gingerbredshaus (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
gingerbredshaus) wrote2019-12-28 12:33 am
gingerbredshaus) wrote2019-12-28 12:33 am
Entry tags:
The Lego Advent Calendar Fic Part 1
This year Lego released their first Harry Potter Advent Calendar. Naturally I snaffled one ASAP. I started out meaning to just share its contents with my friends, by Day 3 I ended up taking it as prompts to write short scenes to go with the daily build (conversations with Snape, who (spoilers...) is not best pleased at the prospect of not being included in this calendar), and then somewhere along the way, it began to morph and fic sort of happened.
I decided to keep it as was, and thought some of you might appreciate it.
Happy First Advent!
It's December first, and in Germany we count down the days of this month right up until Christmas with advent calendars (Adventskalender). 🎄🎁 This year I got something really special, a calendar that manages to combine two of my favourite things: Harry Potter and Lego! 😃 Sweetheart that I am 😉, I thought I'd share it with you so you can play along at home.
The artwork is beautiful. ❤️ Now you need to find the right door...
When I opened the first door, this is what was waiting for me...
It'll probably come as a huge surprise to see that if you put them all together, this is what you get...
Harry in his Weasley jumper! (Thanks, Molly! 😊)
Day 2!
is inadvertently giving me life...
First you need to find the right door...
Behind which we discover the following...
It includes three of those roller skate pieces in black... I'm sure my mind *shouldn't* go there, it really shouldn't, but of course it did. The thing I didn't know was missing from my life but I now can't live without! Snape on skates!!! (I can die happy now. 😂)
I had to look at the micro-instructions for this one. The colours were pretty clear, but the extra pieces threw me. (They're reasonably generous with additional small pieces that way.) The end result:
A micro Hogwarts Express.
(But when the hols are over, those skates are totes going back on Snape. Obvs. *nods*)
Day 3... You know the drill. 😊
And the third of December dawns. And then noons.
Find the door...
Opening it reveals...
Severus is kind enough to make use of the paddle thingies, and we now have a semaphoring skating Snape, and my joy knows no bounds... 😃 (It's taken me a while, I'm unconscionably slow, but it finally dawned on me that he must like me, because this doesn't really seem like something he himself feels a pressing need to do... Colour me dead chuffed. 😉 Well it was that or the Imperius, and I'm pretty sure his Protego was sufficient to the task. And, uh, y'know, not that I'd ever dream of trying... Probably.)
Five points to Slytherin for getting there. Eventually.
'Only five? Really?'
As it was patently obvious and shouldn't have taken a moment's thought to realise, yes, only five. Consider yourself lucky.
'Does that even work with alumni?'
That only merits the arched brow in reply; only to be expected really.
'Given you have a wager running with Professor McGonagall as to who will win the House Cup, isn't that a conflict of interest?'
*chizpurfles can be heard clicking in the distance*
'Thought as much. In that case, what do you say? Isn't it worth ten points after all?'
No, Ms. Bred, it truly isn't. But the five points for your enterprising nature should make up the difference nicely.
'Not ten?' *bats eyes hopefully*
Now you're simply being cheeky.
'Thought I was before, to be honest.' 😉
Putting it all together properly (*sigh*. Nevertheless...) gives us two! snow covered fir trees...
And the extra bits and bobs means Severus can now have his very own fairy wand. (He points out, firmly, that he has an eminently functional and vastly superior wand of his own, ta, (I may or may not be imagining a double entendre there.) but again he was kind enough to cooperate.) The thing reminds me a lot of the magic wand I found on the way home from the neurologist's last year. (Less pink, but still OTT.) Didn't actually fix any problems, but it cheered me up greatly, so there we go then. Substantially sorted. 😊
Day 4!
Shouldn't come as a surprise anymore...
That rhymes.
'It does.'
Stop that.
*tries to look innocent*
*fails utterly*
Find the door! 😊
Ms. Bred.
'Fine. Fine.'
*sulks* 😕
And out the pieces pour... 😉
Ms. Bred! I'm warning you.
'Don't be so sore.' 😆
*doesn't even bother trying to hide her shit-eating grin* 😊
And just like that, a strange sensation ripples over her skin.
'Huh? What?' is all she can say before she begins to shrink...
*ribbit* *ribbit*
Well who'd have thought it? The insipid fairy wand works after all.
Severus tries to stifle his smile.
He fails utterly.
But possibly he hadn't tried all that hard...
*ribbit* *ribbit*
Well, yes, I agree the colour was a mite unexpected.
*ribbit* *ribbit*
I don't believe there is such a thing as ginger frogs...
*ribbit* *ribbit*
And I'm quite certain a kiss will not be required to sort this. Wherever do you get these ideas? A simple Finite shall suffice.
Of course that presupposes you could speak...
*ribbit* *ribbit*
Am *I* willing to cast the Counter-spell? Without further inducement? Consider this, if you will: I hardly needed to cast the spell in the first place, did I? So why do you suppose I should now wish to cast the Finite Incantatem?
Quite.
I say, were you that slow as a witch, too?
*ribbit* *ribbit* *ribbit* *ribbit*!!!!
Well I suppose if it doesn't wear off on its own, I could revisit that decision, but it couldn't hurt were you to give some thought to those inducements either. Belts and braces my dear wo... frog, belts and braces.
*ribbit* *ribbit*
Severus chuckles.
Why I do suppose you're right; frogs have need of neither.
Day 5...
Ah, Ms. Bred, looking more yourself today I see.
*croak*
Severus smirks.
Frog in your throat? Oh, do forgive me. I presume that's taken on new meaning since yesterday...
He chuckles darkly, a certain ginger glares.
'I said: no thanks to you.'
Really? You don't imagine I could have made the Transfiguration more... lasting? Questioning my staying power, are you?
*considers her options and wisely holds her tongue; one thing learnt from her recent adventures as an amphibian at least*
If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: with magic, intent is everything.
Sotto voce, 'Apparently in impeachment, too.'
What was that?
'Nothing, don't mind me. Why don't we see what today has in store for us?'
And what did we get?
*judiciously doesn't comment on the apparent new found interest*
Hmmm. Can't say I like the look of that...
*privately agrees this is unlikely to end well*
Do they never tire of the blatant favouritism? Or what do you suppose the chances are there are green and silver, or for that matter blue and bronze or black and yellow standards to be found behind the other doors?
She looks at the remaining doors, does some quiet calculations in her head, examines the front of the box, and truly doesn't fancy his chances. As her Exploding Snap face is rubbish, she needn't even say so.
I thought as much.
'Why don't you just change it?'
ABS* is notoriously difficult to transfigure.
(He may or may not have just attempted it to no avail. Sensible people refrain from asking.)
'Generations of children and AFoLs** would beg to differ.'
Somehow that information fails to cheer him any. Instead he rails at the injustice in the universe.
All the transparent pandering to Headmaster's House? I'd be ashamed in his shoes.
'Nonsense. You'd take the win and be happy for it. And his shoes aren't really objectionable, it's the socks you'd take issue with.'
He merely gives her that look and she lets it go, but they both know she's right.
'Perhaps if you tried employing the fairy wand instead...'
Secretly you enjoyed life as a frog, didn't you?
* Lego is made of acrylonitrile butadiene styrene (aka ABS).
** AFoL = Adult*** Fans of Lego
*** But only if we measure in terms of calendar years. My inner child is alive and thriving, cheers. 😉
Day 6...
The sixth of December we celebrate St. Nikolaus' Day in Germany. As kids, we put out our shoes, and in the morning we'd discover them full of walnuts, oranges and chocolate coins, and with a bit of luck, there'd be a small gift too. And if we'd been too cheeky (known to happen), there were threats Knecht Ruprecht would see us suitably switched. (Still, better than Krampus. Small mercies. *nods*) These days we seem to have graduated to using plates, so much tidier, and it makes it a lot easier to serve up cookies, Dominosteine ('Domino stones' - chocolate covered squares of Lebkuchen (gingerbread 😉), jelly and marzipan), Lebkuchen, Kipferln (vanilla cookies), Zimtsterne (cinnamon stars) and Dutch windmill cookies (Spekulatius Plätzchen) are perennial faves.
None of which stops us from continuing to open our calendars. So! Door number six...
Whatever could it be?
Somehow he sounds none too pleased.
'I'm sure I can't imagine.'
He seems to approve of the snark and relents a little.
First Gryffindork flags, now their head. Albus is on the bloody box, so I imagine he's inside somewhere. This is going to turn into a straight up Moggiefest, isn't it?
She hesitates to nod, but her face gives it away. It would seem so. More or less at least.
I thought as much. I don't suppose I'm in there?
'Oh certainly. As Father Christmas no doubt.'
And there goes the eyebrow again.
'I wouldn't know. I haven't checked the parts list...'
But it's not bleeding likely.
Well this is a fine kettle of Plimpies.
'Freshwater?'
Goes without saying.
I going to need a cuppa to deal with this.
'Have at it. A good cup of tea almost never goes amiss.
'But you know, this could have its upside. If anyone stands a chance of transfiguring the Gryffindor standard, ABS notwithstanding, it's Professor McGonagall.'
