Disclaimer: I don't own anything - instead I borrow it, chop it all up and marinade it in a cheesy sauce. Bake for 35 minutes, at gas mark 6, then leave to cool. Serving suggestion: With a pinch of salt.
A/N: I have changed the very premise of this fic - it's my prerogative as the author. It is no longer written in a script-format. It's not even everyone-conveniently-lives-in-the-same-street/square/village-soap anymore. I like to think it is still a tribute, however, to melodrama, in a comical and maybe even tongue-in-cheek way. Well, that's what I'd like to think anyway; feel free to try and dissuade me of this notion, in the form of a REVIEW, if the whim takes you. Also I changed the title - the other one was well crap (let us never mention it again!).
The Utter Drama!
Chapter One
Monday, 8.39am
Our intrepid tale begins in the house of one S. Black. Mr S. Black. The "S" not only stands for "Sex(-on-legs)", but for "Sirius" as well. Sex(-on-legs), or Sirius, as those not madly in lust with him (a rare breed) referred to him, was sat in his large kitchen across from his first cousin, once removed, Nymphadora Tonks. Or just Tonks, as she preferred. They were eating breakfast; crumpets, seeing as you asked.
"Would you like jam on that?" Sirius, ever the gracious host proffered, holding up a jar of the strawberry preserve.
"Yum! Yes, please," she reached across the table, only managing to get a smidgeon of margarine on the sleeve of her fuchsia and lime robes. That was quite good for her.
There was a curt knock on the front door, which neither of the two breakfasters heard. The knowledge that there was a visitor to twelve, Grimmauld Place was only brought about by the loud shrieks emitting from the front hall, that made up Mrs Black's repartee. You would, however, not have described it as witty.
"BLOOD-TRAITORS INFESTING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS! BESMIRCHING THE HONOUR OF THE NOBEL AND MOST-ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK! FOR SHAME!"
Sirius sighed, and sworn.
"Not again!" he roughly pushed back his chair, so that it toppled and fell with a clatter. "Damn! It better be someone good after all this."
OOO
Somewhere in a chintzy, one-bedroomed bungalow, with a delightful conservatory and mock thatched roof, lived Ms Dolores Umbridge. She was sat in her front room staring dreamily into space. She was muttering to herself.
"Oh, Cornelius...how I love you so...why, oh, why must you have a wife already?...you know it's me you really want...oh, Cornelius..."
Her mental state had never fully returned to stable after her unfortunate incident with a herd of Centaur. Which teaches us a very important moral lesson - racism is bad. Especially when directed at Centaurs.
OOO
Meanwhile, in the official Minister of Magic residency, the current - but not for long, due to much criticism from pretty much the entire Wizarding Community, who he allegedly mis-led vis-a-vis Lord Voldemort's return. Can you believe it? A member of Government deliberately mis-leading people! Those crazy witches and wizards, that's all I can say. - Minister was brushing he teeth. Another important lesson - it's good to have healthy teeth and gums.
He was very worried. He knew his fate was inevitable. He was gonna get fired.
"Oh, I'm gunna get fireb. Oh, I'm gunna get fireb. Oh, I'm gunna get fireb. Oh, I'm gunna get fireb. Damb, You-Know-Hoo! Why'd he hab to comb back? Everythinb was going finb untilb then. Damb, You-Know-Hoo!
Betty Fudge, his wife, was a harsh woman. She particularly liked not to have surfaces, such as the bathroom mirror, flecked with toothpaste froth. As I said, she was a harsh woman.
"CORNELIUS! What'va told yu 'bart talkin' ter yesen? 'specially when ye brrushin' ye teeth; ye sprayin' toothpaste ev'ry-which-way! Eee! Yerra messy bugger!"
Fudge was chasten. "So sorry, dear."
"Ye betta be!"
OOO
8:40am
Back at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Sirius was answering the front door. He'd managed to shut his mother's portrait up, with only sustaining a few scratches. Who knew oil paint was so sharp? His bad mood at having to listening to his mother's mantra, did not improve when he swung the door open.
"Oh. It's you," disgust contorted his handsome - handsome - features. "Snivellus. What do you want?"
Yes, rude, but understandable. Imagine your reaction to one of your most loathed people turning up on your doorstep. And you can't thump them! That's cheating.
"Believe me, I'd much rather not be here." Snape said evenly. "I'm here to deliver some documents for the Order." he paused. "I really don't think that it's appropriate to do it on the front door step, like a couple of gossiping neighbours, do you?"
In a mock-pleasant tone Sirius invited him in.
"Do come through to the kitchen, Snivellus, we're having crumpets. Your favourite I believe?" and facetiously, he bowed Snape over his threshold.
Snape glared at him, but nevertheless he entered the kitchen. Sirius followed him.
OOO
In Bill and Fleur's love-nest the atmosphere was a lot more friendly. A lot more friendly. But we must keep these things age-appropriate - what age exactly? I'm sure, but it will be appropriate.
