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Chapter 9: Dance Time! Or, A Mockery Of February
The trio stood in a dark corner of a corridor, looking tense. Well, actually, Hermione looked tense, Harry and Ron were playing “I Spy.”
“I spy, with my little eyes, something starting with…B,” said Ron.
“Is it a brick?” asked Harry.
“Uh, no, it’s bricks. With an S. Nice try, though.”
“Will you two stop that?” Hermione interrupted tensely. “It’s quite annoying.”
“You’re worrying too much,” Ron said. “Ginny’ll be here in a minute.”
“Hey, guys?” said a voice behind them.
The three turned to see Ginny and Luna, who was carrying a large turnip, standing there. “About time you noticed we were here,” Ginny continued.
“When did you get here?” Ron asked incredulously.
“Fifteen minutes ago. We couldn’t get your attention because you were too busy playing ‘I Spy.’ Which is really pathetic, because you spied me four times.”
“Oh, er, okay.” Ron flushed and stared at his shoes. Hermione rushed around him and asked hurriedly, “Well, did you find anything?”
“Well, there’s a pirate ship on the lake. They’ve been after the giant squid, thought it’s not giving up easily, said Ginny.
“I won a ribbon for this lovely Wagglebulb,” said Luna, holding the turnip out proudly.
“Anything inside the castle?” Hermione asked impatiently.
“You have to understand, it’s hard to get any information with Neville around,” explained Ginny.
“Why?”
“Ever since he was made queen of the flying monkeys, it’s hard to get anywhere in the castle,” said Luna.
There was an awkward pause while everyone stared at Luna. “Uh…” said Harry.
Ginny shrugged. “It’s true. You have to have password clearance, and they’ve taken all of the bananas.”
“Anything else? Anything relevant?” asked Hermione.
“Nope, sorry.” said Ginny. “Though there is this rumor of a dance going around.” She scratched her chin with her hook.
“WHAT?” Ron grabbed Ginny’s wrist. “When did this happen?”
She shrugged again. “I got it from the pirates.”
“That’s where I got this Wagglebulb,” added Luna, polishing the turnip. “It’s very rare.”
Hermione sighed. “Luna, that’s a turnip, not a wacky bulb, or whatever.”
“It is a Wagglebulb. Watch.” She set it on the floor. It started to shake a bit, then it jumped up and latched onto Ron’s head. He started screaming and running circles.
“Getitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff-“
“Hey kids!” called Dumbledore, electric sliding into the hallway. “The dance is officially on! It’ll be Saturday at eight. Tell your friends! Though I imagine that Neville’s monkey spy network will have everyone informed quickly. That and the fliers on the bulletin boards.” He broke into an Irish high step and left the hall with a final, “See you there!”
“-getitoffgetitoffgetitoffgetitoff-“
“Just hold your nose,” said Luna.
Ron stopped screaming, grabbed his nose, and immediately the plant let go of his head. Luna caught it (the turnip, not Ron) while Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, thanks for the information, such as it was.” She turned and started down the hall. Harry and Ron followed.
“Where are we going?” Ron asked. “Common room? Lunch?”
“Library.”
The boys groaned. Hermione whipped around and glared at them. “I’ve finally got a lead and need your help, so I don’t want to hear any complaining!”
“Aye, aye captain,” said Ron, saluting.
“Wait, a lead on what?” Harry asked.
“A lead on this spell. I know just the book to help us, too.”
“You’re not still on about this Power of Suggestion thing, are you?”
“And what if I am?”
Ron rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, Hermione. I say, ride it out and have fun doing it.”
“Not a chance. Besides,” she said, starting down the hall again, “When have I ever had fun?”
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In the library, Hermione searched feverishly along the shelves. Harry and Ron had given up helping, since they had no idea what book Hermione was looking for, so they were just getting in the way. They were actually looking for an empty table to sit at when Hermione came up behind them and said, “That’s the book!”
She was pointing to someone who’s face was hidden behind a large tome entitled When Strange Magic Goes Bad. The person also had a coffee cup and a CD player on the table.
“No way…” whispered Harry.
“What?” asked Snape pointedly. The trio screamed.
“How’d he get out of the cow?” asked Ron in a panicky voice.
