Disclaimer: I don't own, I don't claim to own, and I don't hope to own. Please don't sue.
Murphy's Law
Two ~*~ Some Temporary Improvements at the Ministry
The electrical outlets had all been painstakingly removed from their snug dens in the walls. Also, a series of charms had been placed around Harry's crib, most of them there to warn either Remus or Snape if their small charge decided he wanted something and started crawling around.
Oddly enough, he /never/ cried. Because of this, Snape and Lupin had to rely mainly on guesswork when it came to the time to feed him or change his diaper. He took a good deal less work than most infants (or so Mrs. Weasley told them). That woman had been a saving grace for the two, and Remus found himself ringing her up at least twice a week with some query or another.
The werewolf was beginning to note that his old colleague was starting to become /very/ attached to the son of his arch-nemesis. It would be ironic, Remus mused, if taking care of Harry was what killed Snape in the end. Subsequently, it was Snape who worried about the boy's lack of wailing; Snape who researched the optimum proportion of ingredients in baby formula; Snape who rose in the morning, grumbling like some storm on the horizon, to tend to the small child in a very fond sort of way.
It was one such morning, only a few days after the previous full moon, that Lupin padded down the stairs to fetch a cup of tea. The transformation had left him particularly exhausted this time; deep rings were prevalent under his eyes and his reaction time was seriously slowed by the way that he seemed to blink at nothing. He reached the kitchen, put a kettle on the stove to boil (he decided that he'd rather not use magic, as it was very possible that he would accidentally blow something up in his current befuzzled state), and turned to the front door to see if the newspaper had come yet.
And almost had a heart attack.
Pressed to the frosted glass, their breaths steaming in the crisp autumn air, a mob of reporters clamored for his attention. Some he recognized to be from the Daily Prophet, identifiable by their gold-tipped quills, madly scribbling on sheets of parchment. A few were from Witch Weekly, including a revolting-looking woman dressed in a particularly repulsive shade of violet and sporting a pair of equally repulsive glasses. They shouted so much that Remus thought he felt the house quiver. He was /very/ surprised that Severus hadn't been woken yet. The man was a light sleeper-probably a token from his Death Eater days.
Lupin knew he lacked both the energy and the resolve to face this hellish throng, especially after his monthly ordeal. They didn't look like they were going to disperse anytime soon, either. He trudged back up the winding staircase, down the lighted hallway and to the heavy mahogany doors of Severus' chambers. He knocked stiffly on these.
A series of annoyed noises ensued, including a few muttered curse words. After a few seconds, a grumpy-looking Snape opened the door. He was dressed in his robes, but his hair was tousled and messed from slumber.
"'S morning already? Where's my coffee?"
Remus pointed downstairs. "Reporters."
Instantly, Severus' demeanor shifted. His eyes focused and hardened, and he retrieved his wand from the insides of his robes. His mouth quickly turned down in a scowl and he absently sough to curb his unruly hair, face darkening more with each passing second. Then, he stalked downstairs like some enraged animal, midnight robes billowing out after him in true Severus Snape fashion. There was silence for a brief second as the Potions Master's glittering obsidian gaze cowered the vultures.
Remus walked quickly to the edge of the staircase, where it overlooked the foyer, not wanting to miss the show. The sharp, bright morning light streamed through the large window that was situated above the front door, blinding his eyes. He raised an arm to shade them and glanced downwards.
Severus opened the front door, his arms now crossed in front of his chest in a gesture that indicated that he was /not/ going to let /anyone/ inside. The mob looked a bit disappointed by that, but the silence was finally broken by one faltering voice: "Is it true that…?"
This sprang open the dam, resulting in a flood of more questions. Severus Snape remained silent, letting the questions bounce off his like harmless spells. Then he raised his wand, lips quirking upwards a little, if anything making his face appear to be even more sinister. His tangle of dark hair shadowed his eyes as the Potions Master spoke in a low, clear voice.
"If I may make a suggestion, /ladies and gentlemen/--" the sarcasm rolled off each syllable-"Leave my property." The disdain in his voice ate visibly away at the reporter's self-confidence; some of them wilted like flowers that had been watered by acid.
Finally, a particularly imbecilic one piped up, does that mean you won't answer questions? Hey, can I quote you on that?"
