Susan Bones looked like a toddler who had just been given an ice-cream cone and couldn't yet believe her magnificent good fortune. For quite a few minutes she just stood there, saying nothing, smiling with unfettered, giddy delight. "I'm going to be a potions mistress!" she thought. "I can blackmail them up the Wahoo! I'm going to be a potion's mistress. And I'm going to have enough galleons to afford a pony. A pony and a castle of my very own." Miss Bones might not have been Elfton material, but her thoughts did have a certain impressive child-like directness.
Severus would have obliviated her immediately, had he not had demonstrated a considerable lack of foresight (as who knows when evil blackmailing potion mistress wanna-bes might sweep through the door while one is kissing underage students) in leaving his wand on the coffee table. He lunged for it, but Susan quickly darted in front of him and pounced on it. She had amazing reflexes for a Hufflepuff. Hermione could have – and probably should have - obliviated Susan, but the thought honestly never occurred to her. Obliviating someone was not only not cricket, it was documented as being against the school rules in Hogwarts: A History. So was seducing your middle aged potion's professor, but some rules were made to be broken.
"Wow," Susan said, gazing at Hermione's outfit, "you look like a prostitute. Does he make you dress up like that all the time? It must be really uncomfortable. Not that I'm one to pass judgment."
Hermione attempted to cover her feathered bottom with her hands. Severus gestured brusquely towards a blanket in the armchair, which Hermione grasped and wrapped about herself, giving herself a perverted, feathery, Nanook of the North meets Klondike Kate quality.
"It's not what it looks like," Severus said.
"It looked like Hermione was dressed up in a ludicrous outfit and you had your tongue down her throat. It looked quite unappetizing, really. But you're not quite my type."
"Octogenarian dunderheads are your type," muttered Severus.
"Pardon?"
"Umm..." interjected Hermione, "I was actually having a seizure."
"A seizure?" asked Susan.
"A massive one."
"I was under the impression that during seizures they often lodged a spoon at the back of a person's throat to prevent them from swallowing their own tongue. Professor Snape must have been using his tongue, at great personal risk to himself, in order to prevent you from asphyxiating. How extraordinary."
Hermione looked a bit surprised. "Did you have parents in the medical profession?" she enquired.
Susan shook her head. "People always seem to be under the impression that we Hufflepuffs are idiots. I really never understood why."
"I don't think you're idiots," quipped Snape, "I think you're Hogwart's own personal communist party. You all march along like the Fascisti until one of you is thrust into the spotlight like Chairman Mao. You're strange, militant, group thinking, frightening little people."
"The fascisti were associated with the fascist party," whispered Hermione to Professor Snape.
"That's beside the point, Miss Granger," he replied. "It's the principle of the institution."
"It's better than being a biased, sycophantic, pretentious Slytherin," stated Susan flatly.
"Personally, Miss Bones, I may not think you're a complete drooling nit-wit," replied Snape, "but then, what's my opinion compared to thousands of others?"
Susan glared. Professor Snape glowered. Hermione didn't do anything, but she was glad she was a Gryffindor.
"Really," declared Professor Snape, "nothing particularly untoward was happening."
"Really." replied Susan skeptically, "really."
"Miss Granger, I admit, did come in here with the intention of satisfying some schoolgirl fantasy pertaining to myself. I rebuffed her, as was only appropriate. Unfortunately, when I helped her up from her chair, she fell over. I caught her."
Hermione shot him an enraged look – had that tender moment then his gums met her incisors meant nothing?
"And your lips just happened to fall onto hers. Well, of course," noted Susan, "that happens to me all the time."
Hermione felt smugly secure that she and Severus had indeed had a "moment" and a moment not just induced by impractical footwear.
"It's our word against yours, you Hufflepuff batcase," replied Snape adamantly.
"I think you'd find Professor Dumbledore takes my word very seriously. And while he may not object to you fornicating with Hermione, he'd definitely object to 'Hufflepuff batcase.'"
"We know all about your affair with Dumbledore," said Hermione coolly, "it's within our capacity to tell the world about it."
"Oh, no!" replied Susan, lifting her hands to her mouth in mock shock.
Hermione stared at her, baffled. "You think the world would just accept it, do you?"
"I think the world would say that you have no proof. Meanwhile, I do."
"No, you don't," retorted Severus.
"Do too."
"I refuse to play that infantile game," said Professor Snape.
"Do not," replied Hermione, who was all for infantile games.
"Do too."
"Perhaps you might be so good as to inform us what it is that you think you have? Aside from a blithering array of probable venereal diseases," suggested Snape. Hermione looked at him as though she found his comment distasteful, but didn't seem inclined to defend Miss Bones at just that moment.
