The Halloween Hex by gingertart50 Title: The Halloween Hex Author:gingertart50 Pairing: Severus, Harry, Ron/Hermione Rating: G Word Count: 1,500 Summary: Something odd is happening on Halloween. Or is it? Disclaimer: Harry Potter and company belong to JKR Rowling. This piece of fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and makes no monetary gain for the author. Warnings: Gratuitous use of Americanisms. Pre-slash. Sarcasm. AN: Many thanks to starduchess for the super-speedy beta and the US-pick!
The Halloween Hex
Harry took a beer out of the fridge and helped himself to a packet of potato chips and a couple of Oreos with a Hershey Bar for dessert. Hermione would have been horrified if she knew. Thinking of his friend made up his mind; he finished his impromptu lunch and hurried out of the old brownstone building. He strode along the sidewalk enjoying the late October sunlight, smiling at the children eating cotton candy or M&M's at the intersections as they waited for the lights to change. After a few blocks he left the center of town, into a region of pleasant houses with white picket fences and trees in their yards. Chickadees flittered among the hemlocks.
Ron was in the yard looking remarkably smart in button-down, black chinos and sneakers. He was parking the Chevvy. He got out, rolled his eyes and grinned.
"Just come back from the Burrow," he explained. "Mum fried chicken with sweet potatoes and corn. I guess she misses having a big family to feed."
"Yeah," Harry agreed, "guess so."
"I'll be in momentarily."
He pulled his broomstick out of the trunk as Harry went into the house.
"Hi, Uncle Harry," Rose said, "Mom's in the basement. I guess she's brewing a potion."
"Great," Harry said. Only as he descended through Hermione's powerful protective wards did he get the feeling that something was amiss, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Jeez, Hermione," he said and gaped as his friend pointed her wand at him.
"Not you too!" she exclaimed, in a high, almost tearful voice. "Oh Harry! I thought you might be able to resist it. You've always been able to resist the Imperius curse so surely you can resist this!"
By now, the sense of wrongness was making Harry's brain itch.
"I can sense something," he admitted. "Nothing feels quite right."
"Of course it doesn't," she said. "Harry, I live in a stone cottage! Old stone cottages don't even have basements."
"So what's happening? Is it a curse?"
Hermione worked in the Department of Mysteries, where she was an acknowledged expert in esoteric curses. She was wearing one of her experimental curse-repelling amulets, and with a determined scowl, she grabbed another amulet from the bench and slipped the chain around Harry's neck.
"Bugger!" he said, as the itching in his head intensified and then vanished. "I'm bloody well English, not an American!"
"I know," she said with a tremulous smile of relief. "It seems to be a generalised location-anchored hex. I'm calling it the 'Brit-pickery hex' for want of a better term."
Harry looked around. The unfamiliar basement had disappeared; they were actually standing in Hermione's stone-flagged scullery, where the family did their brewing, laundry and Kneazle-grooming.
"I honestly didn't notice anything wrong. What are we going to do about it?"
"I've traced the hex back to its origins. We have to go and find out who cast it and either get them to cancel it or break it ourselves if they won't."
"Right," Harry said, rolling up his sleeves. "Have you got another amulet for Ron?"
oooOOOooo
They Apparated into what appeared at first glance to be a town filled with casinos and high-rise buildings, surrounded by a desert dotted with large cacti. However the neutralising effects of the amulets allowed them to make out the reality of a run-down post-industrial town in northern England.
"I think I preferred Las Vegas," Ron said.
"Is that where this is supposed to be?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, looks like it to me."
Ron and George had toured America before Ron and Hermione married, so Ron considered himself a bit of an expert.
"Right," Hermione said, peering down at a complicated little brass instrument in her hand, "According to my Hexometer, the source is this way."
They followed her along streets that flickered dizzily between wide, bright boulevards and narrow cobbled alleys, between buildings that were at one moment high-rise hotels and casinos, the next boarded up mills and dowdy Victorian back-to-back brick terraces.
"This feels a bit like being pissed," Harry remarked and received a glower from Hermione. Ron sniggered.
As they approached the end of the lane, Harry frowned. He could not remember being here before, yet there was something familiar about the place. Had he dreamed about it? The Trio drew their wands, holding them inconspicuously at their sides as Hermione knocked on the door. It opened with an ominous creak.