This reporter was a young, fashionably tanned fellow with a mop of sun-bleached hair. It was interesting, Remus observed, to see Snape turn his gaze on the unlucky fellow and watch the color drain from his face so that the tan turned into about the same shade as his hair, if not lighter. His pale eyes widened in horror as Severus raised his wand, smirking evilly.
Remus yelled out, trying to warn his friend about the consequences that he would face with the Ministry if he cursed even a fraction of the news hounds, but his voice carried on unheeded, as in a flash, Snape had Stunned at least half of the vultures before they had any clue what was happening. They toppled over each other in an interesting Dominoes effect, limbs flailing and hitting others, who swore and tried to pry the seemingly lifeless bodies off themselves.
Snape uttered a few choice words, and the rest were hit by a medley of different curses and hexes, so that the crowd was filled with animal noises and jelly-legs, or people with leeks springing from their ears or people coughing up slugs. It seemed that these reporters had no clue how to defend themselves magically. Remus actually began to wonder if they weren't Squibs in order to take such a job. At this point, there were definitely less people in it than animals; the entire procession was like a pudding of oddities. Bit by bit, in a rather cacophonous procession, the mob made its way down away from Severus' house and fled towards the nearest source of a countercurse.
Severus Snape closed the front door, a smug, self-congratulating smile on his face.
~*~
If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will cause the most damage will be the one to go wrong.
Corollary: If there is a worse time for something to go wrong, it will happen then.
--From Murphy's Laws.
~*~
Deep in the midst of raging waters stood the prison of Azkaban. The entire backdrop to the place was gray, sucked of all color and devoid of all life. Even when the sun was out and the skies were clear, they were never really blue; the Dementors took care of all that. They created a vortex that told visitors that the sky was, in reality, cloudy and most likely to remain so for all eternity. They created a coldness that chilled visitors down to the very marrow of their bones, a chill that could never be thawed out for the rest of their lives.
Inside the prison, wretched bodies clawed at the sides of their cells, blubbering irrationally, begging and pleading with ghosts that were not their. Some lay still, body wracked with sobs until they had cried their tears dry with the misery and horrors of the place. Others stared soullessly at the mold-eaten walls, curled up as tightly as possibly, trying to soak back the warmth that was not really there.
And then, there was Sirius Black.
Azkaban had not been kind to him, either. His dark hair was matted over his eyes and thin, gaunt face. His stare was an unnerving one, pale eyes full of a feverish obsession that was almost no different from the crazed glares the other prisoners owned. Sometimes, he rested in a mat of filthy hay, thinking. Other times, his hands gripped the bars of his cell like talons aching to rip the confinements away.
He was crouched next to the bars when it fluttered by. And, by reflex, he reached out an caught it. It was a newspaper, one that he supposed a visitor had left behind. It crinkled merrily of his grip, promising a temporary reprise from the dull madness of the morbid jail. He pulled it towards himself, barely making out the headlines in the dim lighting. He stumbled over the words and first, as they seemed unfamiliar from disuse, but as he went along, the reading went smoother, memories clicking into place as he rolled over each words with his eyes, relishing the meaning they gave.
Then, as he slid down to the next headline, he felt his breath catch in his throat.
CUSTODY OF BOY-WHO-LIVED GIVEN TO SEVERUS SNAPE, SUSPECTED DEATH EATER
Sirius was so numbed at first from feeling anything but depression that the shock took him a few moments to register. He looked at his hand and found it shaking-odd, why? Everything seemed to float past him in a slow, murky daze. Then he glanced back at the paper, and his heart jumped again.
/This is… this is not happening… this can't happen. Not after all that we've worked for… it can't end like this…/
It couldn't, and it wouldn't. Resolve hardened the disturbing gaze of Sirius Black as a plan slowly formulated in his feverish mind. His thoughts came back into painful clarity, and memories of the past rounded back to hound him even more. The light of obsession radiated even more strongly from his eyes, as if feeding from all the pain that he had seen and growing stronger with each passing moment. There was finally a glimmer of life in the dull deathly haven of Azkaban.
Then Sirius Black shook his head free of it all and sat back, watching the dark shadows of the Dementors swoop by his cell-and waited.