“Magic.” Snape retorted. “And will you keep it down?” he added in a snarl. He looked over his shoulder to make sure Madam Pince was still checking books out to some fourth years. “I don’t want anyone to know I’m alive until Saturday.”
“Why Saturday?” asked Hermione, making sure to keep her voice low.
Snape stared at her. “You’re joking, right?”
“No…”
He sighed angrily. “The dance, Granger. I assumed you knew, since you’re on the planning committee.”
“I’m what?”
“On the planning committee.”
“He’s right!” said Ron, looking at a flier. Sure enough, Hermione was listed as one of the party planners.
“How did I get to be part of this dance? I only just heard about it!”
“Longbottom,” answered Snape.
“What, Neville?” asked Harry. “Did he come up with this dance idea?”
“Probably. He’s got a disturbing amount of clout in the school anymore.”
“Yeah, and he knows Hermione’s the smartest in the year, so he’d want her help!” said Ron.
“For once, Weasley, you’re right,” sneered Snape (I love that alliteration). “And since Granger is now planning this thing, I hope to utilize her position.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Ron threateningly.
“It means, I can finally stop this stupid spell and Arbitrare once and for all.” He stood up. “Granger, I need to come with you to your planning meeting.”
“What? Why? Where?” sputtered Hermione.
“The best laid plans, Granger. It won’t be hard to find out where the meeting is.”
“I thought you didn’t want anyone to know you’re alive until the dance,” said Harry.
“I don’t.” He put on a fake beard.
“You look like Hans Gruber.”
“Who?” asked Ron, confused.
“Never mind,” said Harry.
“Come on, we’ve got a dance to plan.” Said Snape. And he ushered Hermione out of the library.
"No, he's accosting Hermione!" said Ron. "I wanted to do that!"
Harry stared at him.
"Uh, I mean, let's follow them!"
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Soon, the planning meeting was over, and our heroes found themselves walking back to the common room.
“Is it just me, or is Snape really starting to lose it?” asked Ron.
“It’s not just you,” said Harry.
At the meeting, Snape, in his terrible yet disturbingly effective disguise, had taken every opportunity to try and set up Arbitrare’s untimely demise. He’d suggested everything from flesh-eating confetti to dropping the chandelier on Arbitrare, to spiking the drinks (or more specifically, Arbitrare’s drink). And he did this while amazingly making it seem like is homicidal plans were all in the name of fun.
“He’s not losing it,” snapped Hermione. “He’s just trying to stop this spell.”
“Tell that to the kid he threw the confetti at,” said Ron.
“Or the guy who got his drink spiked,” added Harry.
“And who could forget the rousing game of ‘Pin the Chandelier on Neville.’”
“That’s enough from both of you,” Hermione interrupted angrily. “Since you won’t bother helping, Snape may be the only one able to helps us stop the stupid Power of Suggestion.”
“This dance is going to be a disaster,” muttered Ron.
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Saturday evening arrived with a bang. That’s because someone had eaten fireworks. They had to rush him to the hospital wing with the seat of his pants on fire.
Anyway, the dance, for as many rumors had been flying around about it, started off rather dull. People milled about for a bit, getting drinks and making small talk. The trio caught sight of Snape, still wearing his fake beard and talking to Dumbledore.
“Hello there!” greeted Dumbledore as the three approached. “Have you met Jacque?”
“Yeah, actually,” admitted Harry.
“But yes, you were saying?” Dumbledore turned back to Snape, er, Jacque. Snape then started off in fluent French, and Dumbledore looked intensely interested.
“I didn’t know Snape spoke French,” muttered Harry.
“I didn’t know Dumbledore understood it,” marveled Hermione.
“It looks like he’s faking it,” said Ron.
“Who, Snape or Dumbledore?” asked Harry.
“Take your pick.” They laughed while Hermione scowled and looked around.
“When is this dance going to get started?” she wondered aloud.
“When His Highness arrives,” said Ginny, coming over with Luna, still carrying her giant turnip.
“His Highness?”
“Neville,” clarified Ginny.
“He’s queen of the flying monkeys now,” added Luna dreamily. “He ought to be here soon, don’t worry.”
