Bring me the nastiest colours known to humanity (blpaintchart) wrote in snape_after_dh, @ 2007-10-17 11:17:00 |
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The Best Stays of Our Lives.
“It’s smaller than I imagined. Don’t get me wrong, I think it looks lovely. Just, er…”
“Smaller?”
“Yes, smaller. Well, I mean not really tiny, not miniscule or anything. I suppose I just expected it to be a bit more…um…imposing.” Ginny felt a rare blush as she stared at the Boy-Who-Lived, now bollock-naked in front of her, save for a shiny Order of Merlin, First Class, pinned onto his Gryffindor tie.
“I know what you mean, Ginny. The first time I saw it, I felt a bit disappointed with the size, too. But the filigree work is exquisite, and the enamelling of Merlin’s profile is so beautifully done, that you can’t help admire it, even though it is a bit on the teeny side.”
Ginny blushed an even deeper shade of red. “Oh! The Order of Merlin, right. Yes.” She cleared her throat and hastily looked away.
“Yes, my very own Order of Merlin, First Class.” A sudden frown wiped the smug look from Harry’s face as he added, “Why, what did you think we were talking about?”
“Erm… your cock.”
It was not the way Harry had hoped the day would end. Ginny’s words were one shock too many on an evening that had already been packed full of surprising revelations. It proved to be too much for the young hero, and he did what any self-respecting eighteen-year-old boy would have done under the circumstances. He fainted.
The evening had started so promisingly. True, there weren’t many present who were looking forward to the formal awards ceremony portion of the evening. However, the promise of a glittering gala dinner followed by the excitement of live music, wall-to-wall strippers of all three sexes, and a firewhisky pond had even the dullest witches and wizards wearing their finest robes and politest smiles.
Each recipient was to receive their award in front of large screen that had been spelled to show scenes of the very acts of bravery that had earned his or her medal. It had taken the Ministry months of planning and persuasion, but they had finally succeeded in ‘borrowing’ memories from virtually every participant in the Battle of Hogwarts, and edited them together over an intrusive soundtrack, much like a Muggle feature-film.
Even Draco’s parents had been coerced into donating their memories, despite the fact that they had not been invited to the ceremony. Some of the experiences of Malfoy Senior had been deemed too grisly to show, others too sexually explicit, in a decidedly ‘special interest’ sort of way. It was doubtful whether the latter type of memories would ever actually be returned to their rightful owner, as they made for such sensational viewing.
The Order of Merlin, Second Class, was presented by the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He beamed as he handed the awards to fellow Order members Minerva McGonagall, and Arthur and Molly Weasley. Mrs. Weasley’s presence on the stage met with a standing ovation and cries of “Encore!” as the scene of her dispatching Bellatrix Lestrange was replayed on the screen behind the podium. After the fifth repeat however, Mr. Shacklebolt felt it necessary to insist that they proceed with the ceremony as planned.
A delighted Neville Longbottom got up on the stage, accompanied by his grandmother. The indomitable old witch had found a new lease of life since the battle. She had even undergone a complete makeover, which she claimed was driven by her new zest for life, but was actually because she had become sick of people mistaking her for the infamous Snape Boggart. She smiled proudly when the replay of Neville’s snake slicing skills was met with a massive roar of approval.
Of course, the climax of the evening was to be the presentation of the Order of Merlin, First Class, to the Boy Who Lived, Died, and Lived Again ™. Before that could take place, however, there was the sad task of presenting the posthumous medals to the families of the fallen.
Andromeda Tonks, clutching her Teddy, graciously claimed the awards for both her daughter and son-in-law. The sight would have been one of the most poignant of the night, had not the child chosen that very moment to violently exhale creamy carroty vomit onto the medals.
An astonished crowd wondered at the eerie sight of a dead Fred Weasley accepting his honour, until they realised that it was actually a rather emotional George. Any pathos, however, was quickly forgotten when George levitated Fred’s portrait onto the stage so that it could pronounce the award, “Wicked!” and then treat the crowd to three verses of a decidedly adult rendition of a well-known wizard drinking song. He was eventually silenced when the combined efforts of his parents, George, and Ron stuffed the portrait into Hermione’s beaded purse of professional packing, which made a lively addition to her collection.