~*~
Fudge's office at the Ministry reflected his character completely, feeble and dull. It was small and circular in shape, lined with moldy drawers and moldier papers. Even the light that streamed inside seemed feeble and flickering and without much will to survive. A window shade flittered weakly in the wind, and a stale breeze crawled inside, barely lifting the lightest of documents.
Over his old, well-worn desk, Cornelius hunched over and tried his best to give the culprit a stern, dignified glare. His balding hair was shielded by his famous bowler hat, and his pudgy, weak face and soft, weak chin was scrunched into what he thought was a frown. He folded his hands before him and said in what he deemed a commanding voice, "that was totally uncalled for, Severus Snape."
The younger man glared back, cold anger in every line of his face. It made Fudge falter, but the enormous pride of the old buffoon made him continue,
"I may have to place you under arrest for this."
That was the last straw. Snape leaned forward, crouched like some jungle cat ready to spring upon its (very offending) prey. His eyes glinted in the light, somehow shining brighter and looking stronger and more /real/ than anything else in the pathetic office. His anger was even more intense than any other feeling the office carried within its dismal walls. Fudge felt like it was actually /funneled/ at him, and he felt its frozen heat as if it were a tangible thing.
"I thought you promised to keep the press out of this." It wasn't a question, but an unnerving demand.
In response, Cornelius tried to sit up at his full height and gave Snape a look that an admonishing father would direct towards his misbehaving teenager. "Now be reasonable, Severus. There was no way that I could have kept the Daily Prophet off my back like that. I had to give them /something/."
Snape remained quiet for a moment, then his gaze intensified. "Then you lied, /Minister/." He spat the word out as if it were a particularly foul sort of taste in his mouth. "Do you have /any/ honor?"
"Now see here-" Fudge said angrily, his eyebrows lowering on his brow, a frown beginning to form on his face. "I've been perfectly civil to you so far, Severus-"
"Being 'civil' does /not/ include setting a mob of bloody /vultures/ on my house at six in the morning!" Snape roared, making Fudge cringe. "By all means push charges. If there is enough /nerve/ in your feeble brain to do so!" He stopped, remembering how Remus had told him about his sharp temper and how it would lead him into trouble.
Fudge's face had turned very white, like a sheet, with his anger. His eyes practically bulged, but he swallowed his rage down, knowing what Snape was capable of doing… and getting away with. "Very well," he said quietly, his voice shaking. Severus allowed him a frigid smile, which only made Fudge angrier.. and more helpless. "N-no… charges will be pressed against you. Make sure it doesn't happen again," he finished, turning away. "This meeting is finished."
"Indeed it is," Snape agreed. He rose and swept off in a flurry of ebony robes. What Fudge /didn't/ notice was a thin hand reaching into a pocket and uncorking a small phial's contents into the Minister's steaming mug of coffee.
Fudge sighed irritably and massaged at his temples. He was too old for this, he convinced himself. Wearily, he reached over the littered papers on his desk and out for the caffeine-infused beverage and took a large sip, gasping a little as the scalding liquid burned his palette.
There was a slight pop, and a large oversized bullfrog sat on the desk, in the Minister of Magic's place. Its back was unusually bumpy for a frog, and it was the color of fresh vomit. Its eyes bulged in horror as it realized what had just occurred, and it puffed out its throat in a loud, reverberating croak of indignation.
A secretary ran into the office; a stern, older witch with her hair piled up on her head in an iron-gray bun. She took one look at the oversized amphibian and shrieked, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She whipped out her wand and unleashed a Banishing Charm that blasted the unfortunate Minister out of the window and down two stories, its resounding croak growing more distant as it finally landed with an unpleasant /squelch/.
Then the secretary ran over to the window to witness her handiwork, only to meet the sight of an overweight, balding-man in a bowler hat doubled over in pain and cursing the name of Severus Snape to the heavens.
~*~
"Isn't he adorable?" Mrs. Weasley gushed, her arms flung wide open, encouraging the small child to walk into them.
The Weasley home was cluttered but snug. It /had/ to be, with that many kids running around at the same time. With two boys almost ready for Hogwarts, one /very/ bossy six-year-old, two wildly misbehaving toddlers, and two other young ones besides, the Weasleys didn't have much room for anything else.
