Fadge

Fadge – 1. New Zealand – n. wool pack; 2. English – v. to agree

Disclaimer: It's tatties o'er the side for me, gin Jo losses the rag.

Translation: Scots – It's a bad outlook for me if Ms Rowling loses her temper. (literally: It's potatoes over the side for me.)

xx

The two men arrived gracelessly, feet slipping on polished wooden floorboards and landing with a heavy clatter. As the person holding his arms paused to draw breath, Severus wrenched himself free and withdrew his wand. Sending off a volley of hexes and a smoke screen as he turned to face his kidnapper, Snape attempted to right himself but caught the heel of his boot on the edge of his cape. The material snagged, unbalancing him, and with a muttered expletive he staggered backwards, arms wind-milling wildly.

The other wizard tried to distance himself from Snape's flailing limbs, only to be tripped by a hefty dragonhide boot connecting with his shin. He landed awkwardly, sprawling full length and striking his chin hard on the floor. Reaching a hand out, he grabbed the edge of Snape's cape, yanking the tall wizard completely off balance.

Severus toppled over backwards, falling like a sack of potatoes and striking his head with considerable force on the unyielding, metal bars of a sturdy cage.

"Enough," his assailant growled, grabbing the front of Snape's robes and dragging him to his feet.

"Get off, you mongrel," grumbled Severus. He gave the other man a shove as he rubbed a tender spot on his scalp, checking his fingers afterwards for any signs of bleeding.

"How's your head? Any damage to that thick skull of yours?" The query was accompanied by a small snigger.

"You attacked me from behind. What was that all about?"

"Constant vigilance, mate. You were drifting along, woolgathering."

Severus huffed and re-sheathed his wand before straightening his robes.

"I spotted this Death Eater, complete with cape and mask, entering the pub where I was going to meet my friend for a quiet pint," explained the shaggy-haired wizard. "I didn't think he'd want to come face-to-face with another Death Eater in Edinburgh, so I was going to whisk him away. Then I realised it was you."

"So you brought me here, and now I'm missing out on my drink at the pub."

"Take your mask off and sit yourself down, you grumpy git. I'm sure I can find a bottle of Firewhisky somewhere in the flat." With a cheery grin and a flick of his scruffy hair, he scooted out of the room.

As Snape removed his Death Eater garb and took a seat on the couch, he could hear kitchen-cupboard doors being opened and closed until there was a welcome clink of glass. Soon, Remus Lupin came back into the room waving a bottle in one hand and a packet of shortbread in the other.

"It's good to see you, mate. It's been a while since you last visited the old bachelor pad."

"I wasn't exactly planning to come this time, either. You just dragged me in off the street."

Remus chuckled as he plonked himself down on the sofa next to Severus and handed him a tumbler. After pouring a couple of generous drams and stretching his lanky legs out in front of him, he patted Snape's thigh. "So, tell me, what are you doing in full costume?"

"Your message was, Pint at DBs, which I took to mean Deacon Brodie's. But the next line had been pecked by Spangle, your useless owl. I thought it said, Just the DEs. So I came prepared for Death Eaters."

"My owl's not useless, he's so small no-one notices him, which can be very useful. Besides, I'm sure he wouldn't damage a message on purpose, unless you were rude to him." Remus gave Severus an interrogatory stare, which Snape ignored. "Anyway, the note said, Just the DBs. The dog's bollocks, you daft wassock. Why would I want you dressed as a Death Eater?"

"Who knows what goes on in your mind, Lupin." Severus shrugged his shoulders, raising his hands and shaking his head. The werewolf's hearty laugh brought a small smile to the dour man's lips.

"Geez, I've missed you, Sev. It's been too long since we last caught up. C'mon, let's give this whisky a skelping."

xx

Touching his wand to the small coin in his hand, Neville already knew who he was going to contact, but reviewed his choice quickly in his head before sending the message. Luna, he needed for the break in, and Ginny, as a second Gryffindor, for the smash-and-grab. He wondered whether he should involve anyone else, but decided against it. Things were getting too dangerous in the castle as it was with the Carrows prowling the halls. They were almost as sneaky as Professor Snape himself, somehow managing to appear as if from nowhere, but their presence was much more malevolent. Imagining Alecto Carrow's bony fingers grabbing his shoulder, as he crept down a night-darkened corridor made Neville shudder.