You realise the obvious error in your logic is that she's also one of the least likely to wish to.
'Hmm. Perhaps a wager?'
Ah, finally! Now there's a good idea. Minerva has always been frightfully fond of a flutter. Leave it to me.
'Aren't you going to tell me what you're going to bet on?'
Absolutely not, he answers and strides off to speak to Minerva while a certain ginger dies of curiosity.
Not long after there's a flash of crimson light and an exclamation of dismay.
'What? What happened?' Aforementioned ginger rushes to the scene.
Ask the bloody minded woman to perform a simple Transfiguration, and she sullies my saucer with flowers. Looks like some of Sybill's tat.
Could have been worse. Could have been roses.
This is unacceptable. If it was too difficult for you, you should have simply said as much.
'Are you sure about that? Looks more like proof of concept to me.'
No... Minerva?
You catch more flies with honey, my dear Severus. You should know that by now. It's not that difficult; even Ms. Bred seems to have grasped the concept.
'Hey now!'
Witches. You have to be kidding me.
Day 7...
Door, please!
Bits and bobs...
Put it all together and you get...
Well this looks a little more promising.
'How so?' She enquires, unconvinced. The height of the seat and the length of the table legs seem rather worrisome when all is said and done...
There is a comforting absence of crimson and gold.
'Well aside from the goblets...'
Oh no, Ms. Bred. Those are more than welcome. After the day I've had, I'd appreciate a drink.
'You only just had a tea.'
And if you imagine that is sufficient to the trials to which one is subjected as an instructor in this... venerable institution, you are badly mistaken.
'I doubt they're serving anything but Pumpkin Juice.'
Truly? Have you never wondered why our glasses are opaque?
'I hadn't previously. And now I seem to have skipped that step entirely and gone straight to suspicions, founded or not.'
I believe it's perfectly safe to considered them founded.
Oh for the love of... How low are these seats?
'Thought as much.'
If you'd remove those ridiculous skates, you might find the fit less tight.
Entirely out of the question, Minerva. I'm humouring a... friend.
Judiciously, a certain ginger debates holding her tongue and then decides the better of it.
'I'm certain no... friend would require you to wear them at all times.'
I'm positive they wouldn't. Otherwise it couldn't fail to become only too awkward, and that rather quickly.
'Well that too.' She doesn't blush (well, not more than a little) as she tries (and fails) not to consider situations in which that might be the case.
He only smirks when he notices the flush.
Clearing her throat, she moves to safer topics. 'I imagine the benches were meant for second years. Third years at the most.'
Really Severus, how could you fail to notice the length of Mr. Potter's legs?
A flash of viridian strikes said Gryffindor, and Harry squawks. Yikes!
Why I don't believe Potter will fit here at all. He strikes me as a bit too... stiff.
I can't move my legs!
Of course Leglocks have a way of ensuring that...
'I thought your spell was 'Langlock'?'
Clearly not if he's whinging. And surely you don't suppose someone capable of developing that in his school years couldn't proceed to develop other Charms?
'Oh I know for a fact that he has.'
It's Severus' turn to try not to pink. His efforts aren't a complete success.
Severus! Really! We don't hex the children.
Speak for yourself, Minerva. I thought I did a smashing job of it.
Harry looks like he's compelled to agree, fortunately not by the Imperius. Small favours.
Well then, strictly for pragmatic reasons I suggest you release him, or how else do you propose he leave?
And I believe there you have finally struck upon a convincing argument.
Finite.
Potter, consider yourself lucky and vanish before you find yourself Evanescoed.
And unsurprisingly, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk-Severus-No-End does.
Day 8
Seek...
and ye shall find
Some days it's frightfully difficult to guess what the pieces will build...
'And some days it's really not.'
Could it be... Potter's owl? **
'Severus!' There's no question she's scandalised. There's also no question she's amused.
'And here I thought it was a Ravenclaw.'
He barks a laugh in reply.
Fair enough.
No!
He seems genuinely displeased at a thought.
'What? What's wrong?'
If they've included poultry limbs, I fear it's only a matter of time before Weasley puts in an appearance to gnaw on them.
'Oh! Do you know, you're probably right.'
I usually am. Cold comfort.
She manages not to offer a warmer one. Only just.
Weasley. They include him but not me.
Severus, it's high time you got over that.
Easy for you to say, you were in the box.
There. Happy? I removed the skates, and it still is a remarkably tight fit, never mind that I'm practically seated with my arse on the floor.
If you had the decency to be less of a beanpole, it might not be such a problem.
Quite. I am tall merely because I am an ill-mannered lout. In fact I grew solely to vex you. As a young man, I made it my goal, exclusively, to grow until you were suitably vexed and not stop a moment prior...
How many Butterbeers has he had?
'He was just starting in on his first, but from the marked lack of progress, I gathered he didn't like the taste.'
Ogdens! I demand Ogdens! It's the only way to deal with the indignity of this seating.
Pish-tosh. Severus, just raise the blasted thing. Are you a wizard or what?
He's not so ill-mannered (or tall) as not to look a bit sheepish at that.
** Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kit10notk9 for the idea. 😘
Day 9
Door?
Pieces...
'Uh oh.'
What is it, Ms. Bred?
'Well this presents me with a bit of a moral quandary. And I'm afraid I've done the designers of this set an injustice. (Although we still need to wait and see if Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff standards are included as well...)'
Surely that unintentional slight doesn't represent a moral quandary?
'Oh no, of course not. I was wondering if it would be wrong to try to convince certain parties...'
By which you mean a tall, dark wizard?
'Possibly.
'To convince them I had succeeded in Transfiguring the ABS where they had failed.'
Ah. Well, he wouldn't hesitate. But if it will help remove any temptation, allow me...
'Wait! You can't Transfigure them crimson and gold!'
I think you'll find I can.
'That's just wrong. As if there weren't enough Moggie bias as is. Keep that up, and there'll be naught but coal in your stocking, Professor. And just you wait if I find Knecht Ruprecht and his switch! Then you're for it.'
Oh you sweet, innocent lamb. You say that as though it were a bad thing.
A certain ginger stands there blinking incredulously, which was easily half the point.
You needn't worry, my dear, I'll leave your flags as they are. On one condition: should you decide to claim to have Transfigured them, I wish to see the revelation. Every witch needs a spot of fun, and in Ruprecht's absence...
Day 10
His lips tighten into the thinnest of lines and he says nothing. The moment stretches uncomfortably, silence reigns.
'Well, at least you were proven right.'
He just glares.
'I know: there was never any question,' she volunteers hopefully, and still he doesn't bite. Not even a nibble, more's the pity.
'Given Potter was part of the set, it was probably only to be expected.'
That earns her a baleful look.
If you'll recall, I did not fail to expect it, I merely disagree with their priorities. Utterly and completely. Their selection, the curation of this collection of... gormless miscreants is beyond the pale.
'I suspect Professor McGonagall might have a thing or two to say about that.'
She invariably does, the simple fact of which doesn't remotely affect the veracity of the statement.
'Still, it seems unduly harsh...'
At which point an as yet unnamed ginger cries Turkey!, reaches across the table, and filches a certain other ginger's drumstick.
'Hey!'
Still feel I was 'unduly harsh'? Hmm?
A now familiar flash of viridian hits the boy and soon he's exhibiting the effects last seen on the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk. Unsurprisingly, that spurs him to object. Vociferously.
Oi! Whaddaya think you're doing?! You can't just...
'Put a sock in it Weasley,' she interrupts, snatching her turkey leg from his grubby mitts.
Severus flicks his wand again, and the boy falls silent. Unfortunately it doesn't stop his arms from pinwheeling, and shortly he begins to wobble ominously until he's overset, tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud. The collapse, rather predictably, is accompanied by neither cries of pain nor indignation.
And that, Ms. Bred, is a Langlock. Truly, sometimes you make me wonder, are you witch or not?
You're one to speak, Severus. I see the table is still more suited to Firsties than staff.
And what have you done with Mr. Weasley?
Rendered him more... agreeable.
A certain ginger is inclined to agree.
We still don't hex the children.
Clearly *I* do.
It's the holidays, Minerva, and I find myself stuck in a castle full of recalcitrant children. Personally I think I've exhibited remarkable restraint thus far.
Well could you... unrender him?
I could, I choose not to. Why do people keep assuming I cast spells only to secretly wish to perform the countercharms? I can assure you, I do not.
Have Potter fetch him off to the dorms. It will wear off soon enough.
I swear, sometimes I think you're more childish than the children.
Very well.
Mr. Potter! A word, if you please.
And while she's busy explaining the situation and the actions required of him to Harry, a certain ginger leans in close to a wiry Potions Master to whisper, 'What is your definition of 'soon'?'
A week at the latest, he chuckles.
Day 11
Well this looks familiar.
Would you care to learn the fine art of semaphoring?
She only pinks, rather becomingly, in response.
What is it, Ms. Bred? He pries, genuinely curious.
'Oh, I was just picturing them as fans.'
As... fans? He hasn't the foggiest, not the hint of a clue, which makes it all the odder that there's this strange pricking of the fine hairs on the back of his neck, particularly as they have an almost preternatural gift for scenting trouble.
