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Aug. 25th, 2003 05:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
essayelIn work today and it's the pits because it's a national holiday and everyone else has the day off! This is actually a total lie - the hospitals, police, firemen etc are still all working as are all the people who look after other people - but I'm here in the museum alone for the next five hours with no one to make me a cup of coffee or the mind the till while I go for a wee and I'm feeling grumbly!
I had a text from Mike last night and he has discovered an interesting drink that you set fire to and blow it out just before you drink it. He's having fun in Austria but says he's missing us and wants to be back in his own room - all alone. I think he's finding sharing a room with Duncan, who is hyperactive at the best of times, a bit of a strain.
I worry sometimes that I've got the boy into bad habits. Drinking for one thing. I don't know about you but I'd much sooner he got pie-eyed under my supervision than he went out and got alcoholic poisoning all alone. Consequently, all the time we were away he shared fairly equally with the wine and also indulged in some devilish fruit based liquors for which he developed a taste. This led to some interesting - not to say bizarre - conversations...
Mike: I'm going to change my name to Steve.
Me: Oh yeah, why?
Mike: So when I become King I'll be King Steve and then they'll name a bridge after me. It'll be 'King Steve's Kick-ass Bridge'.
Me: Why not have an underpass instead? 'King Steve's Kick-ass Underpass'.
Mike: (giving the suggestion serious consideration) I like it, it rhymes, but a bridge is cooler than an underpass so I'll go with the bridge I think.
Paul, passing, removes depleted bottle of La Pouge plum flavoured metal polish from table.
Over the next twenty-four hours King Steve's court was developed and organised. For a start he'll do away with those tedious trumpets. Instead the fanfares will be played on kazoos. This will necessitate them being fitted with very tiny heraldic banners so, because visiting dignitaries will have difficulty seeing them they will be issued with glasses with magnifying lenses upon arrival. In fact, since glasses are required they will be 3D ones and all the paintings in Buck House will be adjusted accordingly. This should cause a bit of a flutter over the more 'classical' subjects but every household can do with a talking point. That National Anthem will have to go as well and currently we are at loggerheads over a substitute, unable to choose between Conspiracy of One by the Offspring and the Ying Tong Song, for which there is at least some precedent. Mike also feels it would be a nice idea to play music to visiting dignitaries to make them feel at home. Several suggestions were made that betray more than I feel entirely happy about British prejudices and ignorance - for instance 'I'm a Lumberjack' for the Canadian Ambassador, sung in French (or in an extremely broad French accent) so Quebec doesn't feel left out, 'Mademoiselle from Armentieres' for the French Cultural Attache and 'A Four-legged Friend' for the President of the United States of America (though the last was also suggested as a possibility for Rhodri Morgan, leader of the Welsh National Assembly, but rejected on the grounds that the Welsh get a little sick of sheep jokes).
There would, of course, be roles for all the family at court. Grandma would be the Queen Grandmother and wave a lot, though if she found it boring she could get a man to do it for her. Mike agreed with the others that I should take over from Princess Ann and could be i/c Public Affairs, Telling the Press to Naff Off and carrying out inspections of the armed services (Mike sanctioned my desire to do something about those boring military uniforms - camo is sooo 1940s - so visitors to the metrollops will be treated to regular troopings of the Kings Archers in really tight hose, the Kings cavalry men in really tight breeches and the newly reconstituted Legio Augusta in the new mini tunica). Jenny will be Mistress of the King's Music, claiming the title due to her ability, she said, horrible child, to play two kazoos at once, one by mouth and the other - well, the less said about that the better. Paul turned down the offer of the post of Grand Vizier on the grounds that he didn't suit a turban. Instead he will take to the heather and lead an anti-monarchist revolutionary movement.
Another quote:
Me: (to Mike) Allright you may finish the plum brandy but give the bottle to your sister to sniff.
Right Here's almost the last bit of the challenge fic:
Snowballing on the slope above the house could be mimed and a tin tray with a powerful levitation charm made an adequate substitute for a sledge on the short, rabbit-cropped grass. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of laughter and a total lack of success in making 'turf angels'. However, as the afternoon had gone on Sirius' good humour had become rather more strained and Remus had caught him a couple of times looking around at the house, the hillsides and the company as though trying to memorise every single detail. He chatted to Bill for a while and made him laugh, but Bill became very quiet and thoughtful when Sirius moved on. Remus noticed that shortly after that Bill made a point of making a fuss of Ron and Ginny, the three red heads clustering closely in a demonstration of Weasley familial affection.
Sirius spoke to Dumbledore, chased Hermione and Ginny with a spring of mistletoe culled from the bunch in the house, caught them, fended off Ron's assault good-naturedly and took Harry to one side for a little conversation that had the boy turning pink with pleased embarrassment. Shortly afterwards Harry sidled up to Remus and cleared his throat.
