly delightful to see you again. I've grown weary of the tedium of being able to hear myself think."
"Nice to see you too, sweetheart," she snapped. She looked at him speculatively. "Tell me, is that your hair, or did something crawl on top of your head and die?"
"Oh, brilliant comeback," he sneered. "I'm quivering in awe of your genius."
"Elba, Severus," a quiet voice interjected from the living room doorway, "would you mind waiting until later to behave like children?"
"Aw, c'mon, Moony," Black said mock-plaintively. "Think how much more space we'll have if they kill each other off."
Stepping into view, Remus Lupin gave his longtime friend a very long look. "That's not funny, Padfoot."
"Oh, don't worry on my account," Severus drawled. "My life's ambition is to be insulted by an unwashed Azkaban escapee."
Black grinned wolfishly. "You mean your old friends have never insulted you?"
"Probably not," that insufferable woman cut in. "Since our greasy compatriot here doesn't have any friends, he can't very well be insulted by them, can he?"
"No," Black said thoughtfully, "that's not true. I'm sure that the fungus in the Hogwarts dungeons will always be there for him."
That woman nodded sagely. "Yes, you're probably right. He probably has a very nice relationship with the pickled crocodile livers as well."
"Very funny," Severus said scathingly. "If you've finished admiring your comic wit, would you mind it terribly if we actually do something constructive with our time?"
"Thank you, Severus," Lupin said gravely. His face was expressionless, but there was muffled laughter in the werewolf's eyes.
Damn him.
"Well, then," Severus said as professionally as possible under the circumstances – Black and that woman were making faces at each other and gesticulating wildly. Severus looked at them briefly, decided that he was better off not knowing, and turned his full attention on Lupin. "Voldemort has decided to move his plans for the Cake forward," he began.
"Well, obviously," that woman snapped. "Details, Snapiekins, details. What exactly is Voldemort doing?"
Severus clenched his teeth at the sound of another one of that woman's ridiculous appellations – an appellation that would undoubtedly be repeated many times, from the gleeful look on Black's face – but managed to say, "The Dark Lord has not chosen to confide in me, but he did instruct me to increase the pace of Lucius Malfoy's training, which indicates that he has some definite time constraints. Bear in mind, though, that what lesser Death Eaters are doing is only the first stages of creating the Cake. That's all that I can glean for now." He glanced at that woman. "Unless our resident quasi-deity would like to shed some light on the subject?"
Frustration filled that woman's face. "I told you, I'm not capable of giving you any specifics that you don't already know." She shrugged. "Believe me, if I could be more direct, I would."
Black raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I don't believe that there's nothing we can do," he muttered. "Isn't there, Elba?"
That woman shrugged again. "Like I said before, we can't do anything until the school year starts – and then it's up to Potter."
"Oh, wonderful," Severus groaned. "Excuse me while I go reserve a coffin for myself."
That woman stared at him coldly. "Don't judge what you don't understand," she snapped. "The boy isn't all-powerful, but for this task he is more than capable."
Severus arched an eyebrow. "We'll see."
There was a brief, awkward silence. "So," Black said brightly, "has anyone come up with any ideas for a name? Arabella spent the whole morning chasing me with her broomstick when she heard what we had." He rubbed his head. "For an old woman, she's the most athletic person I've ever met."
"What about the Order of the Phoenix?" Lupin suggested, ignoring the last comment. "It's an appropriate name for a group that's fighting the Dark Arts."
Black considered it. "Nah," he said finally. "It'll never catch on."