'Fans,' she confirms resolutely. The blush only deepens.
Because you find it so... warm in here? It's December in Scotland and the witch is patently barmy. End of.
She debates just running with that explanation, especially as it would go a ways towards explaining the flush she can feel creeping over her skin. Finally she decides on the truth. 'For dancing.'
For... dancing? Apparently that explanation explains precious little as far as he's concerned. She imagines that's for the best.
That notion only solidifies when he continues.
You need... fans for dancing?
She swallows, but in for a Knut... She womans up. "I was thinking you might.'
Fans? For dancing. Me?
There is no earthly way she is going to explain it further.
Then the next thought strikes him, I do not dance.
'Ah. Well then I imagine you wouldn't need the fans either.'
She looks thoughtful, and the blush has receded, so he feels safe asking, And just what are you thinking about now?
'If you were to use a fan, which feathers would it have?' He blinks once; the witch clearly has a penchant for lines of thought that would never occur to him. 'Lucius is easy. Peacock feathers, both colourful or white would suit. You're trickier. Ostrich? Owl? Some sort of hawk, perhaps?' She seems unsure.
He smirks, catching on and decided. Raven. The answer is confident.
'Yes, yes I can see that. That sounds about right.' She smiles a gentle smile just picturing it. As he isn't aware quite what she's picturing, he escapes unembarrassed.
Well the height still isn't promising.
'No. No, I suppose it isn't.'
He examines the table closely, and a faint shimmer might lead a leery person to suspect he's tried to Transfigure it again. To no avail, evidently; it remains thoroughly unchanged.
Do we have any extra parts? He asks as he begins to hunt through the pile.
'We do.
'Some might even be fitting,' she adds as she watches him consider some more... adventurous choices.
'You absolutely cannot use Weasley's and Potter's legs to raise the tabletop. What are you thinking?'
For his part, he's fairly sure she doesn't properly understand the meaning of the word 'cannot' if she believes that to be true, and the boys' absence was unlikely to be noted over the hols, but luckily he doesn't take up the baton. Or his wand, for that matter...
At the least, we should be able to raise the seat to a height suitable for adults.
He employs a Wingardium Leviosa and she fits the pieces carefully into place.
'There,' she's says as they finish, the gratification audible. 'Professor McGonagall can't possibly find any fault with it now.'
Never mind that, this finally gets my arse up off the floor. That's the very definition of eminently satisfactory in any book I should think.
'Here would you mind holding this for me?'
If you mean to tell me you're incapable of casting a Lumos, I shall well and truly come to doubt you're a witch, he responds as he takes the cast iron candleholder in hand.
'Nonsense. I just like the idea of you carrying a torch for me.'
His eyes narrow suspiciously and he doesn't reply for a moment.
Eventually he settles on a cautiously snarky, All well and good, but it's a candle, and not a torch.
'As you should well know, the castle interferes with all electronics. This seemed an adequate compromise.'
So pleased to hear I'm a compromise and merely adequate.
'I'm not going to dignify that with a response. You're fishing for compliments.'
A touch hesitantly he asks, Were there any to be had?
'If I live to be one hundred and thirty seven...'
And three quarters. Precision is everything.
'If I live to be one hundred and thirty seven and three quarters...'
Let's not forget the units: years of age, I presume? Units are even more crucial than precision.
'Fine. If I live to be one hundred and thirty seven and three quarters years of age, I don't think I'll ever understand how someone so bright can simultaneously be so staggeringly thick.'
Shall I take that for an answer in the affirmative? It wavers between cheeky and hopeful, and she finds she minds not at all.
'Yes,' she replies with a smile of sufficient warmth to render his Warming Charms obsolete (despite the season and location!), and he discovers he can't quite suppress a smile of his own.
Day 12
Well. Not a lot of guesswork today.
'Not a lot of building either.'
Hmmm.
Might I interest you, Ms. Bred, in taking tea with me?
'Tea?'
Tea.
'Are you inviting me to sup with you?'
I am. Despite his words, he sounds a little less sure now.
'Big spender, are you?' She indicates the spread provided behind door number twelve.
Perhaps she should have let it go. He's bristling now, a wild animal only rudimentarily tamed, and he's clearly beginning to shy. She puts a hand on his arm to stay his impending flight, and reassures him, 'I'd love to join you.'
I'm afraid my options are limited in the castle. He sounds rather stiff. That had definitely been a misstep. They aren't quite ready for teasing.
She's about to panic thinking he means he has limited options for company, but he seems to sense that, or perhaps he took just the tiniest conceivable peek into her thoughts at the sight of her widened eyes and slightly offended expression. But to be fair, she practically thrust those thoughts at him, and for some reason he wasn't Occluding even the slightest at present...
For meals, that is. It's hardly a Hogsmeade weekend.
'That's an excellent point, and why isn't it?'
He can think of any number of reasons, it's midweek, for one, school is not precisely in session, for another...
'I mean if you were to wish to go to Hogsmeade, it shouldn't present any difficulties, should it? It's the holidays, for goodness' sake.'
Ah. Well as you should know, we're short staffed at the moment.
'You also have far fewer students here than usual.'
Sadly, they have neither classes nor assignments to keep them occupied at present.
'As if they ever spend vast quantities of time on those assignments,' she laughs. An appointment of Lucius' Board of Governors, she's doing her practical and has been assisting the current DADA instructor long enough to know that of a certainty. In fact, that's how she'd first caught the Potions Master's eye, by demonstrating little to no interest in Gilderoy, beyond the purely professional that is. It had vexed the strutting Peacock no end. Discovering she held the buffoon for largely incompetent to boot had been the icing on the torte for Severus.
'Surely the others should be able to hold down the fort until you return?'
He smirks, While I'd like to think I'm indispensable...
'I'd never dream of suggesting you weren't.' Her eyes twinkle mischievously, in a way very unlike Albus'.
I imagine you are correct. From the quintessential Slytherin, the ambiguity presumably isn't coincidental. They should be able to make do without me for a couple of hours.
'Splendid. I consider it practically settled then. What do you say I invite you to dinner this coming Saturday?'
You? Invite? Me?
She's learnt her lesson with this skittish colt and doesn't smile.
'Yes. Me. Inviting. You. Saturday? I assume you'd prefer the Three Broomsticks to Madam Puddifoot's.'
He blanches, not having thought this through to that point.
'I'll take that as a 'yes'.'
Not to be outdone, he rallies. But if you find pastries more palatable when purchased, perhaps you'd accompany me to Puddifoot's for afters.
That gets her attention, she can see the effort it took. Evidently her surprise Floos all too clearly, and he feels forced to explain. Rosmerta does a good kidney pie, but her desserts are wanting.
'No need for such radical measures,' she tries to throw him a line. As yet unreassured, he instantly deflates.
'Should we find ourselves... wanting after dinner, I'm sure we can grab... something here instead,' comes the impish reply. It earns her a sharp look. Almost innocently, she continues, 'The elves are quite talented. Possibly some of their apple marzipan cake?' And then most hopefully she adds, 'In chambers?'
She's rewarded with a look of utter befuddlement that has her grinning like Professor McGonagall when spying a flock of Avised canaries. Dipped in clotted cream even. 'Now what do you say to that tea?'
Taking his arm, she leads him towards the staff lounge.
Day 13
'Hmm. I suppose some of the guess work has gone out of it at this point,' she says as a Wingardium Leviosa puts the last piece into place.
But, Ms. Bred! Isn't this a pleasant surprise?
'It is. It really is. I truly hadn't counted on it.'
Filius should be pleased.
'And I imagine Professor Sprout will have reason to be pleased as well soon enough.' (Not that they're going to include her. Really, in that light, Severus has no business complaining...)
Oh, Pomona wasn't likely to be offended either way, but if the Hufflepuff standard doesn't put in an appearance, I'll personally join in your letter writing campaign and send in an owl of my own.
'Thank you, Professor. I appreciate it.' The younger woman practically beams.
Minerva smirks.
'What is it?'
Forgive me, dear. It's just a mite unexpected to find a Slytherin so concerned with equality.
'A levelled playing field has its value, even for us.' The slight hurt isn't audible in her voice, which is much better suited to her House than her thoroughly rubbish Exploding Snap face. Small favours.
Confronted with such blatant (and frankly negative) stereotyping, a certain ginger considers her response. It's not the first time, not by a long shot, and she's more weary of the mindset than offended at this point. Still, there must be a way to reach the older woman...
Ultimately she goes with what she believes might be expected, not wishing to present the Transfigurations Professor with a bridge too far.
'You find us ambitious?' Minerva's smirk answers for her. 'Where's the accomplishment in beating those disadvantaged from the outset?' Minerva can find no objection to that. She's still considering it when the younger witch continues.
'Of course that presents us with no end of difficulties when competing academically or intellectually with Moggies. They're apt to bring twigs to wand fights.'
Minerva blinks and then blinks once more, and then she begins to laugh. It's a deep, rich laugh, warm like a hug. Touché, Ms. Bred. Touché. I fear sometimes I let my own competitive streak get the best of me. It's been known to colour my thinking. (Not to mention her speech...)
'No worries, Professor. You're in good company.