"This is going to work, isn't it Professor Lupin?" he demanded gruffly.
Remus laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I see no reason why it shouldn't," he said, quietly. "Oh, look, look! Sirius is talking to Snape."
The conversation, whatever it was, was rather one sided and somewhat stilted and left Snape with some unaccustomed colour in his cheeks as well, while Sirius flung himself back into the fun with an air of desperation.
After a while the adults went inside to turn on the Wizarding Wireless Network to listen to the Queen's Speech and make some tea.
"Nice speech," Remus commented to Sirius as he chopped vegetables for salad.
"Yes," said Dumbledore, busily magicking brandy butter into a thick layer under all the lids of the mince pies. "The old dear seems a lot more cheerful since that problem with her annus horribilis* has cleared up. I sent her a small jar of the preparation I use myself and had a quite delightful letter of thanks in return."
Sirius made a face then continued piling a plate with cold goose from which he had removed every single bone while Snape palmed an ulna with the intention of slipping it onto Sirius plate later and Bill watched him like a hawk with the intention of slipping it off again. When the kids came back in, looking cool, relaxed and a little damp round the edges due to their lightning trip up to the beck, tea was on the table and they washed their hands and began to pile their plates with enthusiasm. Sirius watched them wistfully then went and helped himself to a large mug of the devil's brew in the cauldron.
"I'm not hungry," he replied to Remus' offer the fill a plate for him.
"Nonsense," Snape said shortly, "you must keep your strength up. Here have this!" Then he scowled as Bill neatly fielded the plate he was offering, fumbled it, dropped it and consigned the contents, including the bone, to the bin with a word of apology.
"Sorry about that," Bill said to Remus. "Just call me butterfingers."
Remus realising something had been going on looked, shocked, at Snape and passed Sirius another plate.
"Here you go," he said.
Sirius took the plate reluctantly. There wasn't a chair available but that was OK; if he had to go he was determined to die on his feet. He looked up straight into Remus' worried eyes.
"Thanks Moony," he said.
They did their best to pay no attention as he took his first bite, chewed and swallowed but it was a nervy business and Hermione's hands were shaking and Ron knocked over the salad dressing. In fact the situation was so tense that Remus closed his eyes, desperate for it all to be over. With his eyes closed his ears were working overtime and so he was the only one to hear Dumbledore's almost inaudible whisper of "Constricto trachea."
Remus eyes flew open and he darted forward as Sirius coughed and tensed. He turned to Remus, his eyes watering, his face reddening and, amazingly, he smiled and extended a hand to grip Remus shoulder. Harry took the plate from his other hand, Remus gripped him around the chest, Bill hit him between the shoulder blades with the edge of his hand and Dumbledore unobtrustively lifted the curse.
Sirius drew in a whooping breath, then another.
"Damn, Sirius," Bill said. "You had me scared for a moment there."
"You were scared?" Sirius husked.
"Yeah, I suddenly remembered what that demented woman Trelawney said," Bill laughed. "Remember? She said you'd choke on Christmas Day."
"Sibyl Trelawney?" Remus chimed in with his section of the script. "Lord, Sirius, you don't want to take any notice of what she says. Harry, how many times has she predicted your death?"
"Once a week since year three," Harry replied. "She's a loony."
"But Emilia Dee...," Sirius protested.
"A good old fashioned Seer," Dumbledore agreed, "and you just don't get those in the teaching professions these days, they can make so much better money playing the Stock Exchange. No, when I employed Sibyl, bless her, she was the best available and she certainly covers the curriculum. Her obsession with death and disaster is a relatively small price to pay. Now, who wants pudding?"
The party continued until just short of midnight with Sirius being the life and soul of it and Snape, blown away by disappointment, drank far too much. This was soon noticed and he was subtly encouraged and plied with more alcohol until it took hardly any effort to persuade him to join Remus in a spirited rendition of "I will Survive". Severus belted out the song with gusto, slapping his thigh rhythmically as an accompaniment. Remus had to close his eyes to avoid forgetting the words and Sirius just sat down and sobbed with laughter.
Eventually, they had to call it a night. Sirius was seated quietly on the heartrug with Harry beside him. From their happy faces and intent expressions Remus surmised that they were talking about James and Lily, or Quidditch. Either way they were occupied, so he eased across to Dumbledore who was finishing off the last few mince pies.
"Headmaster?"
Dumbledore smiled and dusted the crumbs from his beard. "Molly's mincepies improve upon acquaintance," he said. "Ah, yes. I see that young Sirius is now happy, relaxed and recovered from the distress of the past few weeks. Now all that remains is to make a few modifications to his memory so all this becomes a blur."
"That's rather a pity," Remus said. "We've all had a great time."
