FAQ

What are you on and how do I get some?

We've told you repeatedly: chocolate in (m)any forms. Available OTC most everywhere. We also like to listen to Combustible Edison and, as the boys are getting older, Nouvelle Vague. (Both groups are Too Very.)

How DO you fabricate such... such mayhem?

We cannot reveal our Dark Secrets to the Uninitiated.

WHY do you do such horrible things to Severus?

WHY do y'all keep coming back for another chapter? ;)

(shrug) You always hurt the ones you love...

Epilogue

(Saturday Evening)

Half an hour later, seven boys were gathered on the carpet in front of the Headmaster's desk. All of them looked considerably more tatty and worn out than the rug on which they stood clutching cups of the Detention Tea, which had turned out to be a soothing chamomile.

The stupid ones were longingly eyeing their wands, which were still stacked neatly near one corner of the Headmaster's cluttered desk. The clever ones were anxiously eyeing the Headmaster, who was perched upon another corner of the desk, contentedly finishing his own very large cup of tea.

At last, Dumbledore set down his drained cup, folded his hands neatly into his lap, and looked interestedly at the boys collected before him. His half-moon spectacles twinkled in the flickering glow of Fawkes, who was suspiciously scrutinizing the students.

Dumbledore cleared his throat softly, and said, "I have a few questions regarding your story."

There was a flurry of anxious shuffling, during which Potter and Malfoy wound up at the front of the huddle of boys. Traditionally they had enjoyed greater success Explaining Away Incidental Mayhem Which After All Didn 't Actually Destroy the School or Even So Much As a Significant Part Thereof, and Therefore Was Not So Bad, Really.

Dumbledore considered this pair, with the mien of a squirrel preparing to crack open a walnut.

"Mister Potter," he said at last, and Malfoy edged away from The Subject of Scrutiny. "How did you happen to have a wand in your keeping today?"

"I thought it was a spare pair of socks. Sir," Potter explained glibly and immediately. "Everything in our room was all woolly, and I guess I got a bit confused. I picked them up because I didn't know what sort of work we'd be doing today, so I thought it wise to take along extra socks." He grinned winsomely up at the Headmaster, declaring, "As you've said yourself. Sir, one can never have too many pairs of warm socks."

"True," agreed Dumbledore sincerely.

Pettigrew yelped, "I snitched it from Evans! And then James had me Spell-o-tape it between his shoulderblades so no one would find it even if we were searched!"

Potter boggled at him. "What's got into you-?"

"Veritaserum," answered the Headmaster complacently. "It's a traditional ingredient in the Detention Tea. Salazar Slytherin invented this particular brew as a preventative to the Detention Supper… which none of you wants to sample… Dumbledore assured them, his blue eyes no longer twinkling but rather glinting like a displayed shiv. "Mister Pettigrew," he beckoned coolly, "step forward, please."

The quailing Gryffindor was pushed and shoved to the fore. He looked guiltily up at the Headmaster, gulped, and nervously drank the rest of his tea before his roommates could stop him.

Dumbledore smiled encouragingly.

The other six boys did their best to inch away from Pettigrew, and find someplace convenient to dispose of their untouched tea.

The Headmaster asked invitingly, "Mister Pf'0 Pettigrew, why would any of you smuggle a wand along, on what I specified as a magicldess detention?"

"Psh! Just smart, innit?" answered The Informant. Pettigrew glared suspiciously at the trio of Slytherins clustered behind him. "The Nightmare Brigade along for the day, and us with no wands-? Not really likely to go well, is it?" Before the Headmaster could respond, the pudgy Gryffindor barreled on eagerly, "That creepy little headcase Snape had potions hidden in his pockets! And he was using them!" Pettigrew's eyes were beginning to gleam with the excitement of ratting someone else out. "And whatever he drank scrambled what few wits he has so badly that he attacked us! That's why James used that wand," he insisted. "James was only defending himself -and all of us!" in a fit of inspiration he shrilled eagerly: "I think he should get an award such heroism!" He grinned much too encouragingly at Potter.

Malfoy decided that Potter should take care to acquire Less Inventive Minions, or he'd meet with disaster whenever they unexpectedly Took Initiative as Gryffindors were wont to do.

"That's right'" Potter was nodding agreement with his tagalong toady, proclaiming his innocence: "Snape started it!"

Black chimed in, "Yes, it was Snape!"