'Race you to the lounge? Last one there takes the other's next hallway patrol?' Minerva has only just nodded when a Leglock sends her sprawling.
'See you there, Professor!' comes the cheery farewell as Minerva's Stupefy hits a suit of armour instead of the fleeing ginger to little avail.
I suppose I deserved that, Minerva mumbles as she Finites the Jinx. I'll be ready for you next time, Ms. Bred, she smiles to herself as she takes the nearest of the staff's secret passageways. There's still a good chance she'll catch the younger woman up.
Day 14
Words fail. He simply groans.
'Now, Severus, don't be like that. You knew she was in there from the packaging.'
So we're clear, if they include either of those muleheaded embodiments of brewing catastrophes on hoof, Longbottom or Finnigan, I'm through.
She ignores the bluster. 'I'm sure she'll grow on you.'
She'll have to, if only to grow into her arms. The lot of them look like little knuckle-dragging gorillas.
Merlin, She's no taller than Filius at this point.
'We were all young once.' He doesn't appear to appreciate the reminder. 'What do you expect from second years?'
Academically? Nothing more than I do from my N.E.W.T.s students. Ignorance and inattention, ultimately culminating in immolation and incapacitation.
She simply laughs. 'You derive a great deal of satisfaction from being curmudgeonly, don't you?'
Oh, good heavens. Here comes Weasley.
Brandishing fowl.
'At least he seems to have secured some of his own.'
Small mercies.
'And now in addition we have students brandishing wands...'
Ah! Well at least we're all in agreement as to the only reasonable response to that particular ginger's eating habits.
'Speaking of ginger...'
No offence meant, he's quick to reassure.
'None taken, think no more of it. But have you noticed that his hair is the same shade as the turkey?' She clearly finds that fact worrisome.
There may be something to it.
I had thought not to mention it. He sounds uncomfortable.
'Appreciated,' comes the near instant response.
'It's disturbing, isn't it? That's not just my own bias showing? Turkey-coloured hair...' She shudders.
Silently he nods his agreement, privately thankful they hadn't even managed to render his hair appropriately lank in ABS. And there were patently obvious advantages to basic black in colouring...
Getting over her colour-shock, a certain ginger pulls herself together and returns her attention to the scene before them. 'Is it the done thing to just wait to see what they will do?'
*I* was planning to. In light of the material they've learnt, currently I'm thinking their best options are Vanishing the turkey or a Sticking Charm for his mouth.
I may suggest another wager to Minerva...
'I could always take action?'
Consider yourself forewarned: if you spoil my fun, Ms. Bred, you can go to the Broomsticks on your own.
'Wouldn't dream of it,' she smiles.
And then twitches her wand anyway.
'You neglected to consider that a Wingardium Leviosa could be applied to the bird.'
And Weasley is most unlikely to release his hold. Brilliant! Well played, Ms. Bred.
But what of my wager with Minerva?
'Perhaps how long Miss Granger will wait before anxiously casting her Finite?'
Ah! Or how much Skele-gro Poppy will require if she does... Yes, there are possibilities here.
'*I* certainly think so.' He finds her smirk... promising. 'I look forward to picking you up later, Severus.'
Day 15
It's very late. They're just leaving the Three Broomsticks after a thoroughly pleasant meal (Rosmerta practically had to throw them out, a feat accomplished with much smirking) when a certain ginger coos, 'Look! It's started snowing!'
Severus can't help thinking that's an all too frequent occurrence at their altitude and latitude, certainly at this time of year, but the witch sounds utterly delighted, and finding her mood catching, he forgets to ridicule.
Just the once.
In fact, his mood is sufficiently buoyed by her reaction to tear a chuckle from him.
'What? What's so funny?'
I was just thinking about last winter. She looks at him so expectantly, it soon draws a story from him that he hadn't intended to tell. The Weasley twins (just the mention of the young troublemakers elicits a weary sigh from the woman, echoing his own feelings on the subjects well enough to make him appreciate his audience all the more) were up to a spot of mischief.
'When are they not?' His sentiments precisely. The DADA apprentice grows more appealing by the moment. Without warning, she drops to her knees in the snow, taking him by surprise, and begins to form a snowman. He watches bemused.
'Go on,' she prompts when he doesn't continue his recital.
How much do you know about Lockhart's predecessor?
'Professor Quirrell? Officially, not much, but of course there were rumours. Is it true? About You-Know-Who?'
Severus' left arm twinges at the thought. He manages not to reach for it, only just. It wouldn't do to remind the young woman of his past and ruin their evening once and for all. It does make him momentarily question if he should be enjoying a snowy stroll - with her or anyone else. With the possible exception of Albus, however, no one is likely to recognise that hesitation on his part in either his expression or actions.
The details remain largely unknown, but apparently we spent an entire school year with... You-Know-Who in our midsts. On the back of Quirrell's head. Hidden under his turban.
'Under his turban? And no one suspected?' He nods; the movement is a little stiff. 'Because that's such a common sight.
'Talk about keeping things under your hat!' She laughs. She's probably too young to remember the horrors of the last Wizarding War. The ease of that laugh speaks for that assumption.
'No, nothing the least bit odd about a dyed in the wool Brit in a bit of ethnic dress...'
So now I'd like you to picture the twins, playing in the snow, bewitching snowballs, until they have a small flock that follow Quirrell about, much like a swarm of angry bees, repeatedly hitting him in that absurd bit of headgear as he went.
'In the back of his head?' She begins to giggle until finally she breaks out laughing. 'They pelted You-Know-Who with snowballs?' Severus nods. 'Oh, if he ever returns, they're for it.'
Let us hope not.
'That he doesn't return, or that they're not toast?' She asks mischievously, her eyes bright. She seems impossibly young in that moment, but Severus allows her to tug him along into a reality where this could be a laughing matter. Also just the once. A possibility is not a certainty, after all, and presently the Dark Lord does not walk amongst them.
If he does return, he's welcome to them.
'It would certainly simplify my work in the classroom no end,' she readily agrees with a wink, pulling herself together, barely, but only until the next thought hits, 'Oh! They wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell against him.' And now she doubles over, her laughter getting the better of her, her sides splitting just at the thought. It's infectious, and Severus finds himself smiling as he begins to assist her with her creation of snow.
There are spells for this, you know. Not that that seems to stop him from getting hands on himself.
'Where's the fun in that?' She enquires with a smile. He's inclined to agree. They work in companionable silence for a while until it's time for the final touches.
She hunts for sticks, something suitable for the arms. Severus... arranges the acquisition of scarf and hat.
'I say... Wait. That scarf looks awfully familiar...'
It boasts the same colour as your hair. Severus helps her along towards the inevitable realisation.
'Wait, what? No. I... Wait... It does!
'Oh, that's so wrong!
'You'd think there were a limited colour palette or something.
'Oh that's so not on...'
Severus sighs. Given anything like a chance, it's virtually inevitable he put his foot in it. I take it from your reaction that wasn't at all what you meant.
'No, I was thinking it looks a lot like Gilderoy's scarf.'
Ah. He wasn't using it at present.
'And you know this how?'
Had he been, the Accio would doubtless have Summoned him as well.
'Oh for goodness' sake. And you don't imagine he might have minded?' For a fraction of a second, her concern for 'Gilderoy' nearly makes him cross - irrationally, surely - but then she goes on. 'Or *I* might have.' And there's the twinkle in her eyes again. 'Haven't you ever heard that three's a crowd?'
And here you were, building a snowman. I thought you were eager for more companionship.
'No, I believe my needs along those lines are currently being met, ta.' When he doesn't respond with anything more than a faint blush, she navigates them onto safer ground.
'Isn't that Professor McGonagall's hat?'
May well be... he allows.
'I suppose she wasn't using it either.' She smirks.
He shrugs, but is patently enjoying himself all too much. And as far as he's concerned, it's only what his colleagues deserve for not having properly secured their possessions against theft. He's fortunate a certain ginger sees things much the same way, although that fact might help explain what the two of them are doing alone together in the dead of night on the otherwise deserted path from Hogsmeade back to the castle.
'You're positively asking for it, aren't you?'
For a moment he has to consider just what he's asking for, but she prods his thoughts along when she scoops up a handful of snow and begins packing it into a ball.
Hang about! She only laughs and moves on him. His wand, still in hand from Summoning the snowman's garments, raises now to hold her at bay. You haven't properly thought this through. You're bringing snow to a wand fight. She dives behind the snowman for cover and he chuckles darkly. And I doubt your little friend will protect you.
'It's like you take me for a Moggie,' she laughs in reply, her words to Professor McGonagall ringing in her ears. 'Next year I'll be a certified Mistress in Defence, and you believe I'm without recourse?
'Homo Glaciis Oppugno!' And with that, the snowman begins to move, positioning itself first between them before it begins to advance on Severus.
In moments he's flat on his back, and the ginger witch pounces, taking advantage of the opportunity to drop a handful of snow down his shirt and rub it into his chest. Her cries of glee are drowned out by his shriek and finally silenced once and for all when his Levicorpus! dumps her unceremoniously arse over tip into the nearest snowbank.
He applies a Warming Charm as he helps the sputtering woman from the snow. Told you you hadn't thought this through to its logical conclusion, he chides.