"Well, it's either a memory modification spell or we have to tell him that he took a curse to the head on St Stephens Day and spent eight months in a coma."
"I see what you mean. Well, where do you want to do it? Does he need to be lying down?"
"No, no, dear boy," Dumbledore said cheerfully, "I did it while we were talking and it'll take effect overnight while he's asleep. Now, if we can just wake Severus up to administer the antidote to his most excellent potion...Hmmm, I don't suppose there's any cake left?"
*
There were several results of that days activities:
The next morning Sirius slept late and awoke with the feeling that he had had a most peculiar dream. Later over breakfast, he watched Remus' slender hands buttering a roll and experienced another really peculiar feeling. He took to having frequent cold baths and going for long walks in the late evening but it did little to help. He swam in the cold waters of the beck and embarked upon a correspondence course in practical potions. He went up to the dry stone wall, kicked it flat and rebuilt it from scratch with the fairies looking on knowingly. He took up tai chi and yoga and read all the back copies of the Journal of Arithmancy but the odd feelings persisted and seemed to be getting worse.
In the last week of August, while shopping with her mother in Cheltenham in preparation for her return to school, Hermione insisted that she was sick of sensible white underwear from Marks and Spencer and instead went to the Lingerie section of John Lewis's Department Store. While queuing up to pay for the sporty little items she had selected, including one delicious confection of raspberry coloured lace, she spotted Peter Pettigrew entering the Men's Clothing Department. At her insistence the CCTV tapes were formally reviewed. That they clearly showed Pettigrew to be alive and in robust health was of far more interest to the Wizarding authorities than the fact that he was shoplifting for boxers.
At Dumbledore's next meeting Snape seemed unusually interested in Sirius' welfare and asked several rather pointed questions. Remus, disquieted, remembered that an exploding parcel wasn't really Severus style and suspected that there might be more to it than that. Over the next few days he noticed that Sirius tended to be wearing rather more around the house than he had formerly, that he favoured heavy concealing robes rather than his jeans, that he would often leave the room hurriedly if Remus entered it, as he often did, in just a towel on a trip between bedroom and bathroom. As an inveterate hoarder of 'useful' items it didn't take him long to find the piece of string and only a little longer to isolate the residual potion. He decided not to tell Sirius for the time being but began to brew a few potions of his own.
His name cleared, on paper if not in open court, Sirius was finally free to leave Remus' little home. Their parting was regretful and formal - a handshake at arms length that left Sirius' groin aching for the rest of the day and Remus vowing retribution. Sirius returned to his former position as an Auror but not on active service. Instead he was seconded to the training establishment that the Aurors shared on the outskirts of Hereford where he taught Muggle Familiarisation and Unarmed Combat to the young recruits. Over the next few months his reputation as a red-hot drill sergeant was only equalled by his reputation in the sack - Snape's potion was almost entirely not to blame.
Christmas came round again. This time, Sirius being persona grata, they celebrated at Hogwarts. Perhaps inevitably Sibyl Trelawney was on her way down to dinner when Remus and Harry pelted into the entrance hall, covered in snow and pursued by a great black dog.
"Grim! Grim!" she shrieked.
"Oh no, not again," Remus moaned. But this time Sirius could speak for himself and Sibyl went into dinner clinging to his arm and simpering up at him admiringly.
"Oh, Mr Black," she said, "I, of course, have always been one of your supporters. Those of us blessed with the inner eye never for one instant believed the dreadful things they said about you and I can confidently predict a long and happy future for you."
"Really, Sibyl? I may call you Sibyl, mayn't I?" Sirius smiled down at her and she flushed and tittered. Remus caught Sirius eye and shook his head and Sirius grinned and shrugged.
Snape was late emerging from his dungeon and stalked off through the corridors in no good humour. He had no particular desire to join the company for dinner but knew that if he didn't make an appearance Dumbledore would only come down to the dungeon with a plate loaded with the most disgusting sweetmeats and stand over him while he ate them.
"Have another brandied cherry, my boy," he burbled, in a falsetto parody. "You must keep your strength up."
He was approaching the Hall when a dark figure detached itself from the shadows where it had been lurking and stepped into his path. He stopped and eyed Sirius Black with loathing.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"To thank you," Sirius said gruffly, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Remus and I have never been happier. It took us a while to catch on to what you had done but, just to show that there's no hard feelings..."
His grab lifted Severus from his feet and slammed him back against the wall. The air whooshed from his lungs and, as his mouth opened involuntarily, Sirius kissed him. He rapidly discovered the futility in wriggling - besides, wriggling just brought more of his body into disturbing contact with the rock hard muscles currently pinning him to the wall, so he endured the kiss, seething. Sirius took his time over it but, luckily, one kiss seemed to be the extent of his interest. He gently removed himself from Snape's vicinity, stepping back out of range of fist or knee, then he smiled.