"Right here. Headmaster, safe an' sound!" Hagrid came bustling into the room, winded slightly from extinguishing the Forbidden Forest and fetching back Snape, who was slung like a deflated stormcloud over the Gamekeeper's massive shoulder.

Hagrid grinned encouragingly at no one in particular, and plunked down Snape, who teetered precariously until the Groundskeeper deftly wrapped the swot's legs snugly into all those yards and yards of black cloak as if using a beloved blanket to revivify a scraggly Christmas tree.

Sev looked better for it, although his hair was still haloed by writhing turquoise flames. These didn't seem to be hurting him, despite the spirals of bluish smoke languidly curling ceilingwards.

"Thank you, Hagrid," said Dumbledore politely.

"An' I'll just be about catchin' the horse, now," Hagrid briskly reassured the Headmaster, and snugged up his scorched oven mitts and hurriedly departed.

Dumbledore studied the well-swaddled new arrival, and smiled encouragingly and inquired, "All right. Mister Snape?"

Sev just stood there, slightly canted, and burned. He looked like a lone tiki torch forgotten at the end of a long night's rum-soaked revelry.

"Mister Snape," said the Headmaster again, more sharply.

Sev didn't so much as blink.

Fawkes alighted upon the dazed boy's shoulder, and cooed at him inquiringly.

Then the phoenix flared his wings in a spectacular display, at the culmination of which he did something Intimate to Snape's blazing hair.

"Fascinating," murmured Dumbledore. "A rare sight-"

"Snape with a date? You bet!" agreed Potter glazedly.

Sev jolted awake and held out an expectant upturned palm, demanding, "Pay up!"

This elicited a flurry of excuses and scribbled lOUs; not even Malfoy carried enough pocket money to answer such longshot odds. Still, when they'd made the wager all those months ago, they had allowed for Inhuman Creatures, up to and including Terrific Incarnations of Dread Powers from a World Other Than Our Own.

Fawkes let out an earsplitting shriek, fluttered agitatedly upon Sev's shoulder, and began to weep with the singular frustration of Unrequited Love. His pearly tears began to douse the flames wreathing Snape's hair, and realizing this the bird wept all the harder.

When the last of the fire had gone, Snape blinked, and shivered, and sighed, "Thank you, Fawkes." From somewhere he produced a pair of clove cigarettes; he lit these against the phoenix's tailfeathers, and popped one into the bird's mouth. Fawkes gobbled it down in a twinkling.

Snape took a very long drag on the other cigarette before saying quietly, "Good evening. Headmaster. Please pardon my state of unconsciousness." His misadventure amid the forest fire had reduced his voice to a smoldering whisper. The slightly-charred swot sighed and took another prolonged drag, looking like Constantine's Little Indiscretion just back from a weeklong bender in the Unknown Reaches. "I was doing all right," he mused bitterly, "until the blasted sheep got involved."

"I expect so," soothed Dumbledore. "They do seem to upset you so-"

"I hate 'em," Snape growled. He glared at the other boys and snarled, "Almost as much as I hate kids."

"Yet somehow you find yourself plagued by both," Dumbledore noted, "doubtless due to your past... misjudgments."

Snape took a deep, extinguishing drag on his cigarette, and fed the smoldering stub to Fawkes.

Dumbledore shook his head ruefully. "You really will have quite a job, disentangling yourself from so many alchemical dependencies, when the war has ended."

Snape glared at him almost defiantly and sulked, "I hope so."

"But it's not over yet," sighed Dumbledore, and there was steel in his voice. "So let us move along briskly, before the prop shifts and your Window of Lucidity slams shut again." He leaned forward, steepling his long fingers, and studied Snape quite closely, inquiring, "What happened, Severus?"

Snape answered all in an overflow rush: "Potter and his little friends went out into the sheep paddock. Malfoy and his bookends went after them. Of course the illusory dragon guarding the sheep paddock appeared and they all panicked, and when I had to intercede, I wound up hexed senseless and so here I am in a coma." Snape folded his arms as if resisting strangling somebody, and went on through gritted teeth, "I seem to recall thinking as I swooned how marvelous it would be if only Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had a brain between them... " He trailed off, looking very angry with himself.

Dumbledore did not quite bother to hide a smile. "I see. This explains a great deal."

Black griped, "Well, I wish you'd explain it to me!"

Snape spun on him and snapped, "The war's still on and things have gotten so mind-bogglingly bad that I'm actually better off hiding amongst my schoolday memories."