She in turn applies a Warming Charm to Severus before sneaking in under his cloak for more warmth. 'Not at all. I was thinking there's something nice about getting warm again after a bit of fun in the snow.'
And as she cuddles in closer, he's inclined to admit she's right.
I decided to keep it as was, and thought some of you might appreciate it.
Happy First Advent!
It's December first, and in Germany we count down the days of this month right up until Christmas with advent calendars (Adventskalender). 🎄🎁 This year I got something really special, a calendar that manages to combine two of my favourite things: Harry Potter and Lego! 😃 Sweetheart that I am 😉, I thought I'd share it with you so you can play along at home.
The artwork is beautiful. ❤️ Now you need to find the right door...
When I opened the first door, this is what was waiting for me...
It'll probably come as a huge surprise to see that if you put them all together, this is what you get...
Harry in his Weasley jumper! (Thanks, Molly! 😊)
Day 2!
is inadvertently giving me life...
First you need to find the right door...
Behind which we discover the following...
It includes three of those roller skate pieces in black... I'm sure my mind *shouldn't* go there, it really shouldn't, but of course it did. The thing I didn't know was missing from my life but I now can't live without! Snape on skates!!! (I can die happy now. 😂)
I had to look at the micro-instructions for this one. The colours were pretty clear, but the extra pieces threw me. (They're reasonably generous with additional small pieces that way.) The end result:
A micro Hogwarts Express.
(But when the hols are over, those skates are totes going back on Snape. Obvs. *nods*)
Day 3... You know the drill. 😊
And the third of December dawns. And then noons.
Find the door...
Opening it reveals...
Severus is kind enough to make use of the paddle thingies, and we now have a semaphoring skating Snape, and my joy knows no bounds... 😃 (It's taken me a while, I'm unconscionably slow, but it finally dawned on me that he must like me, because this doesn't really seem like something he himself feels a pressing need to do... Colour me dead chuffed. 😉 Well it was that or the Imperius, and I'm pretty sure his Protego was sufficient to the task. And, uh, y'know, not that I'd ever dream of trying... Probably.)
Five points to Slytherin for getting there. Eventually.
'Only five? Really?'
As it was patently obvious and shouldn't have taken a moment's thought to realise, yes, only five. Consider yourself lucky.
'Does that even work with alumni?'
That only merits the arched brow in reply; only to be expected really.
'Given you have a wager running with Professor McGonagall as to who will win the House Cup, isn't that a conflict of interest?'
*chizpurfles can be heard clicking in the distance*
'Thought as much. In that case, what do you say? Isn't it worth ten points after all?'
No, Ms. Bred, it truly isn't. But the five points for your enterprising nature should make up the difference nicely.
'Not ten?' *bats eyes hopefully*
Now you're simply being cheeky.
'Thought I was before, to be honest.' 😉
Putting it all together properly (*sigh*. Nevertheless...) gives us two! snow covered fir trees...
And the extra bits and bobs means Severus can now have his very own fairy wand. (He points out, firmly, that he has an eminently functional and vastly superior wand of his own, ta, (I may or may not be imagining a double entendre there.) but again he was kind enough to cooperate.) The thing reminds me a lot of the magic wand I found on the way home from the neurologist's last year. (Less pink, but still OTT.) Didn't actually fix any problems, but it cheered me up greatly, so there we go then. Substantially sorted. 😊
Day 4!
Shouldn't come as a surprise anymore...
That rhymes.
'It does.'
Stop that.
*tries to look innocent*
*fails utterly*
Find the door! 😊
Ms. Bred.
'Fine. Fine.'
*sulks* 😕
And out the pieces pour... 😉
Ms. Bred! I'm warning you.
'Don't be so sore.' 😆
*doesn't even bother trying to hide her shit-eating grin* 😊
And just like that, a strange sensation ripples over her skin.
'Huh? What?' is all she can say before she begins to shrink...
*ribbit* *ribbit*
Well who'd have thought it? The insipid fairy wand works after all.
Severus tries to stifle his smile.
He fails utterly.
But possibly he hadn't tried all that hard...
*ribbit* *ribbit*
Well, yes, I agree the colour was a mite unexpected.
*ribbit* *ribbit*
I don't believe there is such a thing as ginger frogs...
*ribbit* *ribbit*
And I'm quite certain a kiss will not be required to sort this. Wherever do you get these ideas? A simple Finite shall suffice.
Of course that presupposes you could speak...
*ribbit* *ribbit*
Am *I* willing to cast the Counter-spell? Without further inducement? Consider this, if you will: I hardly needed to cast the spell in the first place, did I? So why do you suppose I should now wish to cast the Finite Incantatem?
Quite.
I say, were you that slow as a witch, too?
*ribbit* *ribbit* *ribbit* *ribbit*!!!!
Well I suppose if it doesn't wear off on its own, I could revisit that decision, but it couldn't hurt were you to give some thought to those inducements either. Belts and braces my dear wo... frog, belts and braces.
*ribbit* *ribbit*
Severus chuckles.
Why I do suppose you're right; frogs have need of neither.
Day 5...
Ah, Ms. Bred, looking more yourself today I see.
*croak*
Severus smirks.
Frog in your throat? Oh, do forgive me. I presume that's taken on new meaning since yesterday...
He chuckles darkly, a certain ginger glares.
'I said: no thanks to you.'
Really? You don't imagine I could have made the Transfiguration more... lasting? Questioning my staying power, are you?
*considers her options and wisely holds her tongue; one thing learnt from her recent adventures as an amphibian at least*
If I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: with magic, intent is everything.
Sotto voce, 'Apparently in impeachment, too.'
What was that?
'Nothing, don't mind me. Why don't we see what today has in store for us?'
And what did we get?
*judiciously doesn't comment on the apparent new found interest*
Hmmm. Can't say I like the look of that...
*privately agrees this is unlikely to end well*
Do they never tire of the blatant favouritism? Or what do you suppose the chances are there are green and silver, or for that matter blue and bronze or black and yellow standards to be found behind the other doors?
She looks at the remaining doors, does some quiet calculations in her head, examines the front of the box, and truly doesn't fancy his chances. As her Exploding Snap face is rubbish, she needn't even say so.
I thought as much.
'Why don't you just change it?'
ABS* is notoriously difficult to transfigure.
(He may or may not have just attempted it to no avail. Sensible people refrain from asking.)
'Generations of children and AFoLs** would beg to differ.'
Somehow that information fails to cheer him any. Instead he rails at the injustice in the universe.
All the transparent pandering to Headmaster's House? I'd be ashamed in his shoes.
'Nonsense. You'd take the win and be happy for it. And his shoes aren't really objectionable, it's the socks you'd take issue with.'
He merely gives her that look and she lets it go, but they both know she's right.
'Perhaps if you tried employing the fairy wand instead...'
Secretly you enjoyed life as a frog, didn't you?
* Lego is made of acrylonitrile butadiene styrene (aka ABS).
** AFoL = Adult*** Fans of Lego
*** But only if we measure in terms of calendar years. My inner child is alive and thriving, cheers. 😉
Day 6...
The sixth of December we celebrate St. Nikolaus' Day in Germany. As kids, we put out our shoes, and in the morning we'd discover them full of walnuts, oranges and chocolate coins, and with a bit of luck, there'd be a small gift too. And if we'd been too cheeky (known to happen), there were threats Knecht Ruprecht would see us suitably switched. (Still, better than Krampus. Small mercies. *nods*) These days we seem to have graduated to using plates, so much tidier, and it makes it a lot easier to serve up cookies, Dominosteine ('Domino stones' - chocolate covered squares of Lebkuchen (gingerbread 😉), jelly and marzipan), Lebkuchen, Kipferln (vanilla cookies), Zimtsterne (cinnamon stars) and Dutch windmill cookies (Spekulatius Plätzchen) are perennial faves.
None of which stops us from continuing to open our calendars. So! Door number six...
Whatever could it be?
Somehow he sounds none too pleased.
'I'm sure I can't imagine.'
He seems to approve of the snark and relents a little.
First Gryffindork flags, now their head. Albus is on the bloody box, so I imagine he's inside somewhere. This is going to turn into a straight up Moggiefest, isn't it?
She hesitates to nod, but her face gives it away. It would seem so. More or less at least.
I thought as much. I don't suppose I'm in there?
'Oh certainly. As Father Christmas no doubt.'
And there goes the eyebrow again.
'I wouldn't know. I haven't checked the parts list...'
But it's not bleeding likely.
Well this is a fine kettle of Plimpies.
'Freshwater?'
Goes without saying.
I going to need a cuppa to deal with this.
'Have at it. A good cup of tea almost never goes amiss.
'But you know, this could have its upside. If anyone stands a chance of transfiguring the Gryffindor standard, ABS notwithstanding, it's Professor McGonagall.'
You realise the obvious error in your logic is that she's also one of the least likely to wish to.
'Hmm. Perhaps a wager?'
Ah, finally! Now there's a good idea. Minerva has always been frightfully fond of a flutter. Leave it to me.
'Aren't you going to tell me what you're going to bet on?'
Absolutely not, he answers and strides off to speak to Minerva while a certain ginger dies of curiosity.