"I won't tell anyone if you won't," he said. "Dinner will be served as soon as we are seated so come on." Then he turned and walked away leaving Snape gaping with utter bewilderment.
Back in the Hall Remus watched Sirius approach and raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
"Well," he asked. "How did it go?"
Sirius gave him a beatific grin, as he reached up to pop the antidote in his mouth.
"I feel such a tart," he whispered as he took his seat. "Mission accomplished but without Snape's potion I don't think I could have done it."
It was a memorable dinner. Snape had expected further humiliation but Sirius and Remus divided their attention fairly equally between each other, the children and the ladies present (Sirius did catch his eye at one point and gave him a wicked look, his tongue tip just visible against his upper lip but when he looked again, just to check, you understand, the vile creature was sharing a joke with Minerva McGonagall). Dumbledore was on good form, with a paper hat balanced over the end of his usual headgear, and pulling crackers left, right and centre. The children, Harry, the sole Gryffindor for once, were well-behaved though a little noisy. The food, astonishingly, seemed to have improved. Snape had seconds of the excellent turkey and thirds of the superb cranberry stuffing and crisp light roast potatoes. Then pudding was served. Normally he would have departed at this point, but today decided to have just a taste. It was utterly delicious. He had another helping and found himself smiling as he watched the brandy butter and cream melt into each other across the rich dark stuff in smooth perfection. He slowly raised his spoon to his mouth.
"It's working," Remus whispered to Sirius, looking anywhere but at Snape.
"Remus, you are a marvel," Sirius grinned.
The potion was a subtle one and had caused Remus a lot of headaches but he had succeeded in brewing it in the end. The thing was, while the potion that Snape had given Sirius had been potentially embarrassing it had not done him any real harm. It would have been easy to hex the man in retaliation or to set a Pedus Concinne charm on him (an old favourite that made the charmed one mince as though wearing four-inch stilettos) but that would have been far too obvious - they were grown ups now after all. Instead, he had anointed Sirius lips with a balm containing hearts-ease, loose-strife and passiflora, lads-and-lasses, love-in-a-mist and morning glory. Absorbed through the skin, and with no residue to speak of, or analyse, Snape should be strangely contented, should find himself appreciating ordinary things like food and warmth and sunlight. He would smile more often and the action of smiling would release endorphins that would make him even more relaxed and happy. This would make him more attractive, would attract interest and friendship. Might even possibly lead to things like relationships, friendships, desire and fulfilment. As a revenge, Remus thought, it was pretty dastardly.
"Look at him," Sirius murmured. "He's enjoying that pudding so much! Heck, I think I might have some."
Dumbledore eyed them with pleasure as they served themselves from a nearby pudding and passed the bowl along to Harry. Slowly the bowl passed from hand to hand until all the guests had a portion. He was glad they were using it, it was the special one that he had requested the house elves to make to his own recipe. The one with the special ingredients.
"What I really need to finish this meal off," Sibyl Trelawney announced, "is a nice cup of tea!"
"I think I'll join you, " Snape agreed. "I'm partial to African Gold personally."
"I've always preferred Acapulco Gold myself," Remus said innocently and Sirius drew breath to laugh and accidentally inhaled the large golden Galleon that Dumbledore had insisted should be substituted for the usual Sickles, feeling that Sickles weren't quite 'Christmassy' enough. He gasped, turned red and began to choke.
Remus glanced at him and grinned.
"Very funny, Padfoot," he said, "but it's been done."
Harry laughed.
Sirius turned purple.
Dumbledore laughed too.
"Oh dear," he said. "It looks as though Sirius has found the Galleon."
"Galleon?" Remus leaped to his feet, snatched Sirius out of his chair and locked his arms around him from behind.
"Oh, please!" said Snape looking up from his pudding with distaste and utterly unaware of the situation. "Pas devant les enfants."
Remus scowled at him but gripped Sirius hair pulling his head back to straighten his airway then pulled him back into a close embrace and drove both fists up into his diaphragm.
Harry lunged to his feet his face losing its colour.
"Sirius," he cried and grabbed his godfather's hands which were clawing at his throat. "No...no...Remus, do something."
"I saw this...I saw this," Sibyl Trelawney was on her feet as well. "I said...I said he'd die by choking at around tea time on Christmas Day. I told you so!"
But Remus set his teeth grimly. "Damn you, Padfoot," he snarled, and heaved again.
*
Well, what's going to happen next? I know it's a rotten thing to do to stop here but I couldn't resist.
* annus horribilis During one Xmas Day speech, this was the Queen's description of one particular 'horrible year' when amongst other things, Windsor Castle caught fire and we made her start paying taxes. It caused great hilarity and much mis-spelling at the time.