"Wow," breathed Potter, looking stunned. "Things must be really execrable."

"Thank the sheep for that," Black muttered.

Snape glowered at them both, intoning frostily, "I'd guess we're about hip-deep in it now." He looked to Dumbledore and invited keenly, "Do hurry back. Headmaster."

"All in good time, Severus," soothed Dumbledore, "all in good time. At present I am unwelcome in the castle, and so I shall bide my time until this changes." He smiled fondly and murmured, "It's given me a marvelous opportunity to catch up with all those movies I've been meaning to see." He grinned suddenly, declaring rapturously, "The original Japanese production of Shall We Dance? is absolutely charming!"

The gathered boys stared at him.

Somewhere a cricket chirruped.

Dumbledore's grin widened and took on rather a crafty aspect. "Muggles are amazingly inventive. I do believe that by studying their cinema, we may discover useful new tactics to employ against our foes."

Snape said slowly, "This explains the multitude of Muggle cultural references..."

"Yes," agreed the Headmaster. "I have a great deal to think about, and since you are unconscious and have nothing else to occupy your thoughts, I'm bouncing a few new ideas off of you." He smiled encouragingly at the suspicious swot and reassured him, "In return for your assistance, I am lending you a little help with your Occlumency."

Snape shivered and said quickly, "Thank you. Headmaster."

Potter wondered, "What's... Occlu-thingy?"

"The only thing keeping me this side of the daisies," growled Snape.

"Yes, indeed," agreed Dumbledore soberly. Then his eyes twinkled again, like distant stars by which one might find one's way. "Enjoy your rest, Severus. You certainly need it." He smiled at the assembled boys and exhorted them cheerfully, "Well, carry on, everybody! You've all done very well!"

"Thank you. Headmaster," they answered reflexively.

A moment later, the four Slytherins found themselves standing in their restored dormitory room. The windows were filled with twilight ripening to plum.

Malfoy spun about and seized Snape by his necktie. "Right! While you're still lucid," he spat, "let's get this sorted out! This is all your demented hallucination, right?"

"Right," choked Snape.

"And yet somehow I'm narrating fully half of your fever dream?" challenged Malfoy.

"I find," gagged Snape, "it's enlightening to let you talk."

Lucius frowned, and warningly shook his supposedly tame swot. "And the sheep?"

"Let's not talk about 'em," coughed Snape.

Malfoy dropped him to the floor.

Crabbe and Goyle glanced at each other, shrugged, and decided to call it a night. They wandered away to their beds.

Lucius did his best to Loom over Sev and pressed on: "Why would you be having a fever dream involving Gilderoy Lockhart?"

Snape clawed his necktien loose to answer gruffly, "Some experiences scar the mind. I put up with that grandstanding git for nearly a year."

"... and what," Lucius rallied, "makes you think you've any right to address the lovely Narcissa Beauregard Black, who happens to be My Sweet Intended, so informally?"

"Oh, that." Sev coughed in a vague attempt to clear his throat, without much success. "I rather fancy her, actually."

"You mean you Worship Her From Afar," warned Lucius. "In which case, what's with all this lovestruck rubbish about Lily Evans?"

"Sorry, but that's your fourth question," Snape replied glibly, "and everyone knows you only ever get three answers." He collected himself, gathering his expansive cloak like nightfall all around him, and smiled oddly, intoning, "After all you've got to maintain some mystery, to get along in this world." He had the nerve to wink at Lucius, and laid one finger alongside his long, crooked nose as his smile glimmered in the deepening twilight. "So now it's back to classes, as usual. Good night, Luke."

Snape turned away, all twelve yards of his cape flowing mesmerizingly in his wake as he betook himself to bed. He turned down the covers to collect his pyjamas, and the rudely awakened ram lunged.

There was a Short Violent Interlude marked by cries of despair and the hasty deployment of indiscriminate hexes, by the end of which Crabbe was trapped in the chandelier with the ram, Goyle was spinning idly under a besheeped bumbershoot singing about Mary's Little Lamb, and Sev was lying senseless in the doorway, at the feet of Professor Keele, who was Not in the Least Amused.

It thus fell to Lucius, as the only coherent occupant of the ramsacked room, to push his way out from under a pile of mismatched credenzas, square his shoulders and say in his most Irreproachable Manner, "I can explain everything."

And he would have, too, if only he had not fainted Cold Away.