Not long after there's a flash of crimson light and an exclamation of dismay.
'What? What happened?' Aforementioned ginger rushes to the scene.
Ask the bloody minded woman to perform a simple Transfiguration, and she sullies my saucer with flowers. Looks like some of Sybill's tat.
Could have been worse. Could have been roses.
This is unacceptable. If it was too difficult for you, you should have simply said as much.
'Are you sure about that? Looks more like proof of concept to me.'
No... Minerva?
You catch more flies with honey, my dear Severus. You should know that by now. It's not that difficult; even Ms. Bred seems to have grasped the concept.
'Hey now!'
Witches. You have to be kidding me.
Day 7...
Door, please!
Bits and bobs...
Put it all together and you get...
Well this looks a little more promising.
'How so?' She enquires, unconvinced. The height of the seat and the length of the table legs seem rather worrisome when all is said and done...
There is a comforting absence of crimson and gold.
'Well aside from the goblets...'
Oh no, Ms. Bred. Those are more than welcome. After the day I've had, I'd appreciate a drink.
'You only just had a tea.'
And if you imagine that is sufficient to the trials to which one is subjected as an instructor in this... venerable institution, you are badly mistaken.
'I doubt they're serving anything but Pumpkin Juice.'
Truly? Have you never wondered why our glasses are opaque?
'I hadn't previously. And now I seem to have skipped that step entirely and gone straight to suspicions, founded or not.'
I believe it's perfectly safe to considered them founded.
Oh for the love of... How low are these seats?
'Thought as much.'
If you'd remove those ridiculous skates, you might find the fit less tight.
Entirely out of the question, Minerva. I'm humouring a... friend.
Judiciously, a certain ginger debates holding her tongue and then decides the better of it.
'I'm certain no... friend would require you to wear them at all times.'
I'm positive they wouldn't. Otherwise it couldn't fail to become only too awkward, and that rather quickly.
'Well that too.' She doesn't blush (well, not more than a little) as she tries (and fails) not to consider situations in which that might be the case.
He only smirks when he notices the flush.
Clearing her throat, she moves to safer topics. 'I imagine the benches were meant for second years. Third years at the most.'
Really Severus, how could you fail to notice the length of Mr. Potter's legs?
A flash of viridian strikes said Gryffindor, and Harry squawks. Yikes!
Why I don't believe Potter will fit here at all. He strikes me as a bit too... stiff.
I can't move my legs!
Of course Leglocks have a way of ensuring that...
'I thought your spell was 'Langlock'?'
Clearly not if he's whinging. And surely you don't suppose someone capable of developing that in his school years couldn't proceed to develop other Charms?
'Oh I know for a fact that he has.'
It's Severus' turn to try not to pink. His efforts aren't a complete success.
Severus! Really! We don't hex the children.
Speak for yourself, Minerva. I thought I did a smashing job of it.
Harry looks like he's compelled to agree, fortunately not by the Imperius. Small favours.
Well then, strictly for pragmatic reasons I suggest you release him, or how else do you propose he leave?
And I believe there you have finally struck upon a convincing argument.
Finite.
Potter, consider yourself lucky and vanish before you find yourself Evanescoed.
And unsurprisingly, the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk-Severus-No-End does.
Day 8
Seek...
and ye shall find
Some days it's frightfully difficult to guess what the pieces will build...
'And some days it's really not.'
Could it be... Potter's owl? **
'Severus!' There's no question she's scandalised. There's also no question she's amused.
'And here I thought it was a Ravenclaw.'
He barks a laugh in reply.
Fair enough.
No!
He seems genuinely displeased at a thought.
'What? What's wrong?'
If they've included poultry limbs, I fear it's only a matter of time before Weasley puts in an appearance to gnaw on them.
'Oh! Do you know, you're probably right.'
I usually am. Cold comfort.
She manages not to offer a warmer one. Only just.
Weasley. They include him but not me.
Severus, it's high time you got over that.
Easy for you to say, you were in the box.
There. Happy? I removed the skates, and it still is a remarkably tight fit, never mind that I'm practically seated with my arse on the floor.
If you had the decency to be less of a beanpole, it might not be such a problem.
Quite. I am tall merely because I am an ill-mannered lout. In fact I grew solely to vex you. As a young man, I made it my goal, exclusively, to grow until you were suitably vexed and not stop a moment prior...
How many Butterbeers has he had?
'He was just starting in on his first, but from the marked lack of progress, I gathered he didn't like the taste.'
Ogdens! I demand Ogdens! It's the only way to deal with the indignity of this seating.
Pish-tosh. Severus, just raise the blasted thing. Are you a wizard or what?
He's not so ill-mannered (or tall) as not to look a bit sheepish at that.
** Thanks to
kit10notk9 for the idea. 😘 Day 9
Door?
Pieces...
'Uh oh.'
What is it, Ms. Bred?
'Well this presents me with a bit of a moral quandary. And I'm afraid I've done the designers of this set an injustice. (Although we still need to wait and see if Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff standards are included as well...)'
Surely that unintentional slight doesn't represent a moral quandary?
'Oh no, of course not. I was wondering if it would be wrong to try to convince certain parties...'
By which you mean a tall, dark wizard?
'Possibly.
'To convince them I had succeeded in Transfiguring the ABS where they had failed.'
Ah. Well, he wouldn't hesitate. But if it will help remove any temptation, allow me...
'Wait! You can't Transfigure them crimson and gold!'
I think you'll find I can.
'That's just wrong. As if there weren't enough Moggie bias as is. Keep that up, and there'll be naught but coal in your stocking, Professor. And just you wait if I find Knecht Ruprecht and his switch! Then you're for it.'
Oh you sweet, innocent lamb. You say that as though it were a bad thing.
A certain ginger stands there blinking incredulously, which was easily half the point.
You needn't worry, my dear, I'll leave your flags as they are. On one condition: should you decide to claim to have Transfigured them, I wish to see the revelation. Every witch needs a spot of fun, and in Ruprecht's absence...
Day 10
His lips tighten into the thinnest of lines and he says nothing. The moment stretches uncomfortably, silence reigns.
'Well, at least you were proven right.'
He just glares.
'I know: there was never any question,' she volunteers hopefully, and still he doesn't bite. Not even a nibble, more's the pity.
'Given Potter was part of the set, it was probably only to be expected.'
That earns her a baleful look.
If you'll recall, I did not fail to expect it, I merely disagree with their priorities. Utterly and completely. Their selection, the curation of this collection of... gormless miscreants is beyond the pale.
'I suspect Professor McGonagall might have a thing or two to say about that.'
She invariably does, the simple fact of which doesn't remotely affect the veracity of the statement.
'Still, it seems unduly harsh...'
At which point an as yet unnamed ginger cries Turkey!, reaches across the table, and filches a certain other ginger's drumstick.
'Hey!'
Still feel I was 'unduly harsh'? Hmm?
A now familiar flash of viridian hits the boy and soon he's exhibiting the effects last seen on the Boy-Who-Lived-to-Irk. Unsurprisingly, that spurs him to object. Vociferously.
Oi! Whaddaya think you're doing?! You can't just...
'Put a sock in it Weasley,' she interrupts, snatching her turkey leg from his grubby mitts.
Severus flicks his wand again, and the boy falls silent. Unfortunately it doesn't stop his arms from pinwheeling, and shortly he begins to wobble ominously until he's overset, tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud. The collapse, rather predictably, is accompanied by neither cries of pain nor indignation.
And that, Ms. Bred, is a Langlock. Truly, sometimes you make me wonder, are you witch or not?
You're one to speak, Severus. I see the table is still more suited to Firsties than staff.
And what have you done with Mr. Weasley?
Rendered him more... agreeable.
A certain ginger is inclined to agree.
We still don't hex the children.
Clearly *I* do.
It's the holidays, Minerva, and I find myself stuck in a castle full of recalcitrant children. Personally I think I've exhibited remarkable restraint thus far.
Well could you... unrender him?
I could, I choose not to. Why do people keep assuming I cast spells only to secretly wish to perform the countercharms? I can assure you, I do not.
Have Potter fetch him off to the dorms. It will wear off soon enough.
I swear, sometimes I think you're more childish than the children.
Very well.
Mr. Potter! A word, if you please.
And while she's busy explaining the situation and the actions required of him to Harry, a certain ginger leans in close to a wiry Potions Master to whisper, 'What is your definition of 'soon'?'
A week at the latest, he chuckles.
Day 11
Well this looks familiar.
Would you care to learn the fine art of semaphoring?
She only pinks, rather becomingly, in response.
What is it, Ms. Bred? He pries, genuinely curious.
'Oh, I was just picturing them as fans.'
As... fans? He hasn't the foggiest, not the hint of a clue, which makes it all the odder that there's this strange pricking of the fine hairs on the back of his neck, particularly as they have an almost preternatural gift for scenting trouble.
'Fans,' she confirms resolutely. The blush only deepens.
Because you find it so... warm in here? It's December in Scotland and the witch is patently barmy. End of.
She debates just running with that explanation, especially as it would go a ways towards explaining the flush she can feel creeping over her skin. Finally she decides on the truth. 'For dancing.'
