04
For Snape, his world suddenly became one of rolling head over heels repeatedly, smashing through the undergrowth until he finally rolled to a stop. Snape blinked, his vision finally focussing on the brown object in front of his hooked nose.
(It was not a present from Fang, thank Merlin.)
The shiitake mushroom sat comfortably in the mulch, looking very much at home, in spite of the cold weather and the fact that Hogwarts was not in Asia.
"Someone's been casting heating charms on you," Snape muttered, propping himself up on his elbows, taking a closer look at the mushroom, uncaring that he was talking to himself. "Who's been culturing you?"
The question wasn't one of those 'Why me?!' questions directed at the universe, but rather one of those quiet little ones that one asked oneself occasionally, such as, 'should I cut my hair?', or 'I wonder what outfit I should wear today?', but it certainly wasn't one that required an answer from the universe.
The universe sent one anyway, to Severus Snape.
Ron and Fang tumbled down the slope, landing on top of the unfortunate Potions Master, and sliding forwards a good half-a-metre before stopping.
"Snape? Oh, there you are!" Ron grinned brightly. "I thought I lost you for a moment there."
"Get the f #$ off me!" a muffled voice replied.
Ron hastily got to his feet, dragging Fang with him. "Did you find the mushroom?"
Snape spat out a mouthful of the aforementioned fungus as he crawled to his feet. "No," the man snarked.
"Oh." Ron looked genuinely crestfallen.
"Idiot," Snape muttered, rolling his eyes. He raised his voice, "Of course I did, then you had to come and destroy all of them."
"I did?" Ron looked at his feet, and found scattered bits of the mushroom on his shoes. "Oh. So I did. Reparo," Ron stated clearly, pointing his wand at the mushroom.
Nothing happened.
"That spell doesn't work like that, you dunderhead," Snape pulled out his wand, which had miraculously survived his fall, and muttered a spell under his breath. A moment later, mushrooms flickered into existence.
Fang sniffed the mushrooms, dispelling the glamour momentarily before the image of the mushrooms returned.
"Professor?" Ron looked at Snape. "Now what?"
"Now," Snape answered, making his way to a fallen log and seating himself on it, adding a glamour to himself so that he appeared as an ugly tree stump, "we wait."
Had anyone bothered to check in the small clearing where the shiitake mushrooms grew in the Forbidden Forest, one would have found three tree stumps – an ugly one, a panting one, and one with an odd growth of red fungus on its top.
…
Two hours later, when the moon had risen, Snape was beginning to wonder if he had been wrong about the mushrooms being picked under the light of the full moon.
"I'm freezing my arse off," the tree stump with the red fungus growth muttered.
Truth be told, Snape had the feeling – or rather, no feeling in his backside – that his arse was probably on the verge of developing frostbite also. They'd spent the better of two hours sitting in the damp, freezing cold with nothing to show for their troubles while the Snotter boy was in the warmth and comfort of the Hospital Wing. As usual, the privileged brat lived in comfort while the unworthy peasants beneath his notice suffered for his safety. Snape had just about had enough – granted, this time it probably wasn't Potter's fault that he'd choked on mushrooms – and the usually cold blooded spy decided that when Potter's assassin showed up to pick the mushrooms, he was not going to curse the assassin.
Oh, no, Snape was going to take a more physical and personal approach. He was going to bring down the assassin with his bare hands. There could be certain satisfaction found in doing things the Muggle way.
Something rustled in the underbrush, and Snape broke off his train of thought. The ugly tree stump quickly shushed the fungus infested one. "Quiet! Someone's coming."
Like a spectre, a figure unfolded from the shadows of the night, a lit wand held aloft like a lantern and a wicker basket in the other hand. It headed right for the mushrooms bathed in the moonlight.
The figure stooped, scooping fruitlessly at the mushrooms, first in puzzlement, then frustration when its fingers trailed through the illusion.
"Now, Weasley!" Snape roared, springing from the undergrowth and tackling the unsuspecting mushroom picker. "Cowabunga!"
"For Harry!" Ron followed in Snape's footsteps.
