What I did on my Holidays
Aug. 18th, 2003 08:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essayelNaaah, don't worry. I'm not going to show you pictures!
Just a few random thoughts really and I'll put them behind cuts - if I can get them to work.
Travelling with Paul is very much how I imagine travelling with Severus Snape would be. The hawk nose lifts, the dark eyes go all chilly and he enunciates quietly and clearly in a very dark, deep RP voice "If you have quite finished...?" and we all shape up and toe the line. His other killer phrase is "Does anyone have a problem with this?" and we all shake our heads and make noises indicative of our willingness to march to the gates of hell and moon them if he so wishes. Consequently, we tend to wait until he has gone for a smoke to get rowdy.
Take the situation on the ferry:
Quotes of Thursday:
Jenny: (sitting in cafeteria on the M/V Normandie) I know a French word.
Me: (Proud to think 10 year old has picked it up all by herself) Do you, dear? What's that?
Jenny: (fixing me with evil glare) Salope!
(It seems that the school trip to Normandy was quite educational after all.)
Quote 2 - same place a little later just after I'd threatened to keel haul Jenny.
Mike: What's keel hauling, then? I assume it's the naval equivalent of a wedgie.
Me: (gulping) Well, it's a bit more serious than that!
Mike: (aghast) More serious than that!! Good lord! I mean, I should hate to be on the receiving end of a wedgie administered by a gang of burly sailors.
The word picture reduced me to incoherence and hysteria and Himself came back to the table to find me and Mike sobbing laughing and Jenny looking on in disgust.
We soon calmed down tho'. He gave us the look!
That's enough of that for now. I'll bung some more of the quotable quotes on another time.
When it's too hot to go out and too noisy to write, one tends to sleep. This is atually a good thing because then one wakes up at 4am and it's cool and quiet and one can write!So here's another bit of vin de pays fuelled silliness for the Challenge fic.
Warning: there are some references here to British Christmas customs that may be baffling - I apologise.
Remus would have been the first to admit that his home was not much to look at but he kept it clean and sound and, on the whole, was perfectly content with it. Long and low and painted white, it nestled into a fold in the hillside very much, as Sirius had said, like a bead of sweat into a cleavage. Not perhaps the most accurate metaphor but Remus rather liked it. There was one large room downstairs that served as both living room and kitchen, a tiny bathroom tucked into the small space under the stairs and another smallish room where Remus’ now alphabetised books led a pampered existence that also doubled as a study. Upstairs, under the eaves, were two bedrooms where Remus could only stand up straight in the middle of the room and Sirius couldn’t stand up straight at all. Not a bad retreat for two bachelors who for one reason or another needed to keep their heads down and out of sight. Not a good place, however, to host a large and, Remus suspected, raucous Christmas party. The fact that it was the second week of August and the weather was lovely was only one more problem.
Snape had given in, in the end. Dumbledore had pointed out that if Sirius became too depressed to be of any assistance he, Dumbledore, would be looking for somebody else to assume responsibility for Harry’s emotional welfare and Remus would be far too busy on business for the Order to make himself available as and when required.
“The logical choice,” the Headmaster had said with relish, “would be someone who is on the premises, as the Muggles say, 24/7. Professor McGonagall would be a possibility but I think that the time has come when Harry really needs a male role-model.”
“Headmaster,” Snape said hollowly, “you wouldn’t!”
“I won’t have to,” Dumbledore agreed, “because you’re going to make me the potions as I requested….aren’t you, Severus!”
Snape had bowed his head in unwilling acquiescence and departed, snarling, for his laboratory.
And now, Remus mused, as he watched Sirius rebuilding the dry-stone wall at the bottom of the garden, we are about to taste the fruits of Snape’s labours and they were likely to be very sour and wormy – he would have made sure of that!
Remus returned to the front of the house. Sirius would be an hour or so at least, because Remus had bribed his bottom of the garden fairies to kick the stones out of the wall as fast as they were replaced, and that gave him time to get everything ready.
He stooped in front of the kitchen fire and tossed in a good pinch of Floo powder. “Hogwarts, Headmasters Office,” he said and a few moments later saw Dumbledore’s disembodied head smiling at him from the flames.
“Ready when you are,” Remus said.
It was only ten minutes until his sensitive hearing picked up the first of the distant pops as the ‘guests’ began to Apparate. Anxiously he looked out of the back window but Sirius continued to set the stones back into place without looking round. Remus sighed and opened the door, forestalling Snape who had been about to knock.