The kitchen was always busy and bustling, with dishes sploshing in the sink as they scrubbed themselves clean and stacked themselves up in the shelves and a pot or two bubbling contentedly on the stove. Something or another was always making funny noises and the house was never /quiet/. Yet it was the happy, open sort of noise that should be found in every house.
Harry looked up at Mrs. Weasley; here was a gentle-looking, plump woman with rosy cheeks and a head of red yarn. Her apron was formidable and her eyes twinkled with friendliness. He inched forward, blinking a little, but the unsure toddler gait was noticeably absent from his movements, which were already beginning to achieve the fluidity of that of a kindergartner.
Mrs. Weasley noticed this, too, reflecting on how strange a child this was. She glanced over at his guardians-well, that would explain some things. She watched, amused, as Severus was assaulted by the infamous Weasley twins, Fred and George.
Fred was standing on the couch where Severus was seated, staring thoughtfully at the man's hair. Finally, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief, he asked, "Mr. Snape, why is your hair so greasy?"
"Yeah!" George chimed in merrily. "It looks like the water in the sink after Mummy's all done with the dishes!"
Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing (except for Ron, who was poking his little sister Ginny and giggling) to stare at the man being interrogated. Snape turned a very pale shade and could do nothing but glare at the miscreants.
"/Fred/! /George/! /Behave/!" Mrs. Weasley snapped angrily, glaring sharply at her two boys. They gazed back up with innocent expressions, looking for all the world like two freckled little cherubs.
Remus watched this all from the side, his face barely concealing his mirth. /How/ many times had he asked Snape the same question when they were in school? Being here, with the Weasleys in the Burrow, made him feel like the wizarding world was back to its cozy, close-knit self again. It was a welcome reprise from the normal daily chaos.
"Careful, Molly," he commented, smiling softly. "Just wait until they get their wands."
"God forbid!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, but her own grin told off that she didn't really mean it. Instead, she swept Harry up onto her lap. "You two are so lucky," she told them. "Look at him; hardly any trouble at all! Does he talk a lot?"
Snape and Lupin exchanged worried glances. "Actually…" Remus began uneasily, that's why we came today. You see, Harry hasn't said a single word to us since he's been here and we were getting worried that there was something wrong with him…" He turned to Severus, who nodded stiffly.
Molly Weasley glanced down at the small boy in her arms. Large emerald eyes stared back; she was taken with their intensity. They were so /focused/, promising a great deal of untapped potential beneath them. She smiled warmly at his two somewhat overprotective guardians.
"Don't worry," she assured them. "You're doing the best you can for him; I can tell that. You two are doing just fine. Some boys develop at different rates than others… but unless I miss my guess, your Harry here will be talking in complete sentences when he finally decides to. He'll skip right over all of that baby talk, won't you Harry?," she added fondly. The intelligent green eyes blinked in agreement.
A small smile began to steal across even Snape's stony features. "Thank you, Molly," he told her sincerely. "You're lucky, Lupin," he told his colleague. "If there /had/ been something wrong, I would have immediately suspected you dropping him on his head."
Remus turned his gaze up towards the ceiling in feigned exasperation. "Why me?!"
~*~
AN: See? There /is/ some plot to this after all! Well, I guess starting to form. Reference to the title of the chapter-I thought a bullfrog may have been better than a Cornelius Fudge, thus the "temporary improvements." I read back on my first chapter and realized how sketchy the thing actually is; apologies for that, I may repost it if I find time this week.
I actually did some research for this fic! You see, I have no clue on what the developmental stages of a child are, so we can assume in this fic that Harry is about 2 (almost). At this point, there should be some talk going on. Fred and George are 4, so they are capable of forming complete, coherent sentences. Also, for those of you who haven't heard of Murphy's Law(s), they're just a bunch of statements regarding this main theme: If anything can go wrong, it will. Which is kind of what happens to our poor protagonists in this fic. ^_^
Thank you so much for the reviews! I really didn't expect so many positive ones… please drop some reviews for this chapter too! They're actually really motivating…
One more thing: if I've spelled any Harry Potter related stuff wrong, let me know. I really haven't written any HP fanfics before this, and my spelling is naturally horrible, so there's a good chance that something's wrong somewhere or another.