I had a text from Mike last night and he has discovered an interesting drink that you set fire to and blow it out just before you drink it. He's having fun in Austria but says he's missing us and wants to be back in his own room - all alone. I think he's finding sharing a room with Duncan, who is hyperactive at the best of times, a bit of a strain.
I worry sometimes that I've got the boy into bad habits. Drinking for one thing. I don't know about you but I'd much sooner he got pie-eyed under my supervision than he went out and got alcoholic poisoning all alone. Consequently, all the time we were away he shared fairly equally with the wine and also indulged in some devilish fruit based liquors for which he developed a taste. This led to some interesting - not to say bizarre - conversations...
Mike: I'm going to change my name to Steve.
Me: Oh yeah, why?
Mike: So when I become King I'll be King Steve and then they'll name a bridge after me. It'll be 'King Steve's Kick-ass Bridge'.
Me: Why not have an underpass instead? 'King Steve's Kick-ass Underpass'.
Mike: (giving the suggestion serious consideration) I like it, it rhymes, but a bridge is cooler than an underpass so I'll go with the bridge I think.
Paul, passing, removes depleted bottle of La Pouge plum flavoured metal polish from table.
Over the next twenty-four hours King Steve's court was developed and organised. For a start he'll do away with those tedious trumpets. Instead the fanfares will be played on kazoos. This will necessitate them being fitted with very tiny heraldic banners so, because visiting dignitaries will have difficulty seeing them they will be issued with glasses with magnifying lenses upon arrival. In fact, since glasses are required they will be 3D ones and all the paintings in Buck House will be adjusted accordingly. This should cause a bit of a flutter over the more 'classical' subjects but every household can do with a talking point. That National Anthem will have to go as well and currently we are at loggerheads over a substitute, unable to choose between Conspiracy of One by the Offspring and the Ying Tong Song, for which there is at least some precedent. Mike also feels it would be a nice idea to play music to visiting dignitaries to make them feel at home. Several suggestions were made that betray more than I feel entirely happy about British prejudices and ignorance - for instance 'I'm a Lumberjack' for the Canadian Ambassador, sung in French (or in an extremely broad French accent) so Quebec doesn't feel left out, 'Mademoiselle from Armentieres' for the French Cultural Attache and 'A Four-legged Friend' for the President of the United States of America (though the last was also suggested as a possibility for Rhodri Morgan, leader of the Welsh National Assembly, but rejected on the grounds that the Welsh get a little sick of sheep jokes).
There would, of course, be roles for all the family at court. Grandma would be the Queen Grandmother and wave a lot, though if she found it boring she could get a man to do it for her. Mike agreed with the others that I should take over from Princess Ann and could be i/c Public Affairs, Telling the Press to Naff Off and carrying out inspections of the armed services (Mike sanctioned my desire to do something about those boring military uniforms - camo is sooo 1940s - so visitors to the metrollops will be treated to regular troopings of the Kings Archers in really tight hose, the Kings cavalry men in really tight breeches and the newly reconstituted Legio Augusta in the new mini tunica). Jenny will be Mistress of the King's Music, claiming the title due to her ability, she said, horrible child, to play two kazoos at once, one by mouth and the other - well, the less said about that the better. Paul turned down the offer of the post of Grand Vizier on the grounds that he didn't suit a turban. Instead he will take to the heather and lead an anti-monarchist revolutionary movement.
Another quote:
Me: (to Mike) Allright you may finish the plum brandy but give the bottle to your sister to sniff.
Right Here's almost the last bit of the challenge fic:
Snowballing on the slope above the house could be mimed and a tin tray with a powerful levitation charm made an adequate substitute for a sledge on the short, rabbit-cropped grass. There was a lot of shouting, a lot of laughter and a total lack of success in making 'turf angels'. However, as the afternoon had gone on Sirius' good humour had become rather more strained and Remus had caught him a couple of times looking around at the house, the hillsides and the company as though trying to memorise every single detail. He chatted to Bill for a while and made him laugh, but Bill became very quiet and thoughtful when Sirius moved on. Remus noticed that shortly after that Bill made a point of making a fuss of Ron and Ginny, the three red heads clustering closely in a demonstration of Weasley familial affection.
Sirius spoke to Dumbledore, chased Hermione and Ginny with a spring of mistletoe culled from the bunch in the house, caught them, fended off Ron's assault good-naturedly and took Harry to one side for a little conversation that had the boy turning pink with pleased embarrassment. Shortly afterwards Harry sidled up to Remus and cleared his throat.
"This is going to work, isn't it Professor Lupin?" he demanded gruffly.
Remus laid a hand on his shoulder.
"I see no reason why it shouldn't," he said, quietly. "Oh, look, look! Sirius is talking to Snape."
The conversation, whatever it was, was rather one sided and somewhat stilted and left Snape with some unaccustomed colour in his cheeks as well, while Sirius flung himself back into the fun with an air of desperation.
