Snowball's Chance
Dec 21
Perhaps I have perished and am now suffering in the ninth ring of Hell… the frozen part of Hell as it were. Severus Snape closed his eyes as he rubbed at his temples, paying particular attention to the engorged vein threatening to explode from his skull… again. As blissful as it would be to douse his migraine in a glass (make that a bottle) of the Three Broomstick's finest libation and set it aflame, he believed that a certain tight bunned assistant headmistress (see: harridan) would be verily miffed with him.
McGonagall's wrath could manifest in something as trivial as inconvenient class schedules for the next decade or something horrific as being placed in charge of the Yuletide ball. I would rather lock myself with a bogart, red handbag and all before organizing a single Christmas ornament. Luckily his Ravenclaw counterpart Flitwick was bestowed that 'special' honor this year causing his inner evil sorcerer to cackle with maniacal glee. For future reference he would have to remember to keep bribing the Sorting Hat with Ogden's to escape the odious responsibility of hosting any event that involved dancing, formal wear and such frivolity.
Nodding sulfurously at a few cordial greetings of Happy Christmas, the gloomily cloaked professor stormed through Hogsmeade watching intently for any sign of suspicious activity. Enchanted sleds of shrieking monsters nearly ran him over at every corner. Their frazzled parents with their mountainous burdens of shopping bags crowded the snowy cobblestone streets. Snape walked briskly avoiding eye contact as if to keep the festive contagion at bay. The students were annoyingly cheerful and equally excitable as they explored the shops in a large group due to security measures insisted upon by Dumbledore. There was an inordinate amount of laughter, whispering and blushing reminiscent of Lockhart's (see ponce) Valentine's day. Secret Santa Exchange indeed, what a load of manticore …offal.
With one last longing look at the Hogshead Pub, he knew that he could have sold his Death Eater soul for anything stronger than a butterbeer and it was clearer than Trelawney's crystal ball that this day would have required two rather large bottles. If it could get any worse, he was not above raiding that old fraud's stash of sherry as well.
Rather than accompany the students into the shops, he left the tedious chore of tour guide and zookeeper to one vexing auror. This auror in question was currently subjecting him to the silent treatment after he had chastised … err bellowed at a third year for wandering off on her own. It was for her safety and it was hardly his fault that he had reduced the girl to a sniveling breakdown. I will not give her the satisfaction of making me feel… guilty.
Smirking at Tonks through a window he snorted back a chuckle as she toppled over a display of Monster books which proceeded to chase her until she scampered up a bookshelf. The lack of conversation was delightful however if looks could hex, Snape knew that he would be sprouting bat wings and bogeys in a wand flick. Her murderously scorching glares aside, Severus was not feeling chivalrous (nor brave) enough to assist her in book hunting so he stepped into Sage's Sundries to find a gift for the klutzy, antagonistic but ever so amusing witch.
Sage's Sundries was a posh boutique that catered to chic and wealthy witches. Sundries screamed pastels and femininity… it made him uncomfortable to be within its walls. However as the potions master glanced at the outlandish merchandise he noted wryly that galleons and fashion did not necessarily coincide with elegance and quality. Without a doubt it was a reflection upon its patrons. Sylvana Sage the proprietress was a witch of sizeable proportions squeezed into a circulation robbing bodice with a cleavage that hung lower than decency demanded. An exorbitant amount of make up caked her fifty something face. Her frowsy perm was dyed a brassy blonde with dark roots emerging. While Madam Sage haggled with a customer, paying no attention to him, Snape took the opportunity to browse.
Fuzzy werewolf slippers, how devilishly cruel, he considered the ramifications of such a purchase and knew that the short tempered metamorphagus would tie his wand (and not the one in his pocket) in an Undoable Knot. The slippers even howled in the dark… charming. While Tonks might wear that obnoxiously fuschia and lime striped jumper hanging on the rack, Snape's sense of taste forbade him from buying it. Maybe he should shop else where, would a book of etiquette and deportment be utterly wasted on a Black? Even a world class cookbook could not help such a hopeless case, after witnessing the culinary apocalypse she called a kitchen. As he was about to depart the premises he was seized by a pair of quick hands with a ironclad grip.
"Leaving so soon?" Madam Sage simpered as she splayed her gaudily ringed fingers along his forearm.
"I was merely looking for a present." Abruptly he stepped away from her so that her sparkling chipped nail polish would not contaminate his impeccably black surcoat.
"Do you not see anything you desire?" Hardly. Leaning against the counter, she intentionally displayed her impressive bosom to its utmost advantage. "Are you shopping for your wife or perhaps your mistress…?"
"I beg your pardon, what exactly are you insinuating? It's for a colleague." He retorted acidly.
"I see…" Sylvana flashed him a toothy knowing leer. "How about perfume?"
Before he could protest she sprayed him with a bottle appropriately mislabeled "Enchantment". More like Eau du Troll. The ghastly reek emanating from the perfume reminded him of Longbottom's failed potions in a scalded cauldron with the hint wet dog. It caused him to cough and his eyes to water.
"Any woman would look lovely in this torrid little number." She rustled through the closet behind her and pulled out a barely there negligee, lavender with lacey bows and held it suggestively against her chest. "Do you need me to model it for you?" Twirling seductively she sashayed closer to him. The woman needs a leash.
"That won't be necessary." Snape choked as he tried to dismiss the nightmare of the elder lady in lingerie. "The lady in question is someone I work with." He stressed through bated breath as his imagination pictured a lithe someone draped airly in the luxurious silk. To regain control of his errant … imagination he tried to visualize Hogwart's librarian in the negligee. Quite disturbing.
"A discerning customer." The proprietress rummaged through a mahogany armoire.
"What is this unusual trinket?" Curiously, the wizard opened up a plain box to an oddly curved sculpture nestled in velvet lining. He held it gingerly, examining it closely as if to discern its purpose.
"That is a personal witch's wand." She smiled wickedly as it started growing and vibrating in Snape's hand.
Merlins no! He dropped it in disgusted revelation and looked as if he were to suffer a fit of apoplexy. If only the ground were to open up and swallow me whole. His face flushed redder than a thousand suns. "Shall I wrap it up for you?"
"No no! That is quite alright. Thank you for your time Madam Sage. I think I will get her some chocolates." Stepping backwards he nearly crashed into a mannequin sporting fuzzy blue knickers before hurrying out the exit.
The door barely slammed shut when he turned only to be blindsided by a giant white… snowball!
"DAMNATION TO ALL!" He ranted to a shocked audience as he skulked angrily away with a minimal amount of billowing cloak.
Wotcher Snape, serves you right for skivving off your duties to sneak away to buy lewd things for your scarlet woman. The irritated witch dusted snow off her gloves as a streak of pink formed in her raven mane.
A/N: Teehee. There are reasons why men don't like shopping…
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