Focusing, he communicated his instructions via the coin. Clear enough for those in the know, but obscure enough to confuse unwanted observers. The lettering glowed brightly for a moment before fading back into the dull metal.

Fins 10p.

xx

"No, don't tell me where they are." Snape's hands were held up protectively in front of him, pushing the uninvited knowledge away.

"You need to know, Sev."

"Why, Lupin? They've left school, and they're no longer under my feet; why should I care where the precious prats are?"

"Because I've been keeping an eye on the boys from a distance, but I wouldn't be welcome in their camp after I had a falling out with Harry."

"And I would?"

"... maybe..."

"No."

"Aw, c'mon, Sev. Do it for me. You know you want to." Remus made pretend puppy dog eyes at Severus, batting his eyelashes vigorously.

"Fuck off!"

"They're going to need you."

"No; I don't want to get involved. I've got enough on my plate with the Carrows at Hogwarts, our esteemed Dark Lord becoming more and more psychotic, a battle looming and a bunch of useless dunderheads for pupils. Not to mention the staff, who all think I'm a murdering sociopath."

"Not all of them. I've had a quiet word in a few ears."

"Well, that changes everything."

"Good. So you'll do it?"

"No."

"Harry's struggling with focussing on his quest."

"That doesn't surprise me, but doesn't change my mind."

"Ronald Weasley's not coping with the lack of food."

"The answer's still no. He'll get over it once he's back in his mother's molly-coddling arms."

"And Hermione's amazing brain is withering away through lack of intellectual stimulation."

"Ooh, you nearly got me with that one... Miss Granger... Hmm..." Severus paused, lifting a finger to his lip and pretending to think deeply before answering. "No!"

Remus sighed, swirling his Firewhisky dregs around in the bottom of his tumbler. He watched as golden currents eddied through the amber liquid; the colour reminded him of Hermione's eyes. His hands curled tight round the glass, and he took a deep, calming breath before turning his pleading gaze back to Snape. "This is really important to me, Sev. I need to know Hermione is well, and she needs more than a couple of teenage ne'er-do-wells for company."

Snape scowled at him. "Why are you so concerned about Miss Granger?"

"It's a bit complicated..." Lupin's eyes dropped to the whisky glass in his hands again.

"What about Tonks, your wife? Come to think of it, why are we at the Edinburgh bachelor flat and not at your marital home?"

Remus stared into his drinking vessel, as if seeking inspiration, or at least some way to tell Severus something. Something important...

xx

Luna Lovegood hummed as she made her way through the dimly lit corridors. It was just past curfew, and the evening rounds had been quiet. Her footfall was light, and she skipped every fourth or fifth step in time with the nonsense song lilting through her head.

The wizard tailing her gritted his teeth with annoyance. Everything she did was a source of irritation. The tuneless humming, the girly gait and the irregular skipping all caused his ire to rise. The fact the wall sconces turned on as she approached and off again as she passed, lighting her passage and leaving him following behind her in gloom, had not escaped his notice either. Even the castle appeared to be under her spell.

He noticed how the candlelight shimmered on her nebula of silver-blonde hair. His fingers twitched with an urge to reach out and touch the bouncing, silken tresses. Squashing down the impulse, he shook his head in denial and curled his hands into tight fists, which he rammed further into his armpits, wedging them there so he could not possibly be tempted.

In the dim light he did not see the uneven flagstone which rose up from the floor, catching the toe of his shoe and sending him lurching towards a suit of armour. Striking his head with a resounding, metallic clang on the suit's breastplate, his hands shot out clutching for purchase, and snagged the back of Lovegood's robes. The skipping witch stopped in her tracks, turning lightly on her toes and peering into the gloom towards him. He righted himself and straightened his ruffled robes with an assumed dignity he did not feel.

"Draco, are you all right?" Luna's smile was winsome and bright. "You know, you don't have to escort me back to my room if you're having trouble with the Dottled Bigging. I can manage quite fine alone."

"The dotted... whatever... isn't a problem. And I wasn't escorting you, I was—ˮ

"I didn't mean to suggest you were stalking me, Draco."

"Don't flatter yourself, Lovegood. I was just going to head down this corridor to... to..."

"Isn't that funny? It only leads to the Ravenclaw Tower." Luna's head tilted inquisitively, and her clear, grey eyes watched Draco's embarrassed shuffling. "Why don't you walk with me to the door, then you can head off wherever you were going."