"I have it all on tape."
"On tape?" queried Snape, "You mean sticky tape? What does that have to do with anything?" He turned and faced Hermione, "Is this some sort of new age slang?"
"No, no," replied Hermione, "you mean you recorded it. You see, Professor Snape it's this muggle technology..." she paused. "Oh, my God, you recorded it?"
Susan nodded smugly. Hermione's jaw dropped. Professor Snape looked mystified.
"How did you..." wondered Hermione.
"My Aunt Amelia, of course. She is the head of the Department of Magical Law enforcement, you know, and muggle recorders are used quite commonly in court hearings now. I thought they sounded interesting, she got me one for my last birthday."
"What exactly does this all mean?"
"It means she has a transcript of everything we said."
"Oh, God," whispered Snape. He then frantically tried to lunge for his wand – it seemed like there still might be a chance to obliviate her. It was preferable to the alternative, anyway. His verve, and those billowing black robes of his, caused him to take a nasty tumble. Hermione bent over to help him up.
"Careful," said Susan, "his lips might fall onto yours again. I've heard that happens when you help people up."
Professor Snape resigned himself to sitting down in his armchair and sulking. After a few moments had passed he held up his hands and asked, "Why? Why would you have the recorder on now?"
"It was my first day as your potion's assistant. I really do have an interest in the field, and I wanted to suck the marrow out of any tidbits you might impart to me. Not quite in the same way Miss Granger would, I imagine, but still..."
"There's no need to be vulgar, you shrew."
"There's no need to be rude."
"I'm not being rude. You're just insignificant. You have delusions of adequacy."
"Some would say I'm more than adequate."
"Some also enjoy fucking chickens and cramming tortilla chips up their noses. There's no accounting for taste."
"Professor Snape, do you really feel this is the best way for us to come to an amicable agreement?"
"We had intentions of coming to an amicable agreement? I was just going to obliviate you."
"Well, as proven from your past attempts, you may not be quite spry enough for that. It was also rather stupid of you to mention it as my tape recorder is still running."
"I hate you," murmured Snape, "I really, really hate you."
"That sounds so familiar," murmured Susan, "Oh, I know. My Aunt Amelia told me that whenever you're stuck in a really dull meeting or class, you should clasp your hands and trace "I hate you, I really hate you," onto your palm with your index finger. It makes you appear amused and riveted by the conversation. I've tried it a number of times in your class."
"I hate you, too," muttered Hermione.
"All right," said Susan, "everyone hates everyone."
"I don't hate Professor Snape, though," interjected Hermione.
"Well, I thought that would be obvious."
"Then it was rather silly to say 'everyone,' wasn't it?" stated Hermione with the crisp briskness often found in highly efficient librarians.
"The point, really, Miss Granger, is that I hate Miss Bones with the vengeful passion of a thousand suns," declared Snape.
"I'm glad I'm not going to be working with you after all," retorted Susan, "you're not a very good teacher, you know. You're far too petty"
"You've cut me to the core."
"I'm sure she only meant to nick your core a little," whispered Hermione.
"You can pretend you don't care," replied Susan, "but I know you'd be devastated if you lost your job. And he-who-must-not-be-named,"
"You mean Willard? Or is it El Elegance Elegante by now?" interrupted Hermione.
"He-who-must-not-be-named would probably hunt you down and kill you."
Hermione snickered – she didn't believe sweet, friendly Willard would ever really be capable of doing that. Severus snickered as well – he knew that murders were always Bellatrix's area of expertise.
"Is there something funny about that?"
"No, it's just such a clichéd idea of why any angsty man might be maintaining his current job," said Hermione, "I mean, don't you feel that life threatening danger is just a little too conveniently dramatic a motivation? What about inertia? What about the job offering a good dental plan?" Hermione would certainly maintain a less than pleasant occupation if it offered a terrific dental plan.
"Don't be silly, Miss Granger," replied Professor Snape, with his lips quivering ever so slightly, "why would I ever continue teaching dunderheads unless the Dark Lord was eternally lying in wait for me?"
"Better the devil you know than..."
"Please, Miss Granger. It's quite obvious that anyone who seems dissatisfied with their current occupation, but remains is only doing so because otherwise a maniacal overlord would kill them. A sensible girl like you ought to know that."
Hermione smiled in return, "I suppose I've just been a little slow on the uptake."
They stood, smiling at one another, somewhat inappropriately, but then, everyone in the room already knew they were engaged in an inappropriate relationship.