Then, a hush descended as the most famous boy in the world took to the stage. He cleared his throat, and began to read from the parchment in his hand, “I have been asked to accept this award on behalf of a man whose bravery and dogged determination were decisive factors…”
There was a slight fidgeting the moment the audience realised that Harry Potter’s speech was written, in all probability, by Hermione Granger, and thus there might be a very long wait for the firewhiskey pond.
“…If you’d have told me last year that I was to be the one who would…”
The audience were, by now, wishing that Harry had asked his other close friend to write the speech. A brief, “Well, we all thought he was a git, but it turns out he was bloody good in the end,” would have been far more welcome at this arse-numbing stage in the evening. But, still the oration continued.
“….Severus Snape was a martyr to the cause, and he died so that we might all enjoy safer, happier lives…”
“No, he wasn’t! And no, he damn well did not!”
For the first time that evening, the Boy Who Lived felt a sickening, lurching feeling as he looked up and saw the shape of a dead man.
“Hands off my medal, Potter!” The silky voice was as deep and crisp and even as the snow in a certain Christmas carol.
The audience turned, as one, to the far side of the hall. There in the doorway stood two familiar figures: a smirking Severus Snape, swathed in velvet robes of dark green, and a dapper, burgundy-clad Remus Lupin, with whom he appeared to be holding hands.
The two men paused, exchanged glances, then swept, as one, to the stage. Gasps and mutterings followed in their wake. The apparent resurrection of dead war heroes was so entirely unexpected that the audience sat, shocked first into stillness, and then into complete silence as all descriptive writing was temporarily suspended.
“Professors!”
“Wrong again, Potter. Mercifully, we are no longer your Professors.”
“Hello Harry! You’re looking well, if a tad shaky. Hang on, I may have some chocolate here…”
“No! You’re… you’re supposed to be dead, not…”
“Not what?”
“Not interrupting me in front of all these important people as I accept this award!”
“My award.”
“Er… yes. Your award.”
“Mr. Potter, I am unsure whether to be more incensed about the fact that you are trying to get your grubby little hands on my Order of Merlin, First Class, or that you seem to believe it is your place to inform me that I am supposed to be dead.”
“Well…”
“I shall therefore resolve this issue by being dangerously furious with everyone.”
“Surely not everyone, Severus.”
“Everyone except you, Remus.”
“But everybody thought you were both dead.”
“What everybody thinks and what is correct very rarely coincide.”
“We weren’t dead, Harry, just taking a little time to sort a few things out.”
“But…”
“We needed to get our … erm… affairs in order.”
“I applaud your choice of words, Remus.”
“Thank you. I aim to please.”
“Oh, I know!”
“Professor Snape, are you smiling? And did you just call him ‘Remus’?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, I never smile.”
“Well, that’s not entirely true, Severus.”
“Remus, will you kindly stop interrupting?”
“Ha! You did! You called him ‘Remus’ again!”
“And what business is it of yours, brat?”
“None, I suppose. But… but you were both dead.”
“So you insist on repeating. This is getting very tedious. Just hand over the award…”
“Hang on… are you two holding hands?”
“That is no concern of yours, Potter.”
“Actually, I think it is. I don’t think my dad would be too pleased if he knew that one of his best friends was…”
“Harry, would you please stop bringing James into our every conversation.”
“…holding hands with that greasy git!”
“Just a moment ago I was a martyr to the cause.”
“Well, just a moment ago you were fucking well dead!”
“So I take it you’ve already forgotten my … what was it?... ‘bravery and dogged determination’? How disappointing.”
“Well, let’s just say I much prefer Snape the dead war hero to Snape the living snarky bastard.”
“So, are you going to tell me why you’re drooling all over Professor Lupin?”
“I beg your pardon, Potter?”
“You haven’t let go of his hand since you turned up. In your poncy clothes.”
“What do you mean, poncy clothes?”
“Green and red? You’re supposed to wear black, and he’s meant to be in brown.”
“Come on, Harry, there’s no rules that say we must stay in those drab colours.”
“Except canon.”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. Anyway, this is a night of celebration!”
“Right. But it’s not bloody Christmas.”
“Pardon?”
“Green and Red! Hang on… are you two together?”
“You’ve got to hand it to the boy, he has indeed inherited his father’s brilliance.”
“You’re a couple of queers?”
“And his father’s tolerant, understanding nature, too.”
“How long?”
“That’s a rather personal question, Harry.”
“Get your mind back out of your trousers please, Remus. The child is, I believe, referring to the duration of our relationship. Which is, of course, absolutely none of his damn business.”