“Well,” the potions master demanded. “Where is he? And how do you plan to get him to drink this?” He held up a small phial filled with a swirly, sparkling potion, glinting red and green and gold.
“He has been gardening all morning,” Remus said. “It’s a hot day – he’ll be thirsty. But Snape, it doesn’t taste as bad as my Wolfsbane, does it? Otherwise I may have to pin him down while you hold his nose.”
“Appealing though the thought may be,” Snape assured him, “this particular mixture has a pleasant flavour and may be readily mixed with any alcoholic beverage. Butterbeer would be ideal.”
“That I have,” Remus said with relief and went to the cold box. By the time he had obtained the chilled butterbeer, removed the lid and assisted Snape to pour a carefully measured amount of the potion into the bottle, the other guests were assembling. Dumbledore Apparated virtually silently into the kitchen, the dignity of his arrival only slightly marred by his appearing with one foot in the coal scuttle, while a sort of mobile giggle with several pairs of feet announced the arrival of Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny under Harry’s invisibility cloak and supervised by Bill.
“Hey, Remus,” Bill said, grinning as he lifted the cloak to let the kids out, then folded the silky material and hung it on the back of the door. “Lovely weather we’re having. Pity we can’t enjoy it.”
Remus nodded, the shade under the apple trees was very inviting and a little further up the valley there was a beck with a pool that was just right for splashing in. There had been a couple of afternoons when he and Sirius had dragged some rugs and a basket full of butterbeer up there and spent the afternoon sunning themselves. On one memorable occasion they had been joined by a couple of hikers, fit, sun-tanned young females striking across country towards Hexham, who had been pleased to share the beer, splash in the pool, accept an invitation to dinner and continue on their way to Hexham the following morning with a couple of carefully applied memory modifying charms securely in place. That was a good memory for it had lightened Sirius mood for a good forty-eight hours.
“Hello,” Remus grinned at the kids. “Everybody know what they’re doing?”
“Certainly do,” Harry said. “How’s Sirius? And where is he?”
“He’s in the garden,” Remus replied, “and today he is feeling energetic. Keep out of sight while I go and give him his potion.”
Snape watched him go then turned to Dumbledore. “Can I go now?” he asked. “I’ve made the potion as you asked, I’ve helped to transport the children here, surely you can dispense with my services?”
“Severus,” Dumbledore said chidingly, “it’s Christmas. Be of good cheer. Besides, we need you for the antidote.”
Snape, growling, threw himself into a chair. It was going to be a long day.
Meanwhile, Hermione and Ginny had followed Harry to the back of the room and all three of them were peeping through the curtains. Harry squinted against the bright sunlight, following Remus progress between the neat beds of vegetables, the strung beans, the stands of raspberry canes, up to the patch of grass at the top of the garden and the tumbledown wall. There he could just see a dark head bowed over the top of the wall carefully setting another stone in place. Sirius looked well, he thought, his face intent on his job, his hands sure and steady. He looked up at Remus’ call and Harry saw the white flash of a grin, then he set both hands on top of the wall and vaulted over.
“Oh….,” Hermione moaned.
“Sweet Merlin,” Ginny whimpered.
Harry rolled his eyes. It was a hot day; did they expect Sirius to heave stones around in his robes? Faded jeans and rigger boots where a much more suitable get up, especially for a wizard who was naturally olive skinned and who took a tan like that and who had obviously been doing a lot of heavy work lately and had the washboard stomach and well-defined pectorals to prove it. Sirius smiled again as he took the bottle of butterbeer from Remus. He passed the cool glass once across his forehead and then tilted his head back. As one girl, Ginny and Hermione went for their wands.
“Oculamaximus,” they both whispered then they watched, mouths agape.
“Oh,” Hermione moaned after a moment. “It’s just like a Diet Coke commercial.”
“Diet what?” Ginny whispered. “Oh, oh, look where that drip is going! Down, down, oooohhh … lucky drip.”
Harry had been watching the drip too. He closed his mouth with a snap.
“Huh, girls!” he said, cheeks flaming, and went to help Ron transfigure Remus coatstand into a Christmas tree.
*
Bill helped Remus carry the unconscious Sirius down to the house then, between them, they heaved him up the stairs to his room. Snape offered to help but, after he had twice allowed Sirius head to bounce against the wall, they decided they could manage without him.
“If you’re sure,” Snape said. “To be honest, I don’t envy you the next task. Somehow I don’t see Black as a flannel pyjama type of person.”
“Can we help?” Hermione and Ginny demanded.