After a while the adults went inside to turn on the Wizarding Wireless Network to listen to the Queen's Speech and make some tea.
"Nice speech," Remus commented to Sirius as he chopped vegetables for salad.
"Yes," said Dumbledore, busily magicking brandy butter into a thick layer under all the lids of the mince pies. "The old dear seems a lot more cheerful since that problem with her annus horribilis* has cleared up. I sent her a small jar of the preparation I use myself and had a quite delightful letter of thanks in return."
Sirius made a face then continued piling a plate with cold goose from which he had removed every single bone while Snape palmed an ulna with the intention of slipping it onto Sirius plate later and Bill watched him like a hawk with the intention of slipping it off again. When the kids came back in, looking cool, relaxed and a little damp round the edges due to their lightning trip up to the beck, tea was on the table and they washed their hands and began to pile their plates with enthusiasm. Sirius watched them wistfully then went and helped himself to a large mug of the devil's brew in the cauldron.
"I'm not hungry," he replied to Remus' offer the fill a plate for him.
"Nonsense," Snape said shortly, "you must keep your strength up. Here have this!" Then he scowled as Bill neatly fielded the plate he was offering, fumbled it, dropped it and consigned the contents, including the bone, to the bin with a word of apology.
"Sorry about that," Bill said to Remus. "Just call me butterfingers."
Remus realising something had been going on looked, shocked, at Snape and passed Sirius another plate.
"Here you go," he said.
Sirius took the plate reluctantly. There wasn't a chair available but that was OK; if he had to go he was determined to die on his feet. He looked up straight into Remus' worried eyes.
"Thanks Moony," he said.
They did their best to pay no attention as he took his first bite, chewed and swallowed but it was a nervy business and Hermione's hands were shaking and Ron knocked over the salad dressing. In fact the situation was so tense that Remus closed his eyes, desperate for it all to be over. With his eyes closed his ears were working overtime and so he was the only one to hear Dumbledore's almost inaudible whisper of "Constricto trachea."
Remus eyes flew open and he darted forward as Sirius coughed and tensed. He turned to Remus, his eyes watering, his face reddening and, amazingly, he smiled and extended a hand to grip Remus shoulder. Harry took the plate from his other hand, Remus gripped him around the chest, Bill hit him between the shoulder blades with the edge of his hand and Dumbledore unobtrustively lifted the curse.
Sirius drew in a whooping breath, then another.
"Damn, Sirius," Bill said. "You had me scared for a moment there."
"You were scared?" Sirius husked.
"Yeah, I suddenly remembered what that demented woman Trelawney said," Bill laughed. "Remember? She said you'd choke on Christmas Day."
"Sibyl Trelawney?" Remus chimed in with his section of the script. "Lord, Sirius, you don't want to take any notice of what she says. Harry, how many times has she predicted your death?"
"Once a week since year three," Harry replied. "She's a loony."
"But Emilia Dee...," Sirius protested.
"A good old fashioned Seer," Dumbledore agreed, "and you just don't get those in the teaching professions these days, they can make so much better money playing the Stock Exchange. No, when I employed Sibyl, bless her, she was the best available and she certainly covers the curriculum. Her obsession with death and disaster is a relatively small price to pay. Now, who wants pudding?"
The party continued until just short of midnight with Sirius being the life and soul of it and Snape, blown away by disappointment, drank far too much. This was soon noticed and he was subtly encouraged and plied with more alcohol until it took hardly any effort to persuade him to join Remus in a spirited rendition of "I will Survive". Severus belted out the song with gusto, slapping his thigh rhythmically as an accompaniment. Remus had to close his eyes to avoid forgetting the words and Sirius just sat down and sobbed with laughter.
Eventually, they had to call it a night. Sirius was seated quietly on the heartrug with Harry beside him. From their happy faces and intent expressions Remus surmised that they were talking about James and Lily, or Quidditch. Either way they were occupied, so he eased across to Dumbledore who was finishing off the last few mince pies.
"Headmaster?"
Dumbledore smiled and dusted the crumbs from his beard. "Molly's mincepies improve upon acquaintance," he said. "Ah, yes. I see that young Sirius is now happy, relaxed and recovered from the distress of the past few weeks. Now all that remains is to make a few modifications to his memory so all this becomes a blur."
"That's rather a pity," Remus said. "We've all had a great time."
"Well, it's either a memory modification spell or we have to tell him that he took a curse to the head on St Stephens Day and spent eight months in a coma."
"I see what you mean. Well, where do you want to do it? Does he need to be lying down?"
"No, no, dear boy," Dumbledore said cheerfully, "I did it while we were talking and it'll take effect overnight while he's asleep. Now, if we can just wake Severus up to administer the antidote to his most excellent potion...Hmmm, I don't suppose there's any cake left?"