They were both sat up in bed reading, well, Bill was doing a crossword. Suddenly he flung it aside - he couldn't be bothered any longer with five down, four letters, A werewolf's ---- is worse than its bark. Honestly how many times had they used that one before? - and turned to the part Veela.
"Hi, Gorgeous!"
" 'Ello, 'Ot Stuff!" she put down her copy of Le Magazine De Sorcière.
"D'you want a kiss?"
"Oui!" and without another moment's hesitation they fell into an embrace. The utter romance!
OOO
8:41am
Back at Sirius's place...Tonks had finished eating her breakfast and was now trying to find her wand. She was sure she'd put in down here somewhere! Because of this distraction she didn't notice that Sirius and Snape were busy glaring at each other and genuinely being uber-testosteroney.
"So, where are these documents, Snivellus?"
"You're eager, aren't you?" Snape smirked. "Patience, Black. All in good time." he took the documents out of the inside pocket of his robes. "Here they are. I trust you'll make sure they reach Dumbledore safely?"
"Of course! Are you trying to infer I'm incompetent?" Sirius said hotly.
"You're the one doing all the inferring, Black," Snape gave an extra big smirk at Sirius's mistake. It was at that moment that he eyes met the wondrous sight of Tonks emerging from under the table, where she'd been searching for her mis-laid wand. Her hair today was long, lustrous and utterly lovely. It was a fetching shade of lilac - with violet highlights - and it curled under at the bottom; which coincidentally was where it finished - down by her bottom. Her almond eyes sparkled with warmth, despite her frustration at not being able to find her wand. And her skin was the epitome of peaches and cream. His eyes slid down to her ample bos - SNAPE! God, she's not a piece of meat!...just because she's got the whole Mary-Sue thing going on at the moment, doesn't mean she's any less of a person...well, a fictional person...why are you apologising to me? It wasn't me you were ogling...LIKE YOU MEAN IT! Give me strength!...good boy...honestly! The things you have to deal with when you're writing fanfiction...now on with that yarn I was spinning... - all in all, Snape found her to be very attractive. In fact he'd only ever felt like this about one person before...and that had definitely been love, he was certain of it...
She looked up and saw Snape watching her, but this didn't turn her stomach like it would have done to most people. She'd always felt slightly sorry for him, even when he'd taught her Potions at school and he'd given the class five-foot long essays on some of the more difficult subjects, which had been very close to impossible to complete. She realised he was probably a very tormented soul, and had probably been spurned the one time he dared to love, making him bitter for the rest of eternity. That was the cliche, wasn't it? Tonks had always had a fondness of cliches. She decided to be nice to him in what she knew would be a futile attempt to mellow his heart of stone.
"Fancy a crumpet, Snape?"
"NO! He bloody well doesn't! He can go now!" Sirius thumped the table. Well, he had a lot of pent-up testosterone pumping threw his veins right then.
She'd spoken to him! Snape couldn't think of a sarcastic, cutting or even scathing word to say in reply; let alone something flirtatious, funny or (dare he even think of such a word?) nice to try and seduce her with. Seduce! Him? What was he thinking? His head was positively swimming with thoughts and feelings - emotions! He muston no account let them show. He had a reputation to think of.
Suddenly remembering where he was, and realising both Tonks and Sirius were starring at him in mild bewilderment, he attempted to say something to fill the silence that had fallen, with.
"Nfhkjdhufhdjhbkjf!" Ahhhhhhhhh! He was a gibbering wreck! What had happened to his cool, calm and collected manner?
"Are you all right, Snape?" Tonks was very concerned.
Sirius, on the other hand, was not.
"What are you bloody waiting for? A fan-fare to accompany you to the door?" Sirius was starting to consider the fun he could have throwing Snape manually out of it, though. "Get out, or I'll throw you out!"
Snape regained the feeling in his legs and turned to leave, mortified by his own behaviour. Unfortunately for him, a very tiny part of his brain, which he usually ignored, had somehow developed the courage to gain control. Before he could stop himself, the words, "G-goodbye. Nymphadora. I hope to see you again sometime soon," had tumbled from his mouth. He felt colour rise in cheeks - he must be a pale shade of pink! The shame! He urged his legs to move. Faster. Towards the door.
When he'd finally managed to leave, Sirius turned to Tonks and said bluntly, "He fancies you."
"Excuse me?"
"Back in the day he always used to act that way around Lily Evans," he reminisced. "And he definitely fancied her."
Tonks said nothing, but raised her lilac eyebrows in shock.
OOO
8:59am
Over at The Burrow, Arthur and Molly were having a conversation over their boiled eggs and soldiers.
"So?" Molly enquired excitedly.
"So what, Dear?" Arthur asked, not knowing what she wanted to know.
"Well, when is it?"