No sooner had she said that, than Neville arrived, more to get the plot moving than anything else. He looked rather ridiculous, wearing a large sparkly crown and carrying a scepter with an equally sparkly banana on top. He threw his arms out wide and boomed, “Let the festivities begin!”
This one sentence had a similar effect on the crowd as a blackout does on a group of potential rioters. Namely, chaos. Within five seconds a whole corner of the Great Hall was on fire, some people were screaming, others were slapping each other with fish, and music was blaring,
“Hey, who’s that?” yelled one of the Patil twins over the noise. Harry looked where she was pointing. It was Snape, and he was playing with a mixing board (where does all this Muggle stuff come from, anyway?).
“Oh, that’s, er, Hans,” invented Harry, using his previous reference to Snape’s fake beard. “Hans, um, Wunderlich. The best deejay in the wizarding world.”
“What’s a deejay?”
“He’s in charge of the music.”
“Oh. Someone should tell him to turn it down.”
Harry grumbled, and started for Snape. He was passing a kitchen sink filled with 47 pineapples, when the doors to the Hall burst open with a rush of cold air. Silence filled the hall as everyone saw who had entered.
“Whoa, it’s chilly out!” said Voldemort as he handed a long fur coat (but not a real fur coat, that’s cruel) to a nearby Death Eater. Along with his usual Death Eaters in tow, Voldemort had brought along a number of dementors in party hats. “So, how’s it going?”
No one spoke. The Death Eaters, who had graciously ditched the crappy cone hats, started shuffling into a dark corner. “Aw, c’mon…” whined Voldemort. “What’s the problem?”
“Well, possibly, Tom,” replied Dumbledore, “Since you’re a very feared wizard, you’re making people uncomfortable.”
Voldemort laughed. “Please, this is humor fan fiction! The most evil I can muster is gate crashing a school dance. It’s not like I pose a real threat or anything!”
There was a collective, “Ohhh!” and people started laughing and enjoying themselves with mayhem again. Snape, er, Jacque, er, Hans started the music again, then left his post to get a drink. He hadn’t gotten far when something stopped him in his tracks.
“Hiya, Snape,” said Arbitrare with an evil grin. Snape turned slowly. “Hello, Arbitrare,” he said, and pulled off his fake beard. There were many gasps and many exclamations of “He’s not dead!” at this. “No, I’m not dead,” said Snape. “But you are.” He pointed his wand at Arbitrare.
“Sorry, I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” said a mysterious stranger. The stranger had amazingly fabulous hair and a mischievous grin.
“Who says I can’t?” Snape asked angrily.
“I says, and since I’m the author, I’m afraid my word sticks.” There were more gasps at this announcement. “Exactly. So, no killing off Arbitrare. But since I’m going to be leaving the vicinity to compete in a talent competition and won’t be able to stop you, I will let you punch him in the nose for the umbrella bit.”
“Oh, alright.” Snape punched Arbitrare in the nose.
Speaking of punch, let’s go to the punch bowl, where there were many odd discussions going on.
******
“You are one fine looking woman,” Neville was saying to a rather disinterested looking Jedi. “If it weren’t against your religion to date, I’d go out with you like that!” He slapped his hand on the table.
Just then, a disgruntled looking yet gorgeous elf with a nametag reading “Hello! My name is Legolas” wandered up. “Hey, she’s mine!” he growled. “Go find someone your own caliber. See if the Hog’s Head has a barmaid yet.” He laughed derisively.
“You wanna go, pretty boy? Let’s go then!” shouted Neville, and he shoved Legolas’s head into the punch bowl.
******
Ew. Um, let’s go listen in on another conversation, shall we?
******
“Oh, I’ve heard it all!” Voldemort was saying to a rather disinterested Bellatrix. “The Dork Lord, Lord Moldy-shorts, Lord Moldy-mort, Moldy Voldy, The Dark Lard…there’s plenty more, I’m sure. Why don’t people fear my name? They’re supposed to be afraid of me, not make fun of me at every turn! It’s just not easy being evil, I tell ya.”
“Yes, well,” said Bellatrix, inching away. “I’m going over there now.”
“No, wait! Aw, now who am I supposed to complain to?” He looked around. “Hey, you want to be friends?” Voldemort asked a now sopping wet Legolas.