*
There were several results of that days activities:
The next morning Sirius slept late and awoke with the feeling that he had had a most peculiar dream. Later over breakfast, he watched Remus' slender hands buttering a roll and experienced another really peculiar feeling. He took to having frequent cold baths and going for long walks in the late evening but it did little to help. He swam in the cold waters of the beck and embarked upon a correspondence course in practical potions. He went up to the dry stone wall, kicked it flat and rebuilt it from scratch with the fairies looking on knowingly. He took up tai chi and yoga and read all the back copies of the Journal of Arithmancy but the odd feelings persisted and seemed to be getting worse.
In the last week of August, while shopping with her mother in Cheltenham in preparation for her return to school, Hermione insisted that she was sick of sensible white underwear from Marks and Spencer and instead went to the Lingerie section of John Lewis's Department Store. While queuing up to pay for the sporty little items she had selected, including one delicious confection of raspberry coloured lace, she spotted Peter Pettigrew entering the Men's Clothing Department. At her insistence the CCTV tapes were formally reviewed. That they clearly showed Pettigrew to be alive and in robust health was of far more interest to the Wizarding authorities than the fact that he was shoplifting for boxers.
At Dumbledore's next meeting Snape seemed unusually interested in Sirius' welfare and asked several rather pointed questions. Remus, disquieted, remembered that an exploding parcel wasn't really Severus style and suspected that there might be more to it than that. Over the next few days he noticed that Sirius tended to be wearing rather more around the house than he had formerly, that he favoured heavy concealing robes rather than his jeans, that he would often leave the room hurriedly if Remus entered it, as he often did, in just a towel on a trip between bedroom and bathroom. As an inveterate hoarder of 'useful' items it didn't take him long to find the piece of string and only a little longer to isolate the residual potion. He decided not to tell Sirius for the time being but began to brew a few potions of his own.
His name cleared, on paper if not in open court, Sirius was finally free to leave Remus' little home. Their parting was regretful and formal - a handshake at arms length that left Sirius' groin aching for the rest of the day and Remus vowing retribution. Sirius returned to his former position as an Auror but not on active service. Instead he was seconded to the training establishment that the Aurors shared on the outskirts of Hereford where he taught Muggle Familiarisation and Unarmed Combat to the young recruits. Over the next few months his reputation as a red-hot drill sergeant was only equalled by his reputation in the sack - Snape's potion was almost entirely not to blame.
Christmas came round again. This time, Sirius being persona grata, they celebrated at Hogwarts. Perhaps inevitably Sibyl Trelawney was on her way down to dinner when Remus and Harry pelted into the entrance hall, covered in snow and pursued by a great black dog.
"Grim! Grim!" she shrieked.
"Oh no, not again," Remus moaned. But this time Sirius could speak for himself and Sibyl went into dinner clinging to his arm and simpering up at him admiringly.
"Oh, Mr Black," she said, "I, of course, have always been one of your supporters. Those of us blessed with the inner eye never for one instant believed the dreadful things they said about you and I can confidently predict a long and happy future for you."
"Really, Sibyl? I may call you Sibyl, mayn't I?" Sirius smiled down at her and she flushed and tittered. Remus caught Sirius eye and shook his head and Sirius grinned and shrugged.
Snape was late emerging from his dungeon and stalked off through the corridors in no good humour. He had no particular desire to join the company for dinner but knew that if he didn't make an appearance Dumbledore would only come down to the dungeon with a plate loaded with the most disgusting sweetmeats and stand over him while he ate them.
"Have another brandied cherry, my boy," he burbled, in a falsetto parody. "You must keep your strength up."
He was approaching the Hall when a dark figure detached itself from the shadows where it had been lurking and stepped into his path. He stopped and eyed Sirius Black with loathing.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"To thank you," Sirius said gruffly, his eyes gleaming in the candlelight. "Remus and I have never been happier. It took us a while to catch on to what you had done but, just to show that there's no hard feelings..."
His grab lifted Severus from his feet and slammed him back against the wall. The air whooshed from his lungs and, as his mouth opened involuntarily, Sirius kissed him. He rapidly discovered the futility in wriggling - besides, wriggling just brought more of his body into disturbing contact with the rock hard muscles currently pinning him to the wall, so he endured the kiss, seething. Sirius took his time over it but, luckily, one kiss seemed to be the extent of his interest. He gently removed himself from Snape's vicinity, stepping back out of range of fist or knee, then he smiled.
"I won't tell anyone if you won't," he said. "Dinner will be served as soon as we are seated so come on." Then he turned and walked away leaving Snape gaping with utter bewilderment.
Back in the Hall Remus watched Sirius approach and raised his eyebrows interrogatively.
"Well," he asked. "How did it go?"
