Chapter 12 – Savoy-age of Discovery
First things first, sorry for the lack of '' indicating thoughts in the last chapter – they're present in the Word document, but ff.net clearly didn't want to play when we loaded it…
Well, after the last quotes section was hijacked by the one who loves coffee revels, I thought it was only fair to fight literate and rather serious quotes with more of the same. I then realised that wasn't any fun, so sought some other gem of wisdom:
"It began as a mistake" – Charles Bukowski
To our dearest PK – how do we know so much about names? Well, etymology is a hobby of ours, and to you we'd just like to say:
Fiona – feminine form of Fionn, a Gaelic name meaning 'fair' or 'white'. The legendary Fionn mac Cumhail became all wise by eating an enchanted salmon.
OR
Fíona – derived from a word meaning 'vine'
If you thought the last chapter was tiny, this one will be nothing short of a disappointment (aha aha), I'm afraid. Be consoled that the next chapter will be enormous – we're at 10,000 words and counting.
Also, the 'ex' in ex-half brother implies the 'in law' since you can't have an ex of a blood relation as far as we know – you can disown them, but then they'd be your disowned brother (half or otherwise) but not your ex-brother. The only time they get to be ex- is when they are expired and ex-alive (see dead parrot sketch). We think. Apologies if we're talking rubbish, but it shouldn't be surprising at this stage…
This is the penultimate chapter to this story.
CRH
italics indicates Severus's thoughts
'' indicates everyone else's thoughts,
if ff.net lets us
"I'm bored" a tired voice at King's Cross Train station whined.
"Oh do shut up" his companion replied somewhat irritably.
sniff sniff
"Stop pouting! You know full well that I am impervious to your charms, and you aren't the only one who's been up since 5 o'clock last Tuesday week trying to get here"
"No, but it is your godson's fault, ergo.."
I knew it was a bad idea to take him to see the Matrix Revolutions
"…it is your fault"
The dynamic duo was in London to report on London Fashion Week for Draco, who was far too busy designing for his newest bushy-haired client to go himself. The fact that he had chosen this particular set of individuals was not a due to some accidental imbibing of stupid potion as it may at first seem, but rather a desire to give his rather odd godfather and his travelling companion of choice a chance to get out more. Since Draco was no more a slave to convention than to Voldemort, he didn't require anything more than a presence associated with him on the front row of the catwalks to ensure his profile remained high. He would, in fact earn an even more impressive reputation for sending two such forbidding figures, both of whom had been decked out in timelessly elegant outfits designed and handmade by Draco himself.
"FINE!" he snapped, resorting to full evil git Professor mode in an attempt to maintain his tenuous grip on sanity "You think of ways to hex Draco using your Marauding skills, and I'll get us a taxi. If you're quiet and you stay quiet, I'll let you do anything you want to my godson as long as the damage isn't permanent."
"Like you could stop me" mumbled Sirius under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing, Sev, nothing at all" Sirius turned on the infamous Black Charm. Although he was a Gryffindor, Sirius was (as we all know) a big wuss, and hated the fact that his former and now occasional nemesis knew this.
Now Severus Snape was not a man to be ignored. His presence demanded respect. He oozed command (amongst other things). This may be one of the reasons that simply raising his hand caused twelve taxis to screech to a halt. Or it could have been wandless magic. You decide. Being the diabolically cunning, scheming, manipulative, arrogant, self centred, sadistic social climbing bastard he was (and not a harmless fruit at all) he picked the taxi right at the back of the snare-up he had just caused.
"Oi Black, get your arse in gear and into this taxi"
"Bugger off"
With this pleasant exchange, they got into the back of the taxi.
"The Savoy"
"What? We're staying in a cabbage?" (Sirius, who else?)
"It's a hotel you insufferable brat"
At this, the cabbie (A/N: can you guess who it is yet?) glanced into his rear view mirror, his eyes wide with shock and quickly pulled down the Fybogel baseball cap perched atop his head to hide the fringe of raven hair and a curious lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
'Of all the taxis in all of London…' mused Harry.
"Right you are sir" he replied in a Scottish accent rivalling that of Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.
'Oh crap,' thought Sirius wildly, 'That's Harry. He never accepted Sev and I, not that there is a Sev and I, cos we're not gay or awlt. Nononononono.'
Severus leaned over and whispered into the ear of his companion in the silkiest tone he could muster (which was very silky):
"Your godson gets weirder everyday. He wants to pretend we aren't us, so let's pretend he isn't him."
Sirius smirked. The convoluted sentence would have given anyone else a headache, but it was so similar to the way Sirius always thought, that it made perfect sense straight away, without having to go through the filters he usually employed. He turned and looked into Sev's eyes, moved even closer to him, squeezed his knee and murmured back,
"That's the nicest thing you've ever said."
At this, Harry nearly crashed the cab. They were whispering sweet nothings into each others ears! Gross! He wasn't homophobic, but the thought of his Godfather getting it on with anyone wasn't exactly appealing, never mind with Snape. He regained control in time to avoid a collision, seeker reflexes coming in handy once again.
With a rather awkward silence, but no further risk to life or limb, (which considering the occupants of the taxi was a bloody miracle) they arrived at the Savoy.
Feeling rather violated and incredibly dirty after the display of affection he had witnessed, Harry wanted nothing more than to drive away, far, far away. Unfortunately, the men were there on behalf of a Malfoy, and the Malfoys didn't get filthy rich by being careless with money. Thus they needed a receipt, and careful not to look anyone in the face, they duly got one, written on the only piece of paper Harry could find. He wouldn't realise until later what he had given them, and by then it was too late…
The hotel room
"Hey Sev, this receipt has Harry's name and a number on the back of it. I wonder what it is?"
"It's a phone number you dolt. I wonder if he meant to give it to us?"
back in the cab
"DAMMIT!"
Guess not…
REFERENCES:
"'Of all the taxis…'" is a paraphrase of "of all the bars…" Its Casablanca.
Indiana Jones (duh)
Fybogel is a brand name for a laxative powder. For more information go to http:www. constipationadvice. co. uk / treatments / fybogel. html (removing all the spaces rather obviously). Don't be ashamed of your bowels, friends…sorry, closet medic tendencies getting the better of me. If you feel the need for a more natural alternative, a Savoy cabbage wouldn't go amiss.
The Matrixes or Matrices I guess, whatever, those 3 films that promised so much…
"We're not gay or owt" comes from Mark and Lard who were DJs on Radio 1. They are missed.