“Since the 11th of December 1977.”
“He doesn’t need to know.”
“I think it’s about time everybody knew, Severus.”
“Oh dear.”
“It all began at the Hogwarts Yule Ball. I’d had two extra helpings of the sherry trifle…”
“That’s enough, Remus.”
“…and needed to go outside to get some air…”
“They don’t want to hear this.”
“…when who do you think was following me? Snivellus!”
“You said you’d never call me that again.”
“Sorry. But you were Snivellus in those days.”
“Professor Lupin, I think Professor Snape was right. We don’t want to hear this.”
“... So, he grabbed my arm, spun me round and said ‘I know what you want!’ then…”
“I said, ‘I know what you want, Wolf!’”
“Oh yes, so you did! And then he shoved me up against the statue of Latimer the Lascivious and fucked me until my nose bled.”
“You know, I would have been so much happier without knowing the details.”
“Ah, those were the days, love.”
“What do you mean, ‘were’? They’re not over yet!”
“Professors, my brain hurts and I really don’t want to be here anymore.”
“The audience has remained suspiciously quiet during our intimate revelations, Severus. Did you cast a Petrificus on them?”
“Actually, no. I expect it was blpaintchart who magicked them into silence.”
“Well, wouldn’t that…”
“Make the story rather two-dimensional? Indeed it does.”
“So why…?”
“She does like to try and concentrate on dialogue without any descriptive interruptions.”
“Well, that’s not a very impressive writing technique.”
“No, but she’s a male brain in a female body, remember?”
“Pardon?”
“She can’t multitask.”
“Hmmm. Remind me to get a better author in future.”
“Indeed I shall. Now, where were we? Ah yes, I believe Potter is about to ask a final question of us…”
“Oh, jolly good! Fire away then, Harry.”
“You were both dead.”
“True.”
“And now you’re both alive…”
“True.”
“… and doing mucky things to each other.”
“True again.”
“So how did you manage it?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Look at him! Twelve stone of sizzling werewolf with puppy-eyes and an arse to die for! Even lesbians can’t keep their hands off him.”
“Er, no I…”
“I can tell you, it’s no hardship getting hard when he’s in the vicinity! Quite the reverse, actually.”
“No, I meant how did you manage to come back from the dead?”
“Oh. I see.”
“Shall we tell them our secret, Severus?”
“Why not? We have bugger-all privacy left, thanks to your nostalgic trip down memory lane.”
“Harry, do you remember upon which day the battle of Hogwarts took place?”
“Er…no. I was rather busy dying and listening to Dumbledore’s metaphysical bullshit, and coming back to life in order to kill Voldemort to notice much more, actually.”
“Oh yes, so you were. Well, it was a Saturday.”
“So?”
“Well, Saturday is corsetry day!”
“Pardon?”
“That’s right, Potter. Saturday has always been the day reserved for corset-wearing.”
“Since when?”
“That is irrelevant.”
“Since the 22nd of July 1984, Harry.”
“This is going to be something else I don’t want to hear, isn’t it?”
“Very probably.”
“…I always knew, of course, that the Dark Lord was planning an assault on Hogwarts, but I didn’t realise it would fall on a Saturday.”
“So, we were in Severus’ office, and I’d just finished lacing him up when…”
“…It became apparent that the shit had hit the fan, so to speak, and we were both required for battle by our respective sides.”
“But, you see, we didn’t have time to wriggle out of our corsets.”
“So, Remus slipped around the back, as he is wont to do, and caught up with the rest of the Order members, whilst I went to duel with the other Professors.”
“And you were both still wearing corsets?”
“Indeed we were. It hampered my ability to fly, I can tell you.”
“Pervert.”
“Thank you.”
“Did Voldemort know that his right hand man made a habit of dressing in girl’s underwear?”
“Yes.”
“And he was cool with that?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Well, it’s a bit weird… and poofy.”
“Potter, the Dark Lord had been leader of the Death Eaters for decades. I doubt there was a kink or perversion he was unfamiliar with.”
“He probably invented some of them, Severus.”
“Indeed.”
“I expect he was actually the mastermind behind those genital…”
“Yes, thank you, Remus! Shall we continue with our story?”
“Oh yes. Sorry.”
“But, Professor Lupin, you died in the battle. I saw your body.”
“I wasn’t actually dead, Harry. You see, Severus had laced me up so tightly that it only took a few minutes of fighting during the battle before I was gasping for breath.”