For... dancing? Apparently that explanation explains precious little as far as he's concerned. She imagines that's for the best.
That notion only solidifies when he continues.
You need... fans for dancing?
She swallows, but in for a Knut... She womans up. "I was thinking you might.'
Fans? For dancing. Me?
There is no earthly way she is going to explain it further.
Then the next thought strikes him, I do not dance.
'Ah. Well then I imagine you wouldn't need the fans either.'
She looks thoughtful, and the blush has receded, so he feels safe asking, And just what are you thinking about now?
'If you were to use a fan, which feathers would it have?' He blinks once; the witch clearly has a penchant for lines of thought that would never occur to him. 'Lucius is easy. Peacock feathers, both colourful or white would suit. You're trickier. Ostrich? Owl? Some sort of hawk, perhaps?' She seems unsure.
He smirks, catching on and decided. Raven. The answer is confident.
'Yes, yes I can see that. That sounds about right.' She smiles a gentle smile just picturing it. As he isn't aware quite what she's picturing, he escapes unembarrassed.
Well the height still isn't promising.
'No. No, I suppose it isn't.'
He examines the table closely, and a faint shimmer might lead a leery person to suspect he's tried to Transfigure it again. To no avail, evidently; it remains thoroughly unchanged.
Do we have any extra parts? He asks as he begins to hunt through the pile.
'We do.
'Some might even be fitting,' she adds as she watches him consider some more... adventurous choices.
'You absolutely cannot use Weasley's and Potter's legs to raise the tabletop. What are you thinking?'
For his part, he's fairly sure she doesn't properly understand the meaning of the word 'cannot' if she believes that to be true, and the boys' absence was unlikely to be noted over the hols, but luckily he doesn't take up the baton. Or his wand, for that matter...
At the least, we should be able to raise the seat to a height suitable for adults.
He employs a Wingardium Leviosa and she fits the pieces carefully into place.
'There,' she's says as they finish, the gratification audible. 'Professor McGonagall can't possibly find any fault with it now.'
Never mind that, this finally gets my arse up off the floor. That's the very definition of eminently satisfactory in any book I should think.
'Here would you mind holding this for me?'
If you mean to tell me you're incapable of casting a Lumos, I shall well and truly come to doubt you're a witch, he responds as he takes the cast iron candleholder in hand.
'Nonsense. I just like the idea of you carrying a torch for me.'
His eyes narrow suspiciously and he doesn't reply for a moment.
Eventually he settles on a cautiously snarky, All well and good, but it's a candle, and not a torch.
'As you should well know, the castle interferes with all electronics. This seemed an adequate compromise.'
So pleased to hear I'm a compromise and merely adequate.
'I'm not going to dignify that with a response. You're fishing for compliments.'
A touch hesitantly he asks, Were there any to be had?
'If I live to be one hundred and thirty seven...'
And three quarters. Precision is everything.
'If I live to be one hundred and thirty seven and three quarters...'
Let's not forget the units: years of age, I presume? Units are even more crucial than precision.
'Fine. If I live to be one hundred and thirty seven and three quarters years of age, I don't think I'll ever understand how someone so bright can simultaneously be so staggeringly thick.'
Shall I take that for an answer in the affirmative? It wavers between cheeky and hopeful, and she finds she minds not at all.
'Yes,' she replies with a smile of sufficient warmth to render his Warming Charms obsolete (despite the season and location!), and he discovers he can't quite suppress a smile of his own.
Day 12
Well. Not a lot of guesswork today.
'Not a lot of building either.'
Hmmm.
Might I interest you, Ms. Bred, in taking tea with me?
'Tea?'
Tea.
'Are you inviting me to sup with you?'
I am. Despite his words, he sounds a little less sure now.
'Big spender, are you?' She indicates the spread provided behind door number twelve.
Perhaps she should have let it go. He's bristling now, a wild animal only rudimentarily tamed, and he's clearly beginning to shy. She puts a hand on his arm to stay his impending flight, and reassures him, 'I'd love to join you.'
I'm afraid my options are limited in the castle. He sounds rather stiff. That had definitely been a misstep. They aren't quite ready for teasing.
She's about to panic thinking he means he has limited options for company, but he seems to sense that, or perhaps he took just the tiniest conceivable peek into her thoughts at the sight of her widened eyes and slightly offended expression. But to be fair, she practically thrust those thoughts at him, and for some reason he wasn't Occluding even the slightest at present...
For meals, that is. It's hardly a Hogsmeade weekend.
'That's an excellent point, and why isn't it?'
He can think of any number of reasons, it's midweek, for one, school is not precisely in session, for another...
'I mean if you were to wish to go to Hogsmeade, it shouldn't present any difficulties, should it? It's the holidays, for goodness' sake.'
Ah. Well as you should know, we're short staffed at the moment.
'You also have far fewer students here than usual.'
Sadly, they have neither classes nor assignments to keep them occupied at present.
'As if they ever spend vast quantities of time on those assignments,' she laughs. An appointment of Lucius' Board of Governors, she's doing her practical and has been assisting the current DADA instructor long enough to know that of a certainty. In fact, that's how she'd first caught the Potions Master's eye, by demonstrating little to no interest in Gilderoy, beyond the purely professional that is. It had vexed the strutting Peacock no end. Discovering she held the buffoon for largely incompetent to boot had been the icing on the torte for Severus.
'Surely the others should be able to hold down the fort until you return?'
He smirks, While I'd like to think I'm indispensable...
'I'd never dream of suggesting you weren't.' Her eyes twinkle mischievously, in a way very unlike Albus'.
I imagine you are correct. From the quintessential Slytherin, the ambiguity presumably isn't coincidental. They should be able to make do without me for a couple of hours.
'Splendid. I consider it practically settled then. What do you say I invite you to dinner this coming Saturday?'
You? Invite? Me?
She's learnt her lesson with this skittish colt and doesn't smile.
'Yes. Me. Inviting. You. Saturday? I assume you'd prefer the Three Broomsticks to Madam Puddifoot's.'
He blanches, not having thought this through to that point.
'I'll take that as a 'yes'.'
Not to be outdone, he rallies. But if you find pastries more palatable when purchased, perhaps you'd accompany me to Puddifoot's for afters.
That gets her attention, she can see the effort it took. Evidently her surprise Floos all too clearly, and he feels forced to explain. Rosmerta does a good kidney pie, but her desserts are wanting.
'No need for such radical measures,' she tries to throw him a line. As yet unreassured, he instantly deflates.
'Should we find ourselves... wanting after dinner, I'm sure we can grab... something here instead,' comes the impish reply. It earns her a sharp look. Almost innocently, she continues, 'The elves are quite talented. Possibly some of their apple marzipan cake?' And then most hopefully she adds, 'In chambers?'
She's rewarded with a look of utter befuddlement that has her grinning like Professor McGonagall when spying a flock of Avised canaries. Dipped in clotted cream even. 'Now what do you say to that tea?'
Taking his arm, she leads him towards the staff lounge.
Day 13
'Hmm. I suppose some of the guess work has gone out of it at this point,' she says as a Wingardium Leviosa puts the last piece into place.
But, Ms. Bred! Isn't this a pleasant surprise?
'It is. It really is. I truly hadn't counted on it.'
Filius should be pleased.
'And I imagine Professor Sprout will have reason to be pleased as well soon enough.' (Not that they're going to include her. Really, in that light, Severus has no business complaining...)
Oh, Pomona wasn't likely to be offended either way, but if the Hufflepuff standard doesn't put in an appearance, I'll personally join in your letter writing campaign and send in an owl of my own.
'Thank you, Professor. I appreciate it.' The younger woman practically beams.
Minerva smirks.
'What is it?'
Forgive me, dear. It's just a mite unexpected to find a Slytherin so concerned with equality.
'A levelled playing field has its value, even for us.' The slight hurt isn't audible in her voice, which is much better suited to her House than her thoroughly rubbish Exploding Snap face. Small favours.
Confronted with such blatant (and frankly negative) stereotyping, a certain ginger considers her response. It's not the first time, not by a long shot, and she's more weary of the mindset than offended at this point. Still, there must be a way to reach the older woman...
Ultimately she goes with what she believes might be expected, not wishing to present the Transfigurations Professor with a bridge too far.
'You find us ambitious?' Minerva's smirk answers for her. 'Where's the accomplishment in beating those disadvantaged from the outset?' Minerva can find no objection to that. She's still considering it when the younger witch continues.
'Of course that presents us with no end of difficulties when competing academically or intellectually with Moggies. They're apt to bring twigs to wand fights.'
Minerva blinks and then blinks once more, and then she begins to laugh. It's a deep, rich laugh, warm like a hug. Touché, Ms. Bred. Touché. I fear sometimes I let my own competitive streak get the best of me. It's been known to colour my thinking. (Not to mention her speech...)
'No worries, Professor. You're in good company.
'Race you to the lounge? Last one there takes the other's next hallway patrol?' Minerva has only just nodded when a Leglock sends her sprawling.
'See you there, Professor!' comes the cheery farewell as Minerva's Stupefy hits a suit of armour instead of the fleeing ginger to little avail.