******
Who knew evil was so boring? Let’s go back to Harry, Ron and Hermione.
******
“Say, Ron,” said Hermione, looking into her half-empty glass. “Do you ever think we could be more than just friends?”
Ron choked on the tart he was eating. “W-What?” he spluttered.
Harry, not wanting to listen in on this, started slurping noisily on his glass of punch.
“I said, do you think we could be more than just friends?” repeated Hermione, blushing now. “Because, well, I, um, like you.”
Ron started choking even more violently on his food. “Where did this come from?!”
“Oh, come on, Ron, it’s been fairly obvious for years now. Hasn’t it, Harry?”
Harry muttered something like “Yeah, sure,” as he spied Ginny and started following her.
******
Wow, this is getting a little 3rd-5th year. Let’s go back to Snape.
******
Snape stood by the punch bowl, debating whether or not to have a drink. He was deciding on no, since someone’s head had been in the bowl not too long ago, when Bellatrix wandered up.
“Snape,” she said, rather detachedly.
“Bellatrix,” he acknowledged. “How’s the Dark Lord doing?”
“Oh, the usual,” she said, pouring herself some punch. “The ‘why doesn’t anyone like me’ speech. But with a twist this time.”
“Oh?”
She nodded and sipped her drink. “It’s more along the lines of why his name isn’t striking fear into the wizarding world anymore. I say it’s because it was pretty stupid to begin with.”
“Don’t let him hear you saying that,” Snape warned.
“He’s too busy chatting with the elf to notice.” She sipped the punch again. “But enough about the Dark Lord. Let’s talk about you.”
Snape stared. “What?”
“You heard me. I want to talk about you.”
Snape cleared his throat. “Um, that’s new. Aren’t you married?” he asked, trying a different tack.
“Oh, Rodolpho, or whatever his name was?” She waved her hand dismissively. “He’s an idiot. Actually, he should be dead by now. I pushed him in the lake and I think the giant squid ate him.”
“Is that right?” Snape was inching away now.
“Absolutely. You know, I don’t know why I married him in the first place. But now that’s he’s out of the picture, I’ve got bigger fish to fry.” She stared pointedly at him.
“Um, I’m going to go over there now,” said Snape hurriedly, and he zipped away. He was so busy hurrying along that he almost ran into the author, who was wearing ice skates.
“Stand back, Snape,” said FriendsOfSnape, throwing an arm out to stop Snape from sliding into the makeshift rink. “It’s my turn now.”
“For what?”
“For ice skating in the Annual Death Eater Talent Contest! I’m going for gold here.” And with that, FoS, as we’ll call me for short, started off. A fantastic program was performed (which is quite hilarious, as in real life I’m rather terrible at ice skating), and the author left the ice to await the scores. The judges contemplated for a minute, then wrote down their scores and held up the cards. 10, 10, 10, 9.5, 10…
“WHAT?!” FoS took a skate and threw it at the cheap judge, who promptly fell over with a rather large laceration. “Yes! Who’s winning now?” A couple of angry looking Death Eaters pulled out their wands and started hurling curses.
“Eep!” said the author, and ducked. The curses barely missed several spectators, and a few others, including Bellatrix, who was making a beeline for Snape.
“Oh no…” he groaned.
The ever-astute author looked over at the impending doom. “Women trouble, huh?”
“You could say that,” replied Snape, searching for an escape route.
“Well, I’m not going to help you. Because I’m no great relationship expert. But since I’m the author, let me just say that if running from her doesn’t work, just go with it. Oh, and try the punch.” With that, I left the story to the actual characters.
“Oh, Severus…” called Bellatrix, slipping between various folks and a suit of armor with a large lavender plume on its helmet.
“Hey, watch it!” said the armor indignantly. “Just wait till my father hears about this…”
Bellatrix stopped and looked back at the armor. “Draco?” she asked. “I thought you were dead!”
“I was, but I came back as a suit of armor, and now I’m trying to find the trio so I can haunt them.”
“Sounds like a plan. I’d love to stay and chat, but I really must dash.” She turned around and searched again for Snape. But he was gone! Escaped into the entrance hall, to be precise.