Thanks!
Murphy's Law
Two ~*~ Some Temporary Improvements at the Ministry
The electrical outlets had all been painstakingly removed from their snug dens in the walls. Also, a series of charms had been placed around Harry's crib, most of them there to warn either Remus or Snape if their small charge decided he wanted something and started crawling around.
Oddly enough, he /never/ cried. Because of this, Snape and Lupin had to rely mainly on guesswork when it came to the time to feed him or change his diaper. He took a good deal less work than most infants (or so Mrs. Weasley told them). That woman had been a saving grace for the two, and Remus found himself ringing her up at least twice a week with some query or another.
The werewolf was beginning to note that his old colleague was starting to become /very/ attached to the son of his arch-nemesis. It would be ironic, Remus mused, if taking care of Harry was what killed Snape in the end. Subsequently, it was Snape who worried about the boy's lack of wailing; Snape who researched the optimum proportion of ingredients in baby formula; Snape who rose in the morning, grumbling like some storm on the horizon, to tend to the small child in a very fond sort of way.
It was one such morning, only a few days after the previous full moon, that Lupin padded down the stairs to fetch a cup of tea. The transformation had left him particularly exhausted this time; deep rings were prevalent under his eyes and his reaction time was seriously slowed by the way that he seemed to blink at nothing. He reached the kitchen, put a kettle on the stove to boil (he decided that he'd rather not use magic, as it was very possible that he would accidentally blow something up in his current befuzzled state), and turned to the front door to see if the newspaper had come yet.
And almost had a heart attack.
Pressed to the frosted glass, their breaths steaming in the crisp autumn air, a mob of reporters clamored for his attention. Some he recognized to be from the Daily Prophet, identifiable by their gold-tipped quills, madly scribbling on sheets of parchment. A few were from Witch Weekly, including a revolting-looking woman dressed in a particularly repulsive shade of violet and sporting a pair of equally repulsive glasses. They shouted so much that Remus thought he felt the house quiver. He was /very/ surprised that Severus hadn't been woken yet. The man was a light sleeper-probably a token from his Death Eater days.
Lupin knew he lacked both the energy and the resolve to face this hellish throng, especially after his monthly ordeal. They didn't look like they were going to disperse anytime soon, either. He trudged back up the winding staircase, down the lighted hallway and to the heavy mahogany doors of Severus' chambers. He knocked stiffly on these.
A series of annoyed noises ensued, including a few muttered curse words. After a few seconds, a grumpy-looking Snape opened the door. He was dressed in his robes, but his hair was tousled and messed from slumber.
"'S morning already? Where's my coffee?"
Remus pointed downstairs. "Reporters."
Instantly, Severus' demeanor shifted. His eyes focused and hardened, and he retrieved his wand from the insides of his robes. His mouth quickly turned down in a scowl and he absently sough to curb his unruly hair, face darkening more with each passing second. Then, he stalked downstairs like some enraged animal, midnight robes billowing out after him in true Severus Snape fashion. There was silence for a brief second as the Potions Master's glittering obsidian gaze cowered the vultures.
Remus walked quickly to the edge of the staircase, where it overlooked the foyer, not wanting to miss the show. The sharp, bright morning light streamed through the large window that was situated above the front door, blinding his eyes. He raised an arm to shade them and glanced downwards.
Severus opened the front door, his arms now crossed in front of his chest in a gesture that indicated that he was /not/ going to let /anyone/ inside. The mob looked a bit disappointed by that, but the silence was finally broken by one faltering voice: "Is it true that…?"
This sprang open the dam, resulting in a flood of more questions. Severus Snape remained silent, letting the questions bounce off his like harmless spells. Then he raised his wand, lips quirking upwards a little, if anything making his face appear to be even more sinister. His tangle of dark hair shadowed his eyes as the Potions Master spoke in a low, clear voice.
"If I may make a suggestion, /ladies and gentlemen/--" the sarcasm rolled off each syllable-"Leave my property." The disdain in his voice ate visibly away at the reporter's self-confidence; some of them wilted like flowers that had been watered by acid.
Finally, a particularly imbecilic one piped up, does that mean you won't answer questions? Hey, can I quote you on that?"