I suppose I deserved that, Minerva mumbles as she Finites the Jinx. I'll be ready for you next time, Ms. Bred, she smiles to herself as she takes the nearest of the staff's secret passageways. There's still a good chance she'll catch the younger woman up.
Day 14
Words fail. He simply groans.
'Now, Severus, don't be like that. You knew she was in there from the packaging.'
So we're clear, if they include either of those muleheaded embodiments of brewing catastrophes on hoof, Longbottom or Finnigan, I'm through.
She ignores the bluster. 'I'm sure she'll grow on you.'
She'll have to, if only to grow into her arms. The lot of them look like little knuckle-dragging gorillas.
Merlin, She's no taller than Filius at this point.
'We were all young once.' He doesn't appear to appreciate the reminder. 'What do you expect from second years?'
Academically? Nothing more than I do from my N.E.W.T.s students. Ignorance and inattention, ultimately culminating in immolation and incapacitation.
She simply laughs. 'You derive a great deal of satisfaction from being curmudgeonly, don't you?'
Oh, good heavens. Here comes Weasley.
Brandishing fowl.
'At least he seems to have secured some of his own.'
Small mercies.
'And now in addition we have students brandishing wands...'
Ah! Well at least we're all in agreement as to the only reasonable response to that particular ginger's eating habits.
'Speaking of ginger...'
No offence meant, he's quick to reassure.
'None taken, think no more of it. But have you noticed that his hair is the same shade as the turkey?' She clearly finds that fact worrisome.
There may be something to it.
I had thought not to mention it. He sounds uncomfortable.
'Appreciated,' comes the near instant response.
'It's disturbing, isn't it? That's not just my own bias showing? Turkey-coloured hair...' She shudders.
Silently he nods his agreement, privately thankful they hadn't even managed to render his hair appropriately lank in ABS. And there were patently obvious advantages to basic black in colouring...
Getting over her colour-shock, a certain ginger pulls herself together and returns her attention to the scene before them. 'Is it the done thing to just wait to see what they will do?'
*I* was planning to. In light of the material they've learnt, currently I'm thinking their best options are Vanishing the turkey or a Sticking Charm for his mouth.
I may suggest another wager to Minerva...
'I could always take action?'
Consider yourself forewarned: if you spoil my fun, Ms. Bred, you can go to the Broomsticks on your own.
'Wouldn't dream of it,' she smiles.
And then twitches her wand anyway.
'You neglected to consider that a Wingardium Leviosa could be applied to the bird.'
And Weasley is most unlikely to release his hold. Brilliant! Well played, Ms. Bred.
But what of my wager with Minerva?
'Perhaps how long Miss Granger will wait before anxiously casting her Finite?'
Ah! Or how much Skele-gro Poppy will require if she does... Yes, there are possibilities here.
'*I* certainly think so.' He finds her smirk... promising. 'I look forward to picking you up later, Severus.'
Day 15
It's very late. They're just leaving the Three Broomsticks after a thoroughly pleasant meal (Rosmerta practically had to throw them out, a feat accomplished with much smirking) when a certain ginger coos, 'Look! It's started snowing!'
Severus can't help thinking that's an all too frequent occurrence at their altitude and latitude, certainly at this time of year, but the witch sounds utterly delighted, and finding her mood catching, he forgets to ridicule.
Just the once.
In fact, his mood is sufficiently buoyed by her reaction to tear a chuckle from him.
'What? What's so funny?'
I was just thinking about last winter. She looks at him so expectantly, it soon draws a story from him that he hadn't intended to tell. The Weasley twins (just the mention of the young troublemakers elicits a weary sigh from the woman, echoing his own feelings on the subjects well enough to make him appreciate his audience all the more) were up to a spot of mischief.
'When are they not?' His sentiments precisely. The DADA apprentice grows more appealing by the moment. Without warning, she drops to her knees in the snow, taking him by surprise, and begins to form a snowman. He watches bemused.
'Go on,' she prompts when he doesn't continue his recital.
How much do you know about Lockhart's predecessor?
'Professor Quirrell? Officially, not much, but of course there were rumours. Is it true? About You-Know-Who?'
Severus' left arm twinges at the thought. He manages not to reach for it, only just. It wouldn't do to remind the young woman of his past and ruin their evening once and for all. It does make him momentarily question if he should be enjoying a snowy stroll - with her or anyone else. With the possible exception of Albus, however, no one is likely to recognise that hesitation on his part in either his expression or actions.
The details remain largely unknown, but apparently we spent an entire school year with... You-Know-Who in our midsts. On the back of Quirrell's head. Hidden under his turban.
'Under his turban? And no one suspected?' He nods; the movement is a little stiff. 'Because that's such a common sight.
'Talk about keeping things under your hat!' She laughs. She's probably too young to remember the horrors of the last Wizarding War. The ease of that laugh speaks for that assumption.
'No, nothing the least bit odd about a dyed in the wool Brit in a bit of ethnic dress...'
So now I'd like you to picture the twins, playing in the snow, bewitching snowballs, until they have a small flock that follow Quirrell about, much like a swarm of angry bees, repeatedly hitting him in that absurd bit of headgear as he went.
'In the back of his head?' She begins to giggle until finally she breaks out laughing. 'They pelted You-Know-Who with snowballs?' Severus nods. 'Oh, if he ever returns, they're for it.'
Let us hope not.
'That he doesn't return, or that they're not toast?' She asks mischievously, her eyes bright. She seems impossibly young in that moment, but Severus allows her to tug him along into a reality where this could be a laughing matter. Also just the once. A possibility is not a certainty, after all, and presently the Dark Lord does not walk amongst them.
If he does return, he's welcome to them.
'It would certainly simplify my work in the classroom no end,' she readily agrees with a wink, pulling herself together, barely, but only until the next thought hits, 'Oh! They wouldn't have a snowball's chance in hell against him.' And now she doubles over, her laughter getting the better of her, her sides splitting just at the thought. It's infectious, and Severus finds himself smiling as he begins to assist her with her creation of snow.
There are spells for this, you know. Not that that seems to stop him from getting hands on himself.
'Where's the fun in that?' She enquires with a smile. He's inclined to agree. They work in companionable silence for a while until it's time for the final touches.
She hunts for sticks, something suitable for the arms. Severus... arranges the acquisition of scarf and hat.
'I say... Wait. That scarf looks awfully familiar...'
It boasts the same colour as your hair. Severus helps her along towards the inevitable realisation.
'Wait, what? No. I... Wait... It does!
'Oh, that's so wrong!
'You'd think there were a limited colour palette or something.
'Oh that's so not on...'
Severus sighs. Given anything like a chance, it's virtually inevitable he put his foot in it. I take it from your reaction that wasn't at all what you meant.
'No, I was thinking it looks a lot like Gilderoy's scarf.'
Ah. He wasn't using it at present.
'And you know this how?'
Had he been, the Accio would doubtless have Summoned him as well.
'Oh for goodness' sake. And you don't imagine he might have minded?' For a fraction of a second, her concern for 'Gilderoy' nearly makes him cross - irrationally, surely - but then she goes on. 'Or *I* might have.' And there's the twinkle in her eyes again. 'Haven't you ever heard that three's a crowd?'
And here you were, building a snowman. I thought you were eager for more companionship.
'No, I believe my needs along those lines are currently being met, ta.' When he doesn't respond with anything more than a faint blush, she navigates them onto safer ground.
'Isn't that Professor McGonagall's hat?'
May well be... he allows.
'I suppose she wasn't using it either.' She smirks.
He shrugs, but is patently enjoying himself all too much. And as far as he's concerned, it's only what his colleagues deserve for not having properly secured their possessions against theft. He's fortunate a certain ginger sees things much the same way, although that fact might help explain what the two of them are doing alone together in the dead of night on the otherwise deserted path from Hogsmeade back to the castle.
'You're positively asking for it, aren't you?'
For a moment he has to consider just what he's asking for, but she prods his thoughts along when she scoops up a handful of snow and begins packing it into a ball.
Hang about! She only laughs and moves on him. His wand, still in hand from Summoning the snowman's garments, raises now to hold her at bay. You haven't properly thought this through. You're bringing snow to a wand fight. She dives behind the snowman for cover and he chuckles darkly. And I doubt your little friend will protect you.
'It's like you take me for a Moggie,' she laughs in reply, her words to Professor McGonagall ringing in her ears. 'Next year I'll be a certified Mistress in Defence, and you believe I'm without recourse?
'Homo Glaciis Oppugno!' And with that, the snowman begins to move, positioning itself first between them before it begins to advance on Severus.
In moments he's flat on his back, and the ginger witch pounces, taking advantage of the opportunity to drop a handful of snow down his shirt and rub it into his chest. Her cries of glee are drowned out by his shriek and finally silenced once and for all when his Levicorpus! dumps her unceremoniously arse over tip into the nearest snowbank.
He applies a Warming Charm as he helps the sputtering woman from the snow. Told you you hadn't thought this through to its logical conclusion, he chides.
She in turn applies a Warming Charm to Severus before sneaking in under his cloak for more warmth. 'Not at all. I was thinking there's something nice about getting warm again after a bit of fun in the snow.'
And as she cuddles in closer, he's inclined to admit she's right.