Ribbons (bronze_ribbons) wrote in lupin_snape, @ 2008-08-28 12:34:00 |
|
|||
Current location: | The Black Feather Cafe |
Entry tags: | fic: pg |
ficlet for Valis2: "Outskirting the Dark"
Title: Outskirting the Dark
Reason: In honor of valis2, whose birthday was yesterday ... and who, at Terminus, mentioned being such a h/c junkie that she'd read h/c "even with Lupin in a fairy skirt," which is pretty much tantamount to waving a fat juicy cabbage in front of a plotbunny with my name on its hell-bound handbasket.... (Hope it's a great year, sweetie! *squeezes*) (Cross-posted from my IJ.)
Words: ~1600
Rating: PG
Warning: I couldn't resist including a Valis Sue, a Gillian Sue, a marginaliana Sue, and a Ribbons Stu. *ducks barrage of flying vegetation*
Summary: Snape's in Chicago. Lupin's in a fairy skirt. Hurt-comfort ensues.
Fall 2008
Severus Snape had fainted only once before in his life, and that had been from the rapid loss of blood after his final encounter with Nagini. (How he was rescued and returned to the land of the living--primarily through the exertions of a Ravenclaw double agent named Montalat--is a tale for another time.) He had lived a very quiet life since then, and the stipend he received from the Chicago Bureau of Magic for his forensic work was more than adequate for his solitary needs.
There was even enough to spare for an occasional night at the theatre. Snape usually opted for one of the low-budget improv-based shows on the north side of the city -- he enjoyed the spectacle of people furiously thinking on their feet with nothing vital at stake, and he liked the casual atmosphere that permitted him to open a bottle of beer and a sack of bao as the performers hurtled through their antics.
However, when Steppenwolf's new production of Hansel and Gretel received a rapturous review from the Tribune's most cantankerous drama critic, Snape could not resist seeing for himself what the fuss was about. A week after the review's appearance, Snape slid into a seat in Row H of the Downstairs Theatre, cautioning himself not to expect too much.
It was indeed a remarkable production, but Snape's ability to assess it rationally completely deserted him upon the appearance of the Witch. As with many operatic productions of the story, a man had been cast in the role, the better to accentuate the grotesque characteristics of the hag. Snape didn't recognize the name of the actor listed in the playbill, but he nearly leapt out of his seat when he beheld the face that peered out of the candy cottage: its resemblance to Remus Lupin's visage was so strong that Snape felt suddenly nauseous.
Lupin is dead, he reminded himself.
You never saw the body, his brain argued back.
There was no reason to. And I was otherwise occupied.
But now you're not sure, are you?
It's just a coincidence. Thousands of people resemble each other!
The actors continued acting, and the Witch sounded like Lupin. The Witch shuffled like Lupin. The Witch curled her gnarled fingers around a stick of kindling in a grip that very much resembled the way Snape had seen Lupin holding a wand, and Snape was taking very deep breaths, resisting the instincts that were screaming at him to find an exit, now. The Witch was waving the stick--
The Witch was pointing the stick at the balcony--
There was a sudden flurry of screams from above, and the Witch bellowed Reducto! as Snape launched himself out of his seat and hurled himself down the aisle. As he ran, he heard the thud of a body against the back balcony wall; he strained to see who was up there, but before his eyes could focus on them, he caught sight of another figure rushing the stage.
Snape fired a hex at the man without hesitation, and then another, and then another, finding himself in the first duel he'd had to fight in a year. (There had been a plethora of attempts on his life right after the War, but their frequency had dwindled with the passage of time.) There was pandemonium throughout the hall: a blonde he had glimpsed reading a statistics textbook before the show was efficiently blocking another thug's efforts to reach the stage. Another witch, one with a stuffed squid clinging to her camera bag, was blitzing her opponents with comet's tails of safety pins while her companion cast intricate, lacy webs across the exits with a bobbin-shaped wand. An Asian wizard had Apparated up to one of the rods from which the stage lights had been hung, ending Snape's duel by dropping a fresnel upon his foe with rather unseemly glee.
And through it all, the witch on the stage who resembled Remus Lupin continued firing hexes from the stage, his skirt slapping against his legs as he dodged jinxes and curses. It was a mess of filmy, raggedy, lumpy layers that looked almost like two dozen dead fairies stitched together into a ghastly garment. It would have been perfect as a wall-hanging for Snape's old classroom at Hogwarts; Snape's mind briefly flashed back to his former occupation before it returned to the task at hand, which had appeared in the form of another assailant in his aisle.
"Got your back!" the safety-pin witch shouted. Snape felt the flurry of a thousand steel points whisper past him, and heard the scream of a wizard just behind him as the points found their mark. He shouted his thanks to the witch but kept his eyes trained on his direct opponent. Duck. Block. Jump. Fire. Lupin, what the devil have you got me into now?
The lace-wielding witch suddenly materialized nearby, neatly catching his foe into a net of gold and scarlet threads as Snape's final curse knocked him off balance. She grinned at Snape. "Much appreciated, sir. We've been after this gang for three years."
Snape glowered at her. "If you want to thank me, you can explain who the hell's the Witch!"
"The -- you mean Lupin? I thought you knew who he was, the way you -- Immobilus!" she suddenly yelled, aiming to Snape's left. He turned just in time to see a body topple to the floor -- but not in time to block a curse that simultaneously sliced several deep gashes into his arm. As his wand fell from his right hand, Snape instinctively grabbed for it with the other, swiveling around in time to see the lace-wielding witch shoot blue cords at his attacker. They melted in mid-air as the attacker blocked them with a counter-curse, but the Asian wizard shouted, "Good going!" as he lobbed a light towards a thug stationed in one of the boxes. It sailed wide of its target, prompting Lace-witch to jeer, "Merlin on a billy goat, what the heck was that? Didn't you learn anything from Mike?"[1]
"Mind your own damn zone," the Asian wizard retorted. "Especially at three o'clock--!"
Snape had already seen the wizard taking aim at Lace-witch; the curse he hissed barely grazed the attacker's wrist, but Lace-witch threw him a grateful look after she hopped clear of the blasting spell. Her look swiftly turned to alarm, however, as Snape's legs suddenly gave way underneath him. Snape had time only to think, Stupid. How could I have forgot-- before the world dissolved into a haze of darkness and echoes.