Remus head appeared around the door at the top of the stairs. “Thank you for offering,” he replied, politely, “but I’m sure we can manage.”
His assurance was belied by the grumble of Bill’s voice demanding to know just how the heck Sirius got into those jeans in the first place.
Hermione sighed and she and Ginny continued charming Remus’s cottage into a more Christmassy appearance. Dumbledore looked on, applauding as they transfigured a clump of woodbine that Ron dragged out of the hedge into a passable garland that they strung across the mantel. Then Remus called from upstairs.
“He’s beginning to twitch, Snape. Is that supposed to happen?”
Snape calculated for a moment. “I would assume, with the strength of the potion coupled to the alcohol, that he is beginning to experience some of the appropriate sensations. Tell me, is he huddling under the covers? Yes? Well then, Jack Frost is probably nipping at his nose.”
“He’s moaning.”
“Well, obviously that’ll be his chestnuts roasting on an open fire. He’ll be waking any moment. You’d best get ready.”
There was a clatter on the stairs as Bill came down, grinning, then he paused and frowned at Snape.
“Would you usually be here at Christmas?” he asked. “We’ve got to make everything as normal as possible, I thought.”
“Absolutely not,” Snape replied, his lip curling in distaste at the very thought of it.
“Good point, Bill,” Dumbledore said. “We can’t have Sirius suspecting anything. Let me see.” He extracted his wand and made a pass with it.
Hermione let out a strangled squeal and Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Very nice,” Harry said, “but, Headmaster, it’s Christmas not Easter.”
Snape had been gasping his outrage at his sudden immersion in drifts of pale pink fur and turned and bounced, hoppity-hop, across the floor towards the door.
“Oh no you don’t,” Dumbledore said cheerfully and waved his wand again.
Snape started as the basket of eggs disappeared from his paw and scowled at his wand which was suddenly sporting a large glittery star.
“Eeeewww,” Ron said. “For pity’s sake, Headmaster….”
“So…not a fairy then,” Dumbledore agreed reluctantly. “Although, Severus, you certainly have the legs for it! Something a little more mature perhaps.”
The next change stunned everyone and rendered Snape utterly speechless. Dumbledore looked around at their aghast expressions.
“Worse than the fairy?” he asked sadly. “Perhaps you’re right. You need real personality to carry it off and the costume is rather bulky. So scrub Widow Twankey. Oh I know.”
Snape started again and peered cautiously down at himself. The robes were a sensible black but his wand appeared now to be a parrot headed umbrella.
“Headmaster,” Hermione said gently, “are you sure about this? I mean it’s better than the fairy outfit and certainly that film is always on the t.v. at Christmas but if we are aiming for normality don’t you think that dressing Professor Snape as Mary Poppins is a little outré?”
Dumbledore looked disappointed for a moment then sighed. “Oh very well,” he said crossly. “I suppose we’ll have to do the obvious!”
Meanwhile, Bill was emptying his pockets onto the kitchen table, re-sizing the boxes, packets and jars and Ron was moving them to cool box, pantry or oven as seemed appropriate.
“Oooh, chestnut stuffing,” Ginny sighed, sniffing at one container.
“Yes, Mum’s done us proud,” Bill smiled. “She said if it’s going to be Sirius’ last Christmas she wants him to have a proper dinner – not rat like last year.”
“Pay attention,” Snape demanded. They all turned to face him and Ron hastily stifled a little squawk of laughter. “The subject of this…exercise will be waking shortly,” Snape continued, his voice only slightly muffled by his long white beard, “and it is important that we make it as easy as possible for him to believe in this…farce. It is imperative that everybody does their utmost to partake of what is so sickeningly known as Christmas spirit to enable him to maintain his fantasy and so I have prepared another similar potion for each of you that will allow you to share his experience to a certain extent while still remaining cognisant of our true purpose.”
“Which means,” Dumbledore added happily, “that if you drink the stuff in the bottles you’ll see what Sirius sees.”
The phials were handed out and the contents consumed.
“Since we really don’t want to waste the whole day,” Snape added, “Sirius will be on an accelerated time scheme so don’t be surprised if he suddenly decides its three in the afternoon and then skips on to bed time … assuming, that is, that he survives that long. Now, be quiet and listen.”
They obediently fell silent, apart from Dumbledore who was quietly and enjoyably humming “White Christmas” and waving his wand at the windows, which had developed a good coating of facsimile hoar frost.
From upstairs they heard a thump and a curse, then a glad voice called, “Merry Christmas, Moony.”
