| Sep. 20th, 2007 @ 05:56 pm FIC: "Apology Accepted" G |
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Yet more migrating fic. A rara avis this time: no smut!
Title: "Apology Accepted"
Author: Nehalenia
Rating: G (Sorry, no smut this time. Won't happen again.)
Pairing: Snape/Lupin
Challenge: Snape's Birthday Surprise Challenge
Summary: There are worse places to spend your birthday than the infirmary
Warnings: Attempted humor, doxie abuse, Goblin culture
Word Count: 2,090
Disclaimer: Not my characters, I just play with them.
Notes: Not beta-read, and I'm posting half-asleep at 3:00 AM. God only knows what I'll find wrong with this tomorrow.
“Well, this is a fine way to spend one’s birthday,” Severus Snape huffed, refolding his arms and glowering at Remus Lupin. Snape was leaned back against the head rail of an infirmary bed, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. His coat was off, his sleeves were rolled up, and what was left of his shirt appeared to have been savaged by a horde of bloodthirsty moths. What was visible of his skin was covered in small, red bites. While this did give his complexion more color than usual, it had done nothing to improve his mood.
“Severus, I really do apologize.” Remus Lupin was the room’s only other occupant. He sat cross-legged on an identical bed next to Snape’s. His skin was covered with the same bite-marks, and his already thread-bare shirt was now more of a suggestion than an actual garment.
“I had no idea you’d have a cauldron of Amortentia at full boil when I came by to deliver the…”
“And who brings a plague of doxies over in a flannel pillowcase, I ask you?” Snape interrupted. “If I open up the latest edition of “Care of Magical Creatures”, am I going to find “flannel pillowcase” listed under “appropriate methods of doxie transport”? I won’t, will I?”
“They were stunned when I put them in there, Severus, I told you that,” Lupin sighed, frowning and scratching at a large bite on his wrist that appeared to be supperating.
“Yes, well, they woke up fast enough once you got them into my office, didn’t they? And don’t tell me you didn’t know that Amortentia fumes will send doxies into a berserk swarm.”
“Of course I knew that!” Lupin was starting to look almost as cross as Snape. “But I didn’t know you’d be making it, did I? You didn’t have a sign on your door saying “Amortentia in Progress – No Doxies”. Besides, you’re the one who asked me for the bloody things. You could have told me.”
“Well, I didn’t think I needed to, Lupin, as any well informed Defense Against The Dark Arts instructor would know how to properly contain them. Flannel pillowcase, indeed,” he grumbled, scowling away from Lupin.
“All right, I admit it wasn’t one of my better ideas,” Lupin sighed. “Really, Severus, I am sorry. Especially for ruining your birthday plans.” He cleared his throat. “You did have plans, didn’t you?” he added delicately.
“Yes, Lupin, I did,” the Potions Master snapped. “I planned to ignore it.”
“I see,” Lupin blinked, thoughtfully regarding Snape’s stiff, hunched shoulders and pointedly averted gaze.
Before Lupin could say anything else, the door to their room clicked open to admit Madame Pomfrey, bearing a tray with a large bottle of single-malt scotch and two folded cloths. Following at her heels like an entourage were Headmaster Dumbledore, and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick.
“Five minutes,” Pomfrey declared, thumping the tray down with a bang, and turning to face the professors behind her. “Five minutes, only!”
But Poppy,” McGonagall was sputtering, “surely doxie bites aren’t that dangerous?”
Pomfrey put her fists on her ample hips, and narrowed her gaze.
“And who, might I ask, is in charge of this infirmary?”
“You are, Madame Pomfrey, of course,” Dumbledore inclined his head.
“Then if I say these two patients are not to leave the infirmary tonight, and are to have visitors for no longer than five minutes, may I assume my directions will be respected?”
“Of course, of course!” Flitwick placated in his reedy voice. “Certainly you know what’s best in these matters.”
Lupin looked quizzically at Snape, who returned his look, at least momentarily, without a frown and gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.
“Well,” Minerva sounded a bit put off by this unusual show of force, “I know you have the best interests of your patients in mind, Poppy, but I didn’t imagine… doxie bites?”