This reporter was a young, fashionably tanned fellow with a mop of sun-bleached hair. It was interesting, Remus observed, to see Snape turn his gaze on the unlucky fellow and watch the color drain from his face so that the tan turned into about the same shade as his hair, if not lighter. His pale eyes widened in horror as Severus raised his wand, smirking evilly.
Remus yelled out, trying to warn his friend about the consequences that he would face with the Ministry if he cursed even a fraction of the news hounds, but his voice carried on unheeded, as in a flash, Snape had Stunned at least half of the vultures before they had any clue what was happening. They toppled over each other in an interesting Dominoes effect, limbs flailing and hitting others, who swore and tried to pry the seemingly lifeless bodies off themselves.
Snape uttered a few choice words, and the rest were hit by a medley of different curses and hexes, so that the crowd was filled with animal noises and jelly-legs, or people with leeks springing from their ears or people coughing up slugs. It seemed that these reporters had no clue how to defend themselves magically. Remus actually began to wonder if they weren't Squibs in order to take such a job. At this point, there were definitely less people in it than animals; the entire procession was like a pudding of oddities. Bit by bit, in a rather cacophonous procession, the mob made its way down away from Severus' house and fled towards the nearest source of a countercurse.
Severus Snape closed the front door, a smug, self-congratulating smile on his face.
~*~
If there is a possibility of several things going wrong, the one that will cause the most damage will be the one to go wrong.
Corollary: If there is a worse time for something to go wrong, it will happen then.
--From Murphy's Laws.
~*~
Deep in the midst of raging waters stood the prison of Azkaban. The entire backdrop to the place was gray, sucked of all color and devoid of all life. Even when the sun was out and the skies were clear, they were never really blue; the Dementors took care of all that. They created a vortex that told visitors that the sky was, in reality, cloudy and most likely to remain so for all eternity. They created a coldness that chilled visitors down to the very marrow of their bones, a chill that could never be thawed out for the rest of their lives.
Inside the prison, wretched bodies clawed at the sides of their cells, blubbering irrationally, begging and pleading with ghosts that were not their. Some lay still, body wracked with sobs until they had cried their tears dry with the misery and horrors of the place. Others stared soullessly at the mold-eaten walls, curled up as tightly as possibly, trying to soak back the warmth that was not really there.
And then, there was Sirius Black.
Azkaban had not been kind to him, either. His dark hair was matted over his eyes and thin, gaunt face. His stare was an unnerving one, pale eyes full of a feverish obsession that was almost no different from the crazed glares the other prisoners owned. Sometimes, he rested in a mat of filthy hay, thinking. Other times, his hands gripped the bars of his cell like talons aching to rip the confinements away.
He was crouched next to the bars when it fluttered by. And, by reflex, he reached out an caught it. It was a newspaper, one that he supposed a visitor had left behind. It crinkled merrily of his grip, promising a temporary reprise from the dull madness of the morbid jail. He pulled it towards himself, barely making out the headlines in the dim lighting. He stumbled over the words and first, as they seemed unfamiliar from disuse, but as he went along, the reading went smoother, memories clicking into place as he rolled over each words with his eyes, relishing the meaning they gave.
Then, as he slid down to the next headline, he felt his breath catch in his throat.
CUSTODY OF BOY-WHO-LIVED GIVEN TO SEVERUS SNAPE, SUSPECTED DEATH EATER
Sirius was so numbed at first from feeling anything but depression that the shock took him a few moments to register. He looked at his hand and found it shaking-odd, why? Everything seemed to float past him in a slow, murky daze. Then he glanced back at the paper, and his heart jumped again.
/This is… this is not happening… this can't happen. Not after all that we've worked for… it can't end like this…/
It couldn't, and it wouldn't. Resolve hardened the disturbing gaze of Sirius Black as a plan slowly formulated in his feverish mind. His thoughts came back into painful clarity, and memories of the past rounded back to hound him even more. The light of obsession radiated even more strongly from his eyes, as if feeding from all the pain that he had seen and growing stronger with each passing moment. There was finally a glimmer of life in the dull deathly haven of Azkaban.
Then Sirius Black shook his head free of it all and sat back, watching the dark shadows of the Dementors swoop by his cell-and waited.