Just a few random thoughts really and I'll put them behind cuts - if I can get them to work.
Travelling with Paul is very much how I imagine travelling with Severus Snape would be. The hawk nose lifts, the dark eyes go all chilly and he enunciates quietly and clearly in a very dark, deep RP voice "If you have quite finished...?" and we all shape up and toe the line. His other killer phrase is "Does anyone have a problem with this?" and we all shake our heads and make noises indicative of our willingness to march to the gates of hell and moon them if he so wishes. Consequently, we tend to wait until he has gone for a smoke to get rowdy.
Take the situation on the ferry:
Quotes of Thursday:
Jenny: (sitting in cafeteria on the M/V Normandie) I know a French word.
Me: (Proud to think 10 year old has picked it up all by herself) Do you, dear? What's that?
Jenny: (fixing me with evil glare) Salope!
(It seems that the school trip to Normandy was quite educational after all.)
Quote 2 - same place a little later just after I'd threatened to keel haul Jenny.
Mike: What's keel hauling, then? I assume it's the naval equivalent of a wedgie.
Me: (gulping) Well, it's a bit more serious than that!
Mike: (aghast) More serious than that!! Good lord! I mean, I should hate to be on the receiving end of a wedgie administered by a gang of burly sailors.
The word picture reduced me to incoherence and hysteria and Himself came back to the table to find me and Mike sobbing laughing and Jenny looking on in disgust.
We soon calmed down tho'. He gave us the look!
That's enough of that for now. I'll bung some more of the quotable quotes on another time.
When it's too hot to go out and too noisy to write, one tends to sleep. This is atually a good thing because then one wakes up at 4am and it's cool and quiet and one can write!So here's another bit of vin de pays fuelled silliness for the Challenge fic.
Warning: there are some references here to British Christmas customs that may be baffling - I apologise.
Remus would have been the first to admit that his home was not much to look at but he kept it clean and sound and, on the whole, was perfectly content with it. Long and low and painted white, it nestled into a fold in the hillside very much, as Sirius had said, like a bead of sweat into a cleavage. Not perhaps the most accurate metaphor but Remus rather liked it. There was one large room downstairs that served as both living room and kitchen, a tiny bathroom tucked into the small space under the stairs and another smallish room where Remus’ now alphabetised books led a pampered existence that also doubled as a study. Upstairs, under the eaves, were two bedrooms where Remus could only stand up straight in the middle of the room and Sirius couldn’t stand up straight at all. Not a bad retreat for two bachelors who for one reason or another needed to keep their heads down and out of sight. Not a good place, however, to host a large and, Remus suspected, raucous Christmas party. The fact that it was the second week of August and the weather was lovely was only one more problem.
Snape had given in, in the end. Dumbledore had pointed out that if Sirius became too depressed to be of any assistance he, Dumbledore, would be looking for somebody else to assume responsibility for Harry’s emotional welfare and Remus would be far too busy on business for the Order to make himself available as and when required.
“The logical choice,” the Headmaster had said with relish, “would be someone who is on the premises, as the Muggles say, 24/7. Professor McGonagall would be a possibility but I think that the time has come when Harry really needs a male role-model.”
“Headmaster,” Snape said hollowly, “you wouldn’t!”
“I won’t have to,” Dumbledore agreed, “because you’re going to make me the potions as I requested….aren’t you, Severus!”
Snape had bowed his head in unwilling acquiescence and departed, snarling, for his laboratory.
And now, Remus mused, as he watched Sirius rebuilding the dry-stone wall at the bottom of the garden, we are about to taste the fruits of Snape’s labours and they were likely to be very sour and wormy – he would have made sure of that!
Remus returned to the front of the house. Sirius would be an hour or so at least, because Remus had bribed his bottom of the garden fairies to kick the stones out of the wall as fast as they were replaced, and that gave him time to get everything ready.
He stooped in front of the kitchen fire and tossed in a good pinch of Floo powder. “Hogwarts, Headmasters Office,” he said and a few moments later saw Dumbledore’s disembodied head smiling at him from the flames.
“Ready when you are,” Remus said.
It was only ten minutes until his sensitive hearing picked up the first of the distant pops as the ‘guests’ began to Apparate. Anxiously he looked out of the back window but Sirius continued to set the stones back into place without looking round. Remus sighed and opened the door, forestalling Snape who had been about to knock.
“Well,” the potions master demanded. “Where is he? And how do you plan to get him to drink this?” He held up a small phial filled with a swirly, sparkling potion, glinting red and green and gold.