"When's what exactly?" still not a clue.
"You know..." she sighed good-naturedly.
"No, I don't."
"Yes, you do! Remember?" she tried to prompt his memory.
"Remember what?"
"Remember the thing, for Goodness Sake!" she was starting to get impatient with him now.
"What thing?" there wasn't a thing, surely? Of course not. He'd remember if there was a thing.
"You know...I'm sure I told you."
"Told me what?"
"About the thing?" she was absolutely sure she'd told him. He was just being a man.
"What thing?"
"The thing we're going to."
"We're going to a thing!"
"Yes. Remember?"
"No, I don't remember, actually!"
"Oh, come on you must do!"
"Well, I don't."
Molly had had enough. She stood up and stormed out, but not before she shrieked "MEN!" in exasperated.
Arthur remained sitting, staring as the yolk from one of his eggs dripped silently down the egg cup. He was confused.
This common, domestic scenario teaches all of us a very important lesson - how to avoid confusion. Communication is the key. I provide a service, I really do.
OOO
9:11am
It was the first lesson of the week at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, but Snape's Potions class hadn't learnt anything in the last eleven minutes. This was simply because - as unprecedented as it was - Snape had yet to turn up. The class was rife with intrigue over his absence.
"I wonder where he is?" asked Harry, chomping on his Drooble's Best Blowing Gum - he was surrounded by an aura of blue bubbles - although he wasn't eager to find out if it meant Snape would actually turn up.
"Maybe he's dead!" Ron suggested rather too hopefully to make him a nice person. He was lying leisurely on the desk at the time trying to look at Hermione adoringly, without her -or anyone else- noticing. She was taking Snape's absence as an opportunity to - Surprise! Surprise! - read a book. She did, however, tut loudly at Ron's hopefulness that their Professor was dead.
Harry was even more hopeful of this possibility. "He probably is! I mean - when was the last time he was late? Never. That's when."
"I think we'd have been told if he were dead," Hermione said without even looking up from her book.
"What if no one knows he's dead?" Ron pointed out.
"Yeah, what if -" but Harry's imagination was not allowed to run riot, as at that moment the door to the dungeon was thrown open, and in walked Snape. He was in an even worse mood than usual.
The class quickly - not wanting to feel his wrath - ordered themselves into a state that he wouldn't approve of (his standards were too damn high!), but would hopefully accept. For the trio this meant Ron hurling himself off the desk and into a chair, Hermione shoving away her book, folding her arms in front of her and directing her attention towards the front; Harry, unfortunately had a problem, even after he'd hastily swallowed his Droobles. The bubbles! They'd refuse to pop for days, and there was practically a cloud of them above his head! How could he have been so stupid? He was gonna die!
Snape was now at the front of the class. He sat down silently at his desk. He stared straight ahead to the wall at the back of the dungeon. Unbeknownst to his students he was contemplating what had happened at Grimmauld Place earlier. He suppressed a shudder.
For at least five solid minutes, the entire class, and Snape himself, sat silently and unmoving - except for Harry's bright, blue bubbles, which were now, to his horror, diffusing around the dungeon.
Finally Hermione could take it no longer; she raised a shaking arm to the low ceiling, fully expecting the worst. She was a brave girl.
"Sir?" tentatively, barely more that a whisper. When there was no reaction from the Potions Master, she tried again. "Sir?"
The only movement Snape made was with his eyes, as they now came to rest on the quaking girl.
"Yes?" was all he said.
"Um...would you like us to do any work, Sir?" she held her breath waiting for the fallout.
"What?" he engaged his brain. "Oh, I don't care," and he didn't! "Do whatever you like. Play a game," he suggested, wanting to get back to his to his contemplating.
In a fit of disbelief, Hermione forgot to be terrified.
"A game, Sir!"
Snape did not like being questioned. Even when, in a normal mood, he would quite happily have Avada-ed himself for suggesting something as fun as a game.
"Yes, a game. An amusement or pastime. I'm sure you've heard of one, what with being an insufferable know-it-all, and everything. (at this Hermione blushed as crimson as she did the first time he'd called her that). How about I give you an example? Charades! Play charades, go on! Now!" wanting to continue contemplating with a semblance of privacy, he wrenched open one of his desk drawers, in a bid to find something to hide behind. He grabbed a magazine he'd confiscated last week, and almost ripped it in his haste to open in. He realised too late, from the class's stifled giggles, and the article on menstrual cramps that was now only three inches away from his nose, that it picked up a Witch's magazine.
It was the final straw. He made a sound like a wounded animal, and stormed out of the dungeon. His black robes did indeed billow, now that you mention it
Next time on Wizard Avenue: Snape tries to seduce Tonks! Umbridge tries to seduce Fudge! And there's a punch-up in the Pub!
AN2: Apologies for Le Magazine De Sorcière if it actually means something stupid in French. French is not my forte.