~*~
Fudge's office at the Ministry reflected his character completely, feeble and dull. It was small and circular in shape, lined with moldy drawers and moldier papers. Even the light that streamed inside seemed feeble and flickering and without much will to survive. A window shade flittered weakly in the wind, and a stale breeze crawled inside, barely lifting the lightest of documents.
Over his old, well-worn desk, Cornelius hunched over and tried his best to give the culprit a stern, dignified glare. His balding hair was shielded by his famous bowler hat, and his pudgy, weak face and soft, weak chin was scrunched into what he thought was a frown. He folded his hands before him and said in what he deemed a commanding voice, "that was totally uncalled for, Severus Snape."
The younger man glared back, cold anger in every line of his face. It made Fudge falter, but the enormous pride of the old buffoon made him continue,
"I may have to place you under arrest for this."
That was the last straw. Snape leaned forward, crouched like some jungle cat ready to spring upon its (very offending) prey. His eyes glinted in the light, somehow shining brighter and looking stronger and more /real/ than anything else in the pathetic office. His anger was even more intense than any other feeling the office carried within its dismal walls. Fudge felt like it was actually /funneled/ at him, and he felt its frozen heat as if it were a tangible thing.
"I thought you promised to keep the press out of this." It wasn't a question, but an unnerving demand.
In response, Cornelius tried to sit up at his full height and gave Snape a look that an admonishing father would direct towards his misbehaving teenager. "Now be reasonable, Severus. There was no way that I could have kept the Daily Prophet off my back like that. I had to give them /something/."
Snape remained quiet for a moment, then his gaze intensified. "Then you lied, /Minister/." He spat the word out as if it were a particularly foul sort of taste in his mouth. "Do you have /any/ honor?"
"Now see here-" Fudge said angrily, his eyebrows lowering on his brow, a frown beginning to form on his face. "I've been perfectly civil to you so far, Severus-"
"Being 'civil' does /not/ include setting a mob of bloody /vultures/ on my house at six in the morning!" Snape roared, making Fudge cringe. "By all means push charges. If there is enough /nerve/ in your feeble brain to do so!" He stopped, remembering how Remus had told him about his sharp temper and how it would lead him into trouble.
Fudge's face had turned very white, like a sheet, with his anger. His eyes practically bulged, but he swallowed his rage down, knowing what Snape was capable of doing… and getting away with. "Very well," he said quietly, his voice shaking. Severus allowed him a frigid smile, which only made Fudge angrier.. and more helpless. "N-no… charges will be pressed against you. Make sure it doesn't happen again," he finished, turning away. "This meeting is finished."
"Indeed it is," Snape agreed. He rose and swept off in a flurry of ebony robes. What Fudge /didn't/ notice was a thin hand reaching into a pocket and uncorking a small phial's contents into the Minister's steaming mug of coffee.
Fudge sighed irritably and massaged at his temples. He was too old for this, he convinced himself. Wearily, he reached over the littered papers on his desk and out for the caffeine-infused beverage and took a large sip, gasping a little as the scalding liquid burned his palette.
There was a slight pop, and a large oversized bullfrog sat on the desk, in the Minister of Magic's place. Its back was unusually bumpy for a frog, and it was the color of fresh vomit. Its eyes bulged in horror as it realized what had just occurred, and it puffed out its throat in a loud, reverberating croak of indignation.
A secretary ran into the office; a stern, older witch with her hair piled up on her head in an iron-gray bun. She took one look at the oversized amphibian and shrieked, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. She whipped out her wand and unleashed a Banishing Charm that blasted the unfortunate Minister out of the window and down two stories, its resounding croak growing more distant as it finally landed with an unpleasant /squelch/.
Then the secretary ran over to the window to witness her handiwork, only to meet the sight of an overweight, balding-man in a bowler hat doubled over in pain and cursing the name of Severus Snape to the heavens.
~*~
"Isn't he adorable?" Mrs. Weasley gushed, her arms flung wide open, encouraging the small child to walk into them.
The Weasley home was cluttered but snug. It /had/ to be, with that many kids running around at the same time. With two boys almost ready for Hogwarts, one /very/ bossy six-year-old, two wildly misbehaving toddlers, and two other young ones besides, the Weasleys didn't have much room for anything else.