“He has been gardening all morning,” Remus said. “It’s a hot day – he’ll be thirsty. But Snape, it doesn’t taste as bad as my Wolfsbane, does it? Otherwise I may have to pin him down while you hold his nose.”
“Appealing though the thought may be,” Snape assured him, “this particular mixture has a pleasant flavour and may be readily mixed with any alcoholic beverage. Butterbeer would be ideal.”
“That I have,” Remus said with relief and went to the cold box. By the time he had obtained the chilled butterbeer, removed the lid and assisted Snape to pour a carefully measured amount of the potion into the bottle, the other guests were assembling. Dumbledore Apparated virtually silently into the kitchen, the dignity of his arrival only slightly marred by his appearing with one foot in the coal scuttle, while a sort of mobile giggle with several pairs of feet announced the arrival of Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny under Harry’s invisibility cloak and supervised by Bill.
“Hey, Remus,” Bill said, grinning as he lifted the cloak to let the kids out, then folded the silky material and hung it on the back of the door. “Lovely weather we’re having. Pity we can’t enjoy it.”
Remus nodded, the shade under the apple trees was very inviting and a little further up the valley there was a beck with a pool that was just right for splashing in. There had been a couple of afternoons when he and Sirius had dragged some rugs and a basket full of butterbeer up there and spent the afternoon sunning themselves. On one memorable occasion they had been joined by a couple of hikers, fit, sun-tanned young females striking across country towards Hexham, who had been pleased to share the beer, splash in the pool, accept an invitation to dinner and continue on their way to Hexham the following morning with a couple of carefully applied memory modifying charms securely in place. That was a good memory for it had lightened Sirius mood for a good forty-eight hours.
“Hello,” Remus grinned at the kids. “Everybody know what they’re doing?”
“Certainly do,” Harry said. “How’s Sirius? And where is he?”
“He’s in the garden,” Remus replied, “and today he is feeling energetic. Keep out of sight while I go and give him his potion.”
Snape watched him go then turned to Dumbledore. “Can I go now?” he asked. “I’ve made the potion as you asked, I’ve helped to transport the children here, surely you can dispense with my services?”
“Severus,” Dumbledore said chidingly, “it’s Christmas. Be of good cheer. Besides, we need you for the antidote.”
Snape, growling, threw himself into a chair. It was going to be a long day.
Meanwhile, Hermione and Ginny had followed Harry to the back of the room and all three of them were peeping through the curtains. Harry squinted against the bright sunlight, following Remus progress between the neat beds of vegetables, the strung beans, the stands of raspberry canes, up to the patch of grass at the top of the garden and the tumbledown wall. There he could just see a dark head bowed over the top of the wall carefully setting another stone in place. Sirius looked well, he thought, his face intent on his job, his hands sure and steady. He looked up at Remus’ call and Harry saw the white flash of a grin, then he set both hands on top of the wall and vaulted over.
“Oh….,” Hermione moaned.
“Sweet Merlin,” Ginny whimpered.
Harry rolled his eyes. It was a hot day; did they expect Sirius to heave stones around in his robes? Faded jeans and rigger boots where a much more suitable get up, especially for a wizard who was naturally olive skinned and who took a tan like that and who had obviously been doing a lot of heavy work lately and had the washboard stomach and well-defined pectorals to prove it. Sirius smiled again as he took the bottle of butterbeer from Remus. He passed the cool glass once across his forehead and then tilted his head back. As one girl, Ginny and Hermione went for their wands.
“Oculamaximus,” they both whispered then they watched, mouths agape.
“Oh,” Hermione moaned after a moment. “It’s just like a Diet Coke commercial.”
“Diet what?” Ginny whispered. “Oh, oh, look where that drip is going! Down, down, oooohhh … lucky drip.”
Harry had been watching the drip too. He closed his mouth with a snap.
“Huh, girls!” he said, cheeks flaming, and went to help Ron transfigure Remus coatstand into a Christmas tree.
*
Bill helped Remus carry the unconscious Sirius down to the house then, between them, they heaved him up the stairs to his room. Snape offered to help but, after he had twice allowed Sirius head to bounce against the wall, they decided they could manage without him.
“If you’re sure,” Snape said. “To be honest, I don’t envy you the next task. Somehow I don’t see Black as a flannel pyjama type of person.”
“Can we help?” Hermione and Ginny demanded.