"Bloody hell!" said Ron.
"You're dead!" exclaimed Hermione.
"We need to ask you some questions, sir," said Harry, belatedly remembering his responsibilities as Chief Auror.
"Bugger off," responded Severus Snape, attempting to slam the door, but Senior-Auror Ron already had his size-thirteen, curse-resistant, steel-toe-capped boot in the way.
"Look, sir, you can't go around hexing the entire Wizarding population of Great Britain," Harry said in a reasonable tone. "It just isn't on."
Snape sneered. "And this concerns me, why, Potter?"
"Because you're a slimy anti-social git," Ron muttered. Hermione elbowed him and pointed out that he was not helping.
"Professor Snape–"
"I have not been a professor for over twenty years, Potter."
"Mister Snape, then. Surely you didn't expect to get away with this?"
Snape's thin, narrow shoulders slumped and he took a step back, fading into the gloom inside his little house.
"Don't just stand there looking lost. Get in here, since it is obvious that you're not going to go away and leave me in peace."
Inside, the place was a strange mixture of faded 1960s kitsch, gleaming chrome and vibrant colours. A poster of James Dean curled away from woodchip wallpaper, a chipped teapot stood upon a glass and steel table. Hermione reached into her pocket, pulled out an amulet and marched up to Snape. He simply stared at her as she threw the chain around his neck. The posters and modern furniture popped out of existence and Snape let out a deep sigh.
"Thank you, Miss Granger."
"Mrs Weasley," she corrected him. "You didn't cast it, did you?"
"I have fought against it for decades," he said quietly. His hands were clenched at his sides. "I am exhausted, frankly. It slipped away from my grasp yesterday. It is always stronger, or perhaps my strength is less, upon All Hallows Eve."
"Why didn't you come to us for help, sir?" Hermione asked gently. He looked away and a faint colour rose on his cheeks.
"Why should you have wished to help me?"
Harry meanwhile drew his wand and began categorising the curse.
"It's a biggie, Hermione," he remarked, "One for you, Bill and me."
"Are you a curse-breaker in addition to all your other accomplishments, Potter?"
Harry shrugged.
"I supply the magical brawn; Hermione and Bill are the experts."
Snape had hardly changed. There were a few strands of grey among the sleek black hairs, a few more lines around his eyes and mouth, but otherwise, he was much as he had been when Harry had last seen him.
"Who cast it, then?" Ron asked. "Was it another left-over from old Voldie?"
Harry shook his head.
"Dumbledore."
Hermione and Ron both gaped at him.
"Really? His idea of a joke or something?"
"His idea of a Halloween prank gone wrong, I suspect," Snape said. "He had many secrets, one of them being a fondness for slash fan-fiction and a dislike of un-Brit-picked slash fan-fiction."
Ron looked blank while Hermione blushed and fiddled with her Hexometer.
"I'd better see what the sprogs have got up to in our absence," Ron remarked, "and put in a requisition for my big brother's assistance with a bit of curse-breaking."
"And I'll do some research into American-style hexes," Hermione said eagerly.
"I need a pint of genuine English ale," Harry said, "To get rid of the taste of the fizzy stuff. You know any decent pubs around here, Snape?"
Snape nodded and indicated the door.
"The Goat and Compasses," he said, "Assuming that it has reverted from 'Frankie's Diner'."
Hermione and Ron Apparated away and Harry followed Snape out into the drizzle. They walked along the narrow street, shoulder to shoulder, and Harry could see the corner of a dark eye watching him thoughtfully.
"Have you lived as a Muggle, since the war?" he asked.
Snape shook his head. "I brew potions for sale under an assumed name. The goblins don't give a toss where the money comes from or who invests it, and they transfer into my Muggle account as required."
Harry nodded; he was well aware of how difficult it was to get Gringotts to release information about their customers.
"I have followed your ... career with interest," Snape remarked. The subtle emphasis upon the word suggested to Harry that the man was referring to Harry being outed and his subsequent divorce.
"Yeah," Harry said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Does it bother you?"
There was a tiny curl to the corner of Snape's mouth. "Not in the slightest, Potter."