Fang leapt into the fray for the sake of dogpiling.
Snape had not bothered to lift the glamour charm, so all Neville Longbottom saw, much to his terror, was three stumps flying from the ground to attack him.
…
Albus Dumbledore paused in the middle of the sentence he was reading. He lowered his weekly copy of The Quibbler onto his desk, ears trying to hear if they could pick up the noise again. He glanced at Fawkes, who trilled softly.
"I don't suppose you heard that? It sounded rather like Neville Longbottom screaming, I must say."
Fawkes trilled and preened his feathers, in a bird's equivalent of a shrug.
"Hm," Dumbledore raised his newspaper with a shrug of his own. "My hearing must be going."
…
Five very miserable, freezing cold and wet figures dragged themselves through the Forbidden Forest, back in the direction of the castle.
Through the stammered story-telling of Longbottom, Snape had gathered that the boy had discovered the mushrooms last week, after he took the same tumble Snape had one day, and recognised the mushrooms to be edible shiitake mushrooms. Longbottom had then picked the mushrooms, and returned to Hogwarts with the intent of giving them to the kitchens, which he had.
On the way, he'd been waylaid by Fang, who'd taken a liking to the mushrooms and managed to lick three of them before Longbottom could stop the boarhound.
The elves were all too willing to cook the uncontaminated mushroom into soup, and serve it.
"But I didn't know Harry was allergic to shiitake!" the boy had wailed in guilt, when the Potions Master disclosed why Potter was in the Hospital Wing. "And I didn't know they'd do such a barbaric thing as to serve soup for breakfast!"
It was clear to Snape that this had all been a case of an overactive imagination, courtesy of Weasley (and admittedly, himself).
That was probably why he didn't assign a week's worth of detention to both Weasley and Longbottom. Instead, he let them off with a stern warning (read: Roaring Rampage of Lecturing), and retired to his quarters with the intent of putting this very much wasted and pointless Saturday behind him.
At least the Know-It-All will return tomorrow, Snape consoled himself with the knowledge that the Granger girl wasn't as stupid as Weasley or Potter.
…
Sunday lunchtime found the return of Hermione Granger, who was welcomed back enthusiastically by the other members of the Golden Trio. Ron willingly shared the news of his adventure from the previous night, while Neville apologised profusely to Harry (and was promptly forgiven on the condition that he would refrain from picking more mushrooms).
All in all, it was a good lunch.
And Snape hated it. The cheer spread throughout the entire Hall, and Snape hated every bit of it. Hunched over his plate of crunchy peanut cornflakes – apparently, the elves were trying out new foods – Snape grouchily stirred the no longer crunchy cornflakes, ignoring the joyful buzz among the lunch-eaters.
The hall fell suspiciously silent as the sounds of the Granger girl choking and coughing echoed across the Great Hall.
A swarm of panicking Gryffindors surrounded the girl, each offering shrieks of panic and advice – with Potter demanding for an EpiPen, and screeching something about peanut allergies – until a very rattled McGonagall dispersed the crowd and dragged Granger, still choking and coughing, out of the Hall and in the direction of the Hospital Wing.
Ron caught Snape's eye across the Great Hall and mouthed, They served cereal for lunch. You know that's not right.
"F $k, no!" Snape declared, standing up so suddenly that his chair fell over, much to the surprise of Dumbledore, who was wearing what appeared to be Pollock-inspired robes. "F $k this sh#t! Albus," he turned to Dumbledore, who looked back rather serenely for someone who had just been treated to horrendous language, "I don't care that winter break is almost over, I don't care that classes will start tomorrow, I'm claiming all those days off that I never claimed before, and I'm taking a vacation!"
With that, Snape fled the Great Hall, leaving a stunned silence behind. Students and teachers stared at each other alike, surprised at the Potion Master's declaration. Then, out of the silence, Ron stated mildly, "Don't worry about him. He has a therapist."
This statement did not reassure many of the Great Hall's occupants, so Ron continued on blithely,
"I hear Madame Pomfrey offers free counselling."
THE END