“Oh.”
“Once Dolohov’s hex floored me, I fainted, and was mistaken for dead.”
“I see. But Professor Snape, I watched you die.”
“Indeed. And, as I recall, you and Miss Granger did bugger-all to assist me. Yet you only believed you watched me die, for I also owe my life to our foundation-garment fetish. Once that hateful reptile had bitten me, the venom began to course through my veins. Luckily, Remus always takes care to lace me exceptionally tightly…”
“He has a lovely trim waist you see; the corset really enhances it.”
“Thank you, Remus. The corset slowed my blood flow, and gave me time to Accio the anti-venin from my store cupboard.”
“But, I thought you were dead. You started leaking your life’s memories at me.”
“Did you, Severus? You didn’t tell me that bit.”
“Ah, yes. I knew there was something else I came here for. Hand them over, then.”
“I hope you didn’t give him Istanbul in 1993!”
“Certainly not! What do you take me for? He only got the grim stuff.”
“Just checking.”
“So do we have what we came for, Severus?”
“I believe so; I have my memories in a vial, and my Order of Merlin, First Class.”
“Good. Shall we go home?”
“What about your Order of Merlin, Remus?”
“Oh, I’d almost forgotten!”
“Andromeda Tonks has it, Professor.”
“Ah, thank you Mrs. Tonks. Oh, it’s a lot smaller than I expected.”
“Remus Lupin, you are such a size queen!”
“I don’t deny that. Urgh! It’s covered in something sticky and orange.”
“Well, just give it a quick Scorgify, then we can be off.”
“Good idea, love. Ah, look at little Teddy! Such lovely vivid red hair, just like his father, and it looks like he’s inherited the Weasley nose, too!”
“That’s quite enough of that. Are we ready now?”
“I think so.”
“Very well. I would like to take this opportunity to thank the Ministry for our awards, and also to make a tedious, convoluted speech about the sacrifices that my husband and I have made… Yes, Potter, husband. Did you not notice the rings? How one as bloody unobservant as you managed to make it through childhood, let alone the trials of the last seven years, I have no idea!
However, after some consideration, I feel that my time would be much better spent not in front of an unresponsive, dull audience of hundreds for whom I have no respect, but instead in front of a very responsive, attractive audience of one for whom I live.
Oh, and before we go, I have two pieces of advice for the good people at the Ministry. The next time you decide to host an awards evening, please do try to confirm that the recipients of the posthumous medals are, in fact, dead.
Also, if you wish to avoid the embarrassment of your audience becoming literally bored rigid, then consider employing Lucius Malfoy as the master of ceremonies: what that man doesn’t know about risqué and amusing anecdotes is simply not worth knowing!
I now bid you all good night... and good riddance.”
“Severus, before we go…”
“Yes?”
“Do you think we could just slip into something more restrictive?”
“Well, why not? It is Saturday!”
“Goodbye then, Harry. I hope you’ve learned a thing or two tonight.”
“Er… well…”
“You know, perhaps some lessons about sacrifice, loyalty, love....”
“And the importance of choosing your undergarments with care.”
“Um…”
“Harry, never forget that you should seize every opportunity for pleasure!”
“Um…right.”
“Lost for words, Potter?”
“Well, yeah. I never expected to see the two of you dressed in Christmassy corsets. Will you now have mercy and perform an Obliviate on me, please?”
“Certainly not! The last seven years should have taught you to expect the unexpected. Make the most of your Order of Merlin, and see if you can become less of a prat than your father was.”
“Thank you Professor. I think you’re probably the bravest man I’ve ever known.”
“There’s no need to be a creep, Potter. Oh, and for your information, our corsets are not Christmassy, they are our House Colours. It’s bloody April, you idiot.”
Descriptive writing was resumed. The petrified audience took a collective gasp as they awoke, just in time to see the two living war heroes sashaying towards the door, clutching their well-deserved medals and each other.
Harry Potter stared after them, their words still ringing in his ears. The surprising revelations of the evening had given him plenty to consider, and he intended to act swiftly. He picked up his own award, nodded with conviction, and called into the hall, “Ginny, I’d like you to come with me. Our business here is finished.”
Moments later, in a quiet hotel room, the Boy-Who-Lived threw his discarded clothes onto a chair, adjusted the medal on his Gryffindor tie, and with a thrill of impending pleasure, spoke in a low husky voice, “You can open your eyes now, Ginny.”