“A single doxie bite isn’t dangerous, Minerva,” Pomfrey said, in a kinder tone, “but you can see for yourself that Remus and Severus have been swarmed. I’ve never seen so many doxie bites on anyone before. Doxie venom isn’t fatal to wizards, but it is cumulative, and I have no idea what kind of reactions either of them might have.”
Lupin traded another, slightly more worried glance with Snape, who returned a chilly stare which quite clearly proclaimed This is all your fault.
“Therefore,” concluded Pomfrey, “they will both remain in the infirmary tonight, and I will remain to make sure there are no untoward reactions. Is that quite clear, professors?”
“Quite, Madame Pomfrey,” said Dumbledore in his most soothing tone. “I am pleased that Severus and Remus are in such excellent hands.”
Pomfrey seemed satisfied by this, and with a nod, turned to the tray she’d brought in and began soaking the folded cloths with the scotch.
“Still,” Albus continued rather dolefully, “I can’t help but be disappointed.” Dumbledore was resplendent that night in robes of violet and gold, and wore a hat with a long, beaded tassel. He looked a bit overdressed for a simple dinner in the Great Hall.
“We’re you going to some occasion tonight, Headmaster?” Snape asked carefully, looking Dumbledore up and down.
“Yes, in a way.” Albus Dumbledore glanced back at McGonagall, who waved her hand as if brushing something off and looked away, then at Flitwick, who simply shrugged.
“I suppose we might as well tell you,” Albus sighed, stepping up beside Snape’s bed. “We had quite the evening planned, Severus. All in your honor. And now, alas, you will have to miss it.”
“An evening… in my honor?” Snape hesitated. “Whatever for?”
“For your birthday, Severus,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “I wish you could see the Great Hall, all hung in Slytherin colors. We even had some indoor fireworks planned.”
“Slytherin colors?” Snape asked with an edge of interest.
“Yes, green and silver everywhere. And the house-elves have outdone themselves for dinner tonight. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, orange suckets, mince pies, just lovely. At least you won’t miss the food – the house-elves will bring your dinners up to you here – but you’ll miss the entertainment in your honor. It’s already scheduled, so we’ll just have to go on without you, I’m afraid.”
“Just what sort of … entertainment… do you have planned, Albus?” Snape’s tone was wary, as if he wasn’t sure he really wanted to know.
“Marvelous things,” Dumbledore winked at him over his glasses. “For instance, Miss Greengrass, who fancies herself something of … what was it that she called herself, Filius?”
“A performance artist,” Flitwick supplied.
“A performance artist,” Dumbledore agreed. “Yes, she planned to declaim a poem she composed in your honor, Severus. I believe I might even have a copy here somewhere. Ah yes, here you are.” He pulled a folded parchment from his robes and tendered it to Snape, who opened it, looked it over, flushed bright red, then immediately blanched three shades paler than normal. He very carefully refolded the parchment, laid it beside him on the bed, then clasped his hands in his lap.
“You say Miss Greengrass is going to recite this piece in the Great Hall?” Snape asked weakly. “Out loud?”
“That was her intent,” Dumbledore nodded. “I believe there is an accompanying interpretive dance piece, as well.”
“You don’t say.” Snape’s tone was hollow.
“But I’m not sure she’ll want to perform now, if you’re not there to see it.”
“How… unfortunate,” Snape said, looking somewhat relieved.
“There’s to be a cake, of course. One is never too old for birthday cake. You never told me, Severus; how many candles should we use?”
“Thirty-five,” Lupin said helpfully. Snape shot him a look.
“Thirty-three,” he corrected.
“And after the cake, the true piece de resistance,” Dumbledore beamed. “It happens that Gringott’s Bank is having its yearly employee retreat near Hogsmeade this week, and we’ve managed to convince the Gringott’s Glee Club to perform a set of 17th century Goblin Arias.”
“Goblin… Arias?” Snape repeated incredulously.
“Wonderful stuff. Very historical. We don’t study the Goblins enough, so this evening should be of great cultural value. I’m sorry you’ll miss it, Severus,” Albus shook his head, “but at least the students will benefit from it.” The Headmaster peered over his spectacles at Madame Pomfrey, who had finished dabbing single-malt all over Lupin, and was now applying it to Severus’s face and arms.