She grabbed his unwilling hand and dragged him along the hallway with her, chattering pleasantly as she walked. "Tomorrow we'll have to sit down together and work out those rosters, but not until after I've had a word with the Dottled Bigging. Really, it shouldn't be playing tricks on you like that."

Draco's mouth opened and closed ineffectually.

"Well, thank you for seeing me home to my door. I must dash; I've got to go and see Uncle Phin in a mo—ˮ Luna clamped her free hand across her mouth. "Oops! There's me, talking a load of old nonsense again."

Stretching up on her tiptoes, she gave Draco a soft peck on his cheek. Then, with a faint blush and a final squeeze of his hand, she released her grip and stepped through the doorway.

The corridor lights extinguished themselves as she disappeared, plunging the bemused wizard into darkness. He stood for a while, mouth slightly open, fingers flexing in irregular jerks, before shaking the confusion from his head.

"What the...?"

In a characteristic swirl of expensive robes, he turned on his heel and strode back down the corridor, muttering and rubbing the kissed sensation from his slightly flushed cheek.

xx

With a frown creasing his forehead, Ron ran a hand through his unkempt hair. Wincing when his fingers caught on a knot, he gave his unwashed scalp a rough scratch. His mum would be horrified to see him like this, so dirty and thin and bloody useless.

He knew he should get out of bed and wash, but knowing was one thing and doing was another. He felt so woolly-headed all the time. No matter how much he thought about getting up, there was no motivation. Ron just couldn't see the point. There was nothing to look forward to, no food, no family and no friends. At the back of his mind he realised Hermione and Harry weren't far away, but they weren't really his friends anymore. They kept to themselves, talking about him behind his back, planning things and not letting him in on their secrets.

Miss Hoity-Toity only ever spoke to him with arms crossed or hands on hips, her voice an irritating, nagging whine that rubbed him up the wrong way and forced him to ignore her or answer with reciprocal belligerence. Bloody hell, why had he ever wanted to go out with the harpy?

His stomach growled with nauseating hunger. The bushy-haired harridan wouldn't even feed him properly. He had tried to explain, politely, his mum could cook up a better meal, but Hermione had lost the rag completely. Maybe, it was her time of the month. He rubbed a roughened palm over his face. Who knows?

And Harry was no help. They used to be best mates until Hermione came along, sticking her snobby, upturned nose into their business. Now Harry was all quiet and moping and wouldn't speak with his old pal much. He wasn't interested in talking Quidditch anymore, only secret-squirrel whispering with Hermione by the fire or going outside with Hermione, leaving Ron alone in the tent.

Cold and tired, he pulled his grubby, damp blanket tight round his skinny shoulders, but couldn't sleep. Life was so uncomfortable, and those two didn't give a toss. The pair of them just buggered off out the door with a carefree, "Later, Ron." They didn't even say where they were going, probably planning to have a great time without him.

His thoughts followed slow, circular patterns for a while, mulling over the injustices wrought on him by his fellow campers. Neither of them was concerned about him or how he felt. In fact, nobody took any interest in him at all. Not one person would notice if he disappeared off the face of the earth.

A solo tear slid down his dirt-streaked cheek. He dashed it away.

Look at me, crying like a baby. What kind of a wizard cries in his bed alone like this? Ron raged internally.

A useless, ugly, friendless, stupid fuckwit, a small, niggling voice at the back of his head replied.

He had never felt so bloody miserable in all his life, and nobody bloody cared. They'd all be better off without him.

xx

Hermione glanced back over her shoulder to where the tent stood hidden amongst the trees. She could hear the constant drip-drip of water dropping from rain-sodden leaves and bouncing off the canvas. Turning back towards Harry, she pushed through the wet bracken and clambered up onto the uneven stone wall where he sat hunched over in the drizzle.

He shuffled his bottom along a little, giving Hermione space to sit beside him on the moss covered capstones. Rainwater trickled off his hood as he moved and ran in a chilly rivulet down his neck. Tucking a finger inside his collar, he pulled clammy clothing away from his skin.

"If you're going to sit out here in the rain, Harry, you ought to cast an Impervius Charm."

"Don't nag me, Hermione."

She wrapped an arm around his shivering, wet shoulders. "I'm not nagging. I'm just concerned about you. If you don't keep warm and dry, you're going to get ill and be more miserable."