Sirius gave him a beatific grin, as he reached up to pop the antidote in his mouth.
"I feel such a tart," he whispered as he took his seat. "Mission accomplished but without Snape's potion I don't think I could have done it."
It was a memorable dinner. Snape had expected further humiliation but Sirius and Remus divided their attention fairly equally between each other, the children and the ladies present (Sirius did catch his eye at one point and gave him a wicked look, his tongue tip just visible against his upper lip but when he looked again, just to check, you understand, the vile creature was sharing a joke with Minerva McGonagall). Dumbledore was on good form, with a paper hat balanced over the end of his usual headgear, and pulling crackers left, right and centre. The children, Harry, the sole Gryffindor for once, were well-behaved though a little noisy. The food, astonishingly, seemed to have improved. Snape had seconds of the excellent turkey and thirds of the superb cranberry stuffing and crisp light roast potatoes. Then pudding was served. Normally he would have departed at this point, but today decided to have just a taste. It was utterly delicious. He had another helping and found himself smiling as he watched the brandy butter and cream melt into each other across the rich dark stuff in smooth perfection. He slowly raised his spoon to his mouth.
"It's working," Remus whispered to Sirius, looking anywhere but at Snape.
"Remus, you are a marvel," Sirius grinned.
The potion was a subtle one and had caused Remus a lot of headaches but he had succeeded in brewing it in the end. The thing was, while the potion that Snape had given Sirius had been potentially embarrassing it had not done him any real harm. It would have been easy to hex the man in retaliation or to set a Pedus Concinne charm on him (an old favourite that made the charmed one mince as though wearing four-inch stilettos) but that would have been far too obvious - they were grown ups now after all. Instead, he had anointed Sirius lips with a balm containing hearts-ease, loose-strife and passiflora, lads-and-lasses, love-in-a-mist and morning glory. Absorbed through the skin, and with no residue to speak of, or analyse, Snape should be strangely contented, should find himself appreciating ordinary things like food and warmth and sunlight. He would smile more often and the action of smiling would release endorphins that would make him even more relaxed and happy. This would make him more attractive, would attract interest and friendship. Might even possibly lead to things like relationships, friendships, desire and fulfilment. As a revenge, Remus thought, it was pretty dastardly.
"Look at him," Sirius murmured. "He's enjoying that pudding so much! Heck, I think I might have some."
Dumbledore eyed them with pleasure as they served themselves from a nearby pudding and passed the bowl along to Harry. Slowly the bowl passed from hand to hand until all the guests had a portion. He was glad they were using it, it was the special one that he had requested the house elves to make to his own recipe. The one with the special ingredients.
"What I really need to finish this meal off," Sibyl Trelawney announced, "is a nice cup of tea!"
"I think I'll join you, " Snape agreed. "I'm partial to African Gold personally."
"I've always preferred Acapulco Gold myself," Remus said innocently and Sirius drew breath to laugh and accidentally inhaled the large golden Galleon that Dumbledore had insisted should be substituted for the usual Sickles, feeling that Sickles weren't quite 'Christmassy' enough. He gasped, turned red and began to choke.
Remus glanced at him and grinned.
"Very funny, Padfoot," he said, "but it's been done."
Harry laughed.
Sirius turned purple.
Dumbledore laughed too.
"Oh dear," he said. "It looks as though Sirius has found the Galleon."
"Galleon?" Remus leaped to his feet, snatched Sirius out of his chair and locked his arms around him from behind.
"Oh, please!" said Snape looking up from his pudding with distaste and utterly unaware of the situation. "Pas devant les enfants."
Remus scowled at him but gripped Sirius hair pulling his head back to straighten his airway then pulled him back into a close embrace and drove both fists up into his diaphragm.
Harry lunged to his feet his face losing its colour.
"Sirius," he cried and grabbed his godfather's hands which were clawing at his throat. "No...no...Remus, do something."
"I saw this...I saw this," Sibyl Trelawney was on her feet as well. "I said...I said he'd die by choking at around tea time on Christmas Day. I told you so!"
But Remus set his teeth grimly. "Damn you, Padfoot," he snarled, and heaved again.
*
Well, what's going to happen next? I know it's a rotten thing to do to stop here but I couldn't resist.
* annus horribilis During one Xmas Day speech, this was the Queen's description of one particular 'horrible year' when amongst other things, Windsor Castle caught fire and we made her start paying taxes. It caused great hilarity and much mis-spelling at the time.
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(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-25 05:42 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-25 05:58 pm (UTC)I haven't replied to your post on yor LJ because I didn't want to add to your pissed offness! Hope it's passing.
(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-25 06:14 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-08-25 06:18 pm (UTC)Now I've got to settle down with the fic and write the smutty part and that is going to be very difficult - it's not something I've ever done before and I keep getting all lyrical.