“You’re sure you can’t let our good professors out for just a little while, Poppy?”
“I’m sorry, Albus,” she said, pretending to ignore the sudden desperate look Severus threw her, “but the answer is no. Professor Lupin’s bites are in danger of becoming infected, and Professor Snape is starting to feel feverish.”
“I suppose you’re right, Poppy,” Albus sighed. “Remus is looking a bit puffy about the face. And Severus… oh dear, you really don’t look well, do you?”
“I am feeling just a bit faint,” Snape allowed, sinking back in his pillows.
“Well then. Severus, do try to have an enjoyable birthday, even if you are confined to the infirmary. The rest of us will celebrate as best we can without you.” He patted Snape's shoulder in a rather fatherly way. “Off to dinner then. Shall we, Professors?”
McGonagall nodded to Dumbledore, then leaned over Snape to hand him what looked like a brick wrapped in a tea towel.
“Happy Birthday, then, Severus,” she nodded, following Dumbledore out.
Flitwick hesitated, looked back to make sure Dumbledore was out of the room, then leaned conspiratorially toward Snape’s bed.
“Too bad about the doxie bites, Severus, but really, you’re well out of it. Dreadful stuff, the Goblin Arias,” he shook his head. “Nothing but banging and wailing. Sounds like an exorcism in a mine shaft.” He shuddered briefly, gave Snape’s leg a companionable pat, then hurried out after Albus and Minerva.
When the infirmary door had closed behind them, Pomfrey sighed as if she’d been holding her breath.
“That was a near thing,” she muttered. She handed the damp cloth and the bottle of scotch to Snape, and bustled out.
Snape, who had been staring out the door through which his colleagues had left, slowly sat back then turned and cocked an eyebrow at Lupin.
“Lupin…” he said slowly.
“Yes, Severus?”
“We’re you aware of the plan for tonight’s little… celebration?”
“I may have overheard a bit of it,” he coughed, smiling and glancing away.
“I see.” Snape looked at the label of the bottle in his hand, sniffed it, then held it away. “What is this stuff, exactly, and why are we reeking of it now?”
“Single malt,” Lupin grinned. “It’s the only thing that neutralizes doxie venom.”
“Ah,” Snape nodded, replacing the bottle on the bedside table.
“What did Minerva give you?”
“I’m not sure.” Snape unwrapped the towel, examined the interior, and sniffed at it. “It appears to be a block of brandy-soaked dried fruit mortared together with a bit of flour and treacle.”
“Fruit cake then,” Remus smiled. "Excellent!" His eyes fell on the folded parchment. “Might I have a look at Miss Greengrass’s artistic effort on your behalf, Severus?”
“Why not?” Snape shrugged, and handed the poem over.
Remus opened the poem, held it out in front of him until he could see it properly, then read quietly. For several moments he neither moved nor blinked.
“That’s an interesting rhyme choice for “buttons”, isn’t it?
“I thought so, yes.”
Pomfrey returned bearing another tray with three small glasses. She filled each from the bottle, and passed them around.
“It’s supposed to be taken internally?” Lupin asked, peering into his glass.
“Doesn’t hurt,” Pomfrey shrugged. “To your health, Severus.” She raised her glass and tipped it back.
Snape regarded her thoughtfully for a moment.
“I don’t recall you having any doxie bites, Poppy.”
“Preventative,” she winked at him. “I’ll go see if the house-elves are bringing dinner.”
“So, Lupin,” Snape cleared his throat after Pomfrey had left the room. “Am I given to understand that everyone here at school, ourselves and Poppy excepted, is being forced to listen to hideous poetry filled with adolescent yearning and opera-singing Goblins?”
“It appears so, Severus.”
“All because of me?”
“Yes,” Lupin grinned.
“Well then,” Snape stretched out a bit more comfortably, and almost smiled. “Happy Birthday to me.”
“Again, Severus, I really am sorry about the doxies. And your potion. And your shirt.”
“Lupin?”
“Yes, Severus?”
“Apology accepted.”
Lupin hid a small smile, and leaned back against the head of his bed, mirroring Snape.
“Thank you, Severus. I knew I could count on you to understand.”
FIN |
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