"So then," said Susan, clicking off her tape recorder, "I really think it would be in your best interest – both of your best interests – to begin bargaining."
"Bargaining?" questioned Hermione weakly, "You mean blackmail."
"I'd like a pony," said Susan, "I always asked for one when I was a child, and my parents always just thought I was being precocious and making some sort of social commentary on children asking for things they can't have. But the truth of it is, I'd really just like a pony. If possible, I'd like it to be pink."
"Is this another new age colloquialism?" Professor Snape asked Hermione. "Is it along the lines of 'I'm feeling blue', or 'seeing red' or something like that?"
"No," replied Susan, "I just want its fur to be naturally pink. Not that light, wimpy pearly pink, either, a good hearty rose hue. Not that unattractive matronly rose hue, though. A happy pink. You know what I mean. I'd like it to be the same color as Hermione's shoes."
"There aren't any neon pink ponies," pointed out Hermione.
"That's your problem, not mine. I think if you look very hard, you'll be able to find one," Susan stated with certainty. There had to be pink ponies out there, there just had to be. Trevor the Tapeworm, from the confines of his jar, commiserated – he'd often thought he might be able to come to requite the giant squid's love, if only the squid weren't such a disagreeable shade of grey. If the squid were pink, for instance, it would have been a different story indeed. At the moment Trevor found himself very attracted to Miss Granger's footwear.
"She's completely delusional," Professor Snape whispered to Hermione.
"I heard that," replied Susan, "and I really don't think you're qualified to judge me. You sleep with students and have deranged overlords running about after you. You're not exactly well adjusted by many people's standards."
"But you're well adjusted by my standards," breathed Hermione dreamily. Professor Snape looked deeply disturbed - he wasn't sure he could be in a healthy relationship with someone whose standards were quite that low.
"After that, I want a chateau. I want a chateau with house elves. A fleet of house elves, and I want them all to be Elfton graduates. I want the most advanced racing broom known to the Wizarding world. I want one of those waffle makers that muggles have." Susan was beginning to realize that she really hadn't put an inordinate amount of thought into her wish list. "I want a villa in Tuscany. I want a bikini. I want a really good box of chocolates. But mostly, I want that neon pink pony."
For a moment, Hermione really did empathize with her. She'd like a neon pink pony too, if they existed.
"And you're not going to get any of it," quipped Professor Snape in a gleefully sadistic tone."
"Then I'll turn you into the media. They'll destroy you!" exclaimed Susan, with equal glee.
"You're not going to do that either," replied Snape flatly.
"Is this some sort of hypnotic trick?" Hermione murmured to Professor Snape, noting his bold, emphatic pronouncements.
"No," replied Professor Snape quite loudly, "it's simply that we still have carbon copies of the entire Bones/Albus correspondence."
"What?" gasped Susan.
"When Professor Dumbledore mentioned your love affair I took the liberty of collecting a few letters. The originals are tucked away, of course, but I think there's a copy of one over there on the cofee-table."
Susan darted over and noted that it was, indeed, her letter to Albus. And the one where she told him she liked him more than marsupials, too – how could he give that away to someone as disagreeable and greasy as Professor Snape? She didn't notice the coffee stains on it, which ensued when, in a laughing fit induced by marsupial love, Professor Snape knocked his mug onto the table.
"I'll tell you what we're going to do," said Snape, "I'm not going to inform the media about your affair with Albus, and you're not going to mention anything you thought you saw here. I think you'll find our evidence against you is far more incriminating than any you possess. But that's just my sentiment. If you want, I'm prepared to put it to a test."
Susan looked flabbergasted, and more than a little infuriated, "I... I'll talk to Albus about this!"
"Could I please have my wand back before you go, Miss Bones?"
"I'll send it to you by post," she stated, as she stalked from the room in an enraged huff. How was she going to get a pink pony if she couldn't even blackmail people effectively?
"I almost feel sorry for her," sighed Hermione, after Susan's departure.
"I don't," retorted Severus. "Christ, what are we going to do?"
"What do you mean?"
"If we can't publish the documents, we can't have Albus thrown out. If we do publish the documents, she'll take hers to the press, and I'll be thrown out too."
"Oh. Perhaps we should floo Willard about it?"
In a matter of moments, after a series of simple incantations, Voldemort's cheerful face appeared in the fireplace, sucking a sweet. Severus explained the situation, and requested his help.
"Oh, that's easy!" exclaimed Voldemort, as though the solution was perfectly obvious. "I think we should kill her. But first I'm going to have a party to celebrate my new name! It'll be exceedingly elegant!" he faded into the fire, giggling maniacally to himself.