'What do you mean, can I move?' demanded Snape advancing with his usual predatory glide.
The designer's mouth dropped open. 'Absolutely fabulous, darling, you'd make a bloody terrifying teacher. Classical actor I suppose?' Snape scowled. 'Ok then, same terms and conditions as the kid. Draco, sweetie are you alright? You look a bit . . .' Draco, in consequence of recent events, was looking thoroughly off colour. 'You know I'm tolerant, dear, but no "help" while working.'
'I've don't do drugs,' said Draco, stiffly. 'At all.'
'His aunt attacked him,' supplied Tonks.
'The crazy one? Well, they get like that sometimes in old families. Ok, sweetie. I'll get Kevin to cover for you this time, since you've brought me such a delicious prop.' She ogled Snape. 'I need you to walk - make it dangerous - down to the end of the catwalk and wait there until you get the signal to come back. Not too much, though. You're a prop.' She poked Snape with a forefinger. 'Not Dramatis Personae. It's the clothes they're here to look at, right? Five minutes.' With relief, Tonks noticed that Fortinbras was back.
While Tonks was bringing her colleague Fortinbras up to speed, McLaggan attempted to lean on Snape. From the Defence against the Dark Arts Master's derisive smirk, Tonks could tell that it wasn't going well. McLaggan had reached the purplish colour of a wine stain. His thick neck appeared even thicker and it looked as if it might be possible to boil an egg on his head. Tonks winced. 'How did McLaggan do at shaking down Snape?' she asked.
'He didn't. Apparently he was sick that day, which may explain why he spent eight years in Accounts.'
'Eight years?' queried Tonks, aghast. After passing their exams, people had been known to work for years in various capacities before finally obtaining the coveted name of Auror, often without ever quite knowing just what they'd done wrong. Pending official investigation of the falling flowerpot incident, Tonks had herself done eight days in 'Accounts' before deciding, for the sake of her own sanity and the safety of her colleagues, to work for no more than an hour a day and spend the rest of her time in the Library. To her surprise the decision had apparently been met with not only tolerance but approval. She'd wondered if that was what was meant by her first responsibility being to herself. If I'd any sense, I'd bugger off right now she decided eying the incipient explosion in the corner. As usual, Fortinbras was much, much too cheerful.
'McLaggan,' breezed Fortinbras, 'I feel, and McMillan agrees with me, that it would be unwise to have too many of our people here. If it goes arse up we'll need someone to take out the garbage and arrange our excuses and, as it seems that Accountancy have another little snarl-up on their hands, sorry old man but I'm pulling rank. Take the kids with you.'
Like a dog dragged away from a deli, and without taking his eyes from Snape, McLaggan took four heavy steps backwards before swinging around and barking 'To me!' He blundered off, followed by goggling Auror Cadets; Weasley and Potter conspicuously absent from among them.
'The consummate Slytherin,' scoffed Snape. 'You'll find yourself owing the Ministry your next several months' salary.'
'Happens,' shrugged Fortinbras. 'I'll borrow some off you then.'
Snape smirked and then all humour left his eyes. 'The nature of the attack on Mr. Malfoy would suggest a trap.'
'Yes,' said Fortinbras. 'I'm sorry about that.'
'Get lost,' enunciated Snape.
'Severus,' said Fortinbras, 'if you don't help us people will die.'
'I think you'll find that it isn't my problem.'
Fortinbras got closer to Snape and began, very gently, to brush imaginary fluff off his shoulder. 'If that stuff the Muggles brewed gets loose we could loose half of London,' she confided. Millions of people. And if that bitch gets away, millions more worldwide. And then we can forget all about the statute of secrecy. All because she's pissed off with you. So I want you to do like the nice lady said, and sashay down to the end of the catwalk. Aggravate her a bit more and, with luck, she'll take a pop at you and then we can grab her.' She met his eyes. 'I know that you think we're unable to organise a piss-up in a brewery and you know that you're going to do it anyway so let's get on with it, shall we?' She turned to Tonks and the others. 'Ok, you lot.'
'Sashay?' demanded Snape in a dead voice.
'Sashay,' confirmed Fortinbras. 'Face it, Snape. If anyone can, it's you.'
Three minutes later found Tonks standing in the hall proffering intricately crafted and entirely superfluous nibbles. No-one was eating this season, it seemed. As she straightened up her stomach rumbled. In a doomed effort to complete paperwork she had skipped lunch and dinner had, perforce, been cancelled. Morphing was putting the usual strain on her metabolism and, while the calorific value of the food in her hand was negligible, Tonks was ravenous. After quick glance round she jammed a handful of fishy somethings into her mouth and then, quite abruptly, found herself unable to move. 'Petrificus,' thought Tonks wearily. Bellatrix Lestrange must have back up. She couldn't see any of her colleagues, just the edge of the staging about ten feet in front of her. She really hoped that they were doing better than she was. If they weren't Snape was in serious trouble. However fast he was, he would be a spot lit target on the catwalk; unable himself to see much beyond it.
"Well we got no choice, all the girls and boys, Makin' all that noise . . ."
Alice bloody sodding Cooper thought Tonks as the room vibrated to the bass from the sound system. Models inlittle black skirts, ties and artistically torn, white blouses came parading down the catwalk.
". . . can't salute ya, can't find a flag . . .'"
Another bloody punk revival, thought Tonks disgustedly. Even I don't . . . Her thoughts slowed. Snape was going to die, and there was nothing she could do about it. Already he was emerging from the shadows at the far end of the catwalk, robes swirling darkly around him. Disdainful of his audience, he stalked slowly to the edge of the stage where he crossed his arms gracefully and paused to consider the excruciatingly well cared for crowd beyond the footlights.
"We got no principles and we got no innocence,"
As the corner of his mouth lifted in contempt, Snape turned his back. 'Aggravate her a bit,' Fortinbras had said.
He'd got the knack.
Author's note: lyrics are from 'School's Out'and belong to'Alice Cooper'.