"I know, but I can't be bothered. I feel so lethargic, even when I haven't got the Horcrux hanging from my neck."

"You're not as bad as Ron. I'm really worried about him."

"Typical. Ron gets all the sympathy," Harry groused.

"Harry, listen to yourself. You know that's not true."

His grunted reply was noncommittal.

Hermione pulled him in closer to her and kissed his forehead. "Come on. Let's get you into the warmth. You can have some hot soup and a sleep, and I'll take over the watch out here."

Gently guiding the numbed boy back to the tent, Hermione helped him strip his sodden clothes off and wrapped him in the driest blanket she could find. Nothing was truly dry anymore.

"Sit here by the fire and I'll get you something to eat," she told him before heading over to the cooking stove. As she passed Ron's recumbent form, he huffed and turned his back on her. Laying a hand on his bony shoulder, Hermione knelt down beside his bed. "Hey, Ron, do you want something to eat, too?"

"As if you care," he grumbled.

"Tell you what. I'll bring a cup of soup over, and you can have it here in bed. How does that sound?"

"I'm not hungry."

"You need to eat, Ron."

"Bossy cow," he muttered, shrugging his shoulder out from under her hand and moving further away.

Hermione sighed and rubbed her forehead, wondering why he was being so difficult. As she pushed herself up to standing, she realised Ron was right; when he behaved like this she really didn't care. An uncomfortable wave of guilt surged through her, and she ducked her head as she shuffled away, hoping no-one would see her lack of compassion.

She heated the cauldron's contents, stirring absent-mindedly, her thoughts drifting as her hands worked on automatic. The soup roiled, its surface scum breaking and reforming at the edges of the pot as small pieces of unidentifiable vegetables rose to the surface before disappearing again in the unappetising broth. Hermione's eyes followed the fluid motion with hypnotic fascination. She no longer knew what was in the brew, having added ingredients and reheated the same pot again and again. She knew only it always smelled of boiled cabbage and musty fungi, making her stomach lurch in rebellion.

Ladling soup into cracked, grimy mugs, she set the cooking pot aside before taking a serving to each of the boys. Harry accepted his between cold, wrinkle-fingered hands, wrapping himself around the steaming warmth rising in small wisps from the cup.

Ron's, on the other hand, was ignored completely. He drew his cover round him like a cocoon, shutting his eyes and clamping his lips tight.

"For goodness sake, Ron, stop being such a prat." Hermione slammed the mug down on the floor next to his bed, slopping some goop over the side. "Here it is; take it or leave it."

She scowled hard at the unresponsive curve of his back.

"Fine! I agree with you, boys. This is shit, but at least I'm still trying to work things out, unlike you two miserable bastards."

Grabbing hold of her own soup, she stomped out of the tent, heading back out to the old stone dyke.

"Dicks! I don't know why I bother. Do I get a word of thanks for all the cooking I do?" she muttered to herself. Angrily, she kicked at a loose piece of moss, spilling hot soup over the back of her hand. "Ow! Shit!"

Imminent tears pricked at her eyes as she tried to lick the scalding liquid off her skin, spilling more as her hand tilted. She swore and dropped the cup, bursting into sobs as it struck a rock and shattered into jagged white shards.

Hermione scarcely flinched as a confident, reassuring arm circled her heaving shoulders. Burying her face into the solid warmth of the man's dark-clad chest, she wept in his comforting embrace.

"I'm s... so glad you're here. I didn't... didn't think you'd be coming tonight. I ca... can't do... do this anymore." She hiccoughed, wiping sticky, burned fingers under her running nose. "Look at me. I'm a mess, and my hand hurts."

Pulling a clean, monogrammed handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket, he wrapped it round her scalded hand, whispering gentle, healing spells as he did. "Hush, lass, it's going to be all right," he murmured into her wild tangle of hair, holding the trembling witch close and kissing her forehead tenderly.

Her hands snuck under his heavy, woollen cloak, seeking his body heat and clutching his lean body tight. Finding the sense of security she sought, she inhaled his familiar male scent overlaid with the smoky tang of Firewhisky and damp wool. As she spoke into his chest, she felt her words vibrate through his torso.

"Take me home with you, Remus."

xxx

A/N: Translation:

Fadge – New Zealand – noun: wool pack; English - verb: to agree

Skelp – Scots – to hit/smack.

Dottled – Scots – witless, daft

Bigging – Scots – building