Remus head appeared around the door at the top of the stairs. “Thank you for offering,” he replied, politely, “but I’m sure we can manage.”
His assurance was belied by the grumble of Bill’s voice demanding to know just how the heck Sirius got into those jeans in the first place.
Hermione sighed and she and Ginny continued charming Remus’s cottage into a more Christmassy appearance. Dumbledore looked on, applauding as they transfigured a clump of woodbine that Ron dragged out of the hedge into a passable garland that they strung across the mantel. Then Remus called from upstairs.
“He’s beginning to twitch, Snape. Is that supposed to happen?”
Snape calculated for a moment. “I would assume, with the strength of the potion coupled to the alcohol, that he is beginning to experience some of the appropriate sensations. Tell me, is he huddling under the covers? Yes? Well then, Jack Frost is probably nipping at his nose.”
“He’s moaning.”
“Well, obviously that’ll be his chestnuts roasting on an open fire. He’ll be waking any moment. You’d best get ready.”
There was a clatter on the stairs as Bill came down, grinning, then he paused and frowned at Snape.
“Would you usually be here at Christmas?” he asked. “We’ve got to make everything as normal as possible, I thought.”
“Absolutely not,” Snape replied, his lip curling in distaste at the very thought of it.
“Good point, Bill,” Dumbledore said. “We can’t have Sirius suspecting anything. Let me see.” He extracted his wand and made a pass with it.
Hermione let out a strangled squeal and Ginny clapped her hands over her mouth.
“Very nice,” Harry said, “but, Headmaster, it’s Christmas not Easter.”
Snape had been gasping his outrage at his sudden immersion in drifts of pale pink fur and turned and bounced, hoppity-hop, across the floor towards the door.
“Oh no you don’t,” Dumbledore said cheerfully and waved his wand again.
Snape started as the basket of eggs disappeared from his paw and scowled at his wand which was suddenly sporting a large glittery star.
“Eeeewww,” Ron said. “For pity’s sake, Headmaster….”
“So…not a fairy then,” Dumbledore agreed reluctantly. “Although, Severus, you certainly have the legs for it! Something a little more mature perhaps.”
The next change stunned everyone and rendered Snape utterly speechless. Dumbledore looked around at their aghast expressions.
“Worse than the fairy?” he asked sadly. “Perhaps you’re right. You need real personality to carry it off and the costume is rather bulky. So scrub Widow Twankey. Oh I know.”
Snape started again and peered cautiously down at himself. The robes were a sensible black but his wand appeared now to be a parrot headed umbrella.
“Headmaster,” Hermione said gently, “are you sure about this? I mean it’s better than the fairy outfit and certainly that film is always on the t.v. at Christmas but if we are aiming for normality don’t you think that dressing Professor Snape as Mary Poppins is a little outré?”
Dumbledore looked disappointed for a moment then sighed. “Oh very well,” he said crossly. “I suppose we’ll have to do the obvious!”
Meanwhile, Bill was emptying his pockets onto the kitchen table, re-sizing the boxes, packets and jars and Ron was moving them to cool box, pantry or oven as seemed appropriate.
“Oooh, chestnut stuffing,” Ginny sighed, sniffing at one container.
“Yes, Mum’s done us proud,” Bill smiled. “She said if it’s going to be Sirius’ last Christmas she wants him to have a proper dinner – not rat like last year.”
“Pay attention,” Snape demanded. They all turned to face him and Ron hastily stifled a little squawk of laughter. “The subject of this…exercise will be waking shortly,” Snape continued, his voice only slightly muffled by his long white beard, “and it is important that we make it as easy as possible for him to believe in this…farce. It is imperative that everybody does their utmost to partake of what is so sickeningly known as Christmas spirit to enable him to maintain his fantasy and so I have prepared another similar potion for each of you that will allow you to share his experience to a certain extent while still remaining cognisant of our true purpose.”
“Which means,” Dumbledore added happily, “that if you drink the stuff in the bottles you’ll see what Sirius sees.”
The phials were handed out and the contents consumed.
“Since we really don’t want to waste the whole day,” Snape added, “Sirius will be on an accelerated time scheme so don’t be surprised if he suddenly decides its three in the afternoon and then skips on to bed time … assuming, that is, that he survives that long. Now, be quiet and listen.”
They obediently fell silent, apart from Dumbledore who was quietly and enjoyably humming “White Christmas” and waving his wand at the windows, which had developed a good coating of facsimile hoar frost.
From upstairs they heard a thump and a curse, then a glad voice called, “Merry Christmas, Moony.”