Snape stood panting outside the Great Hall. That had been close. What was causing all these people to act so strange? Granger was usually not so forthcoming with her relationship issues, and Potter, girl crazy as he was, was currently a penguin with a bag over his head and seemed incapable of putting the moves on anything other than a fish fillet. And how about Bellatrix? Hadn’t he said just two chapters ago that she’d hated him for years? So what had changed?
As Snape was pondering this, someone else burst into the hall, slamming the doors to the Great Hall behind him. Ron, doubled over and panting harder than Snape, was saying, “I think I lost her…”
“Lost who?” Snape asked snidely (he knew perfectly well who Ron had lost).
“Hermione,” gasped Ron, “She’s been following me all night; I don’t know what’s wrong with her.”
Just then, a couple of giggling third years staggered out of the Hall.
“Hey, did you see that person stalking the not really dead Snape?” said the first one, sloshing a glass of punch.
“Yeah, can you imagine Snape with a girlfriend?” giggled the second one.
“Snape with a girlfriend? When Hagrid’s Snorkack flies!” They both started laughing uncontrollably.
“I’ll take that,” snapped Snape (another great alliteration), swiping the kid’s glass of punch.
“EEEEK!” the kids squealed, and they ran for dear life.
Snape scowled after them, then turned his attention to the punch he’d stolen. He looked into it, looked at it in the light, shook it a little bit. He was just taking a whiff of it when Ron came over.
“Thought so,” said Snape triumphantly. He tossed the contents of the glass over his shoulder.
“Thought what, Professor?” asked Ron.
“The punch has been spiked with Cupid’s Concoction. It’s a love potion, Weasley,” he clarified at Ron’s confused look. “A rather insipid and random one, but effective nonetheless. Its pink color and the low lighting let it blend perfectly with the punch. This must be why everyone is acting strange. Well, stranger than usual.”
“Hey, yeah!” exclaimed Ron. “Hermione had some, and so did Harry!”
“And so did Bellatrix,” mumbled Snape.
“Who?”
“Bellatrix. The woman who was following me.”
“Bellatrix Lestrange?” gasped Ron.
“Yes. Well, I’m not sure about that anymore. She said her husband got eaten by the squid.”
“Ew.”
“Hmm…” said Snape, staring at the glass. There were a couple drops left of the punch/potion. He caught one on the tip of his finger and tasted it. It actually didn’t taste that bad, and he was suddenly feeling rather daring and stupid. Rather like how his brain was all muddled when he wrote the infamous lists.
Rather like a teenager.
Snape glanced up at Ron. “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
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The dance was going quite well. People were still acting insane, but it was less random pandemonium. The fire in the corner was now a controlled blaze, and in fact some folks were toasting marshmallows over it. The somewhat calm chaos was broken by the doors banging open.
Ron entered, ran straight to the punch bowl, guzzled a couple glasses, and then took off to find Hermione. The doors had just shut when they swung open with a bang again. “Who keeps doing that?” wondered Neville. This was his dance, after all, and he wasn’t going to have the doors making noise all evening. Then he saw that it was Snape who threw the doors open this time, and decided against incurring wrath.
Snape stood silhouetted in the doorway. He let the doors swing shut dramatically behind him (“For the love!” exclaimed Neville). He scanned the crowd, then started forward. Bellatrix saw him enter, and started forward also.
And there, under the decorations of flying pigz and flying cowz (no, I didn’t misspell anything, it’s a brand name), they….
I’ll bet I know what you’re thinking. They met and hugged and kissed and made all the onlookers gag and shout “Gross! Raise the rating on this story!”
Well, you’d be wrong. Now, to rid us all of the disturbing mental pictures, I’ll tell you what really happened.
They almost met. As it was, Bellatrix was going in for the kill (known in some circles as a hug), when Snape ducked her, and went straight to the punch bowl. He started knocking back glasses of punch, rather like Ron did. Voldemort was still there, and he said, “You know someone’s head was in the bowl, right?”
“I don’t care,” said Snape in between gulps of punch. He finished the glass he was on, and did a very un-Snape-like thing and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. Then he whipped around and started for Bellatrix.
Now you can let your imaginations run wild.
 Peridot_Horntail · Sun Sep 09, 2007 @ 04:50am · 0 Comments |
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