The kitchen was always busy and bustling, with dishes sploshing in the sink as they scrubbed themselves clean and stacked themselves up in the shelves and a pot or two bubbling contentedly on the stove. Something or another was always making funny noises and the house was never /quiet/. Yet it was the happy, open sort of noise that should be found in every house.
Harry looked up at Mrs. Weasley; here was a gentle-looking, plump woman with rosy cheeks and a head of red yarn. Her apron was formidable and her eyes twinkled with friendliness. He inched forward, blinking a little, but the unsure toddler gait was noticeably absent from his movements, which were already beginning to achieve the fluidity of that of a kindergartner.
Mrs. Weasley noticed this, too, reflecting on how strange a child this was. She glanced over at his guardians-well, that would explain some things. She watched, amused, as Severus was assaulted by the infamous Weasley twins, Fred and George.
Fred was standing on the couch where Severus was seated, staring thoughtfully at the man's hair. Finally, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief, he asked, "Mr. Snape, why is your hair so greasy?"
"Yeah!" George chimed in merrily. "It looks like the water in the sink after Mummy's all done with the dishes!"
Everyone in the room stopped what they were doing (except for Ron, who was poking his little sister Ginny and giggling) to stare at the man being interrogated. Snape turned a very pale shade and could do nothing but glare at the miscreants.
"/Fred/! /George/! /Behave/!" Mrs. Weasley snapped angrily, glaring sharply at her two boys. They gazed back up with innocent expressions, looking for all the world like two freckled little cherubs.
Remus watched this all from the side, his face barely concealing his mirth. /How/ many times had he asked Snape the same question when they were in school? Being here, with the Weasleys in the Burrow, made him feel like the wizarding world was back to its cozy, close-knit self again. It was a welcome reprise from the normal daily chaos.
"Careful, Molly," he commented, smiling softly. "Just wait until they get their wands."
"God forbid!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, but her own grin told off that she didn't really mean it. Instead, she swept Harry up onto her lap. "You two are so lucky," she told them. "Look at him; hardly any trouble at all! Does he talk a lot?"
Snape and Lupin exchanged worried glances. "Actually…" Remus began uneasily, that's why we came today. You see, Harry hasn't said a single word to us since he's been here and we were getting worried that there was something wrong with him…" He turned to Severus, who nodded stiffly.
Molly Weasley glanced down at the small boy in her arms. Large emerald eyes stared back; she was taken with their intensity. They were so /focused/, promising a great deal of untapped potential beneath them. She smiled warmly at his two somewhat overprotective guardians.
"Don't worry," she assured them. "You're doing the best you can for him; I can tell that. You two are doing just fine. Some boys develop at different rates than others… but unless I miss my guess, your Harry here will be talking in complete sentences when he finally decides to. He'll skip right over all of that baby talk, won't you Harry?," she added fondly. The intelligent green eyes blinked in agreement.
A small smile began to steal across even Snape's stony features. "Thank you, Molly," he told her sincerely. "You're lucky, Lupin," he told his colleague. "If there /had/ been something wrong, I would have immediately suspected you dropping him on his head."
Remus turned his gaze up towards the ceiling in feigned exasperation. "Why me?!"
~*~
AN: See? There /is/ some plot to this after all! Well, I guess starting to form. Reference to the title of the chapter-I thought a bullfrog may have been better than a Cornelius Fudge, thus the "temporary improvements." I read back on my first chapter and realized how sketchy the thing actually is; apologies for that, I may repost it if I find time this week.
I actually did some research for this fic! You see, I have no clue on what the developmental stages of a child are, so we can assume in this fic that Harry is about 2 (almost). At this point, there should be some talk going on. Fred and George are 4, so they are capable of forming complete, coherent sentences. Also, for those of you who haven't heard of Murphy's Law(s), they're just a bunch of statements regarding this main theme: If anything can go wrong, it will. Which is kind of what happens to our poor protagonists in this fic. ^_^
Thank you so much for the reviews! I really didn't expect so many positive ones… please drop some reviews for this chapter too! They're actually really motivating…
One more thing: if I've spelled any Harry Potter related stuff wrong, let me know. I really haven't written any HP fanfics before this, and my spelling is naturally horrible, so there's a good chance that something's wrong somewhere or another.
Thanks!