Chapter Nineteen: Of Tights, Werewolf Babysitters, and the Cold Making Things Smaller
Author: with_rhyme
Beta: dormiensa
A/N: none
Captain Tightbottom was marching up and down the corridors of the hospital, back straight, knees locked, arse firm, as he and his team contemplated their next move.
Pansy watched from the sidelines, in awe of his raw power. If a little bit of drool was forming a spit-bubble from her partially-opened mouth, well, she would never know.
Well, Neville guessed team was the wrong word now. He and Pansy had lost the fight (one which was nearly-and Snape now had the real hobble to prove it-to the death) over what their band of merry men (and two women) were to be called.
A fellowship, they were now.
They had lost another fight as well. Snape had begun complaining about how he’d been wearing the peg legs for this whole adventure, and about how uncomfortable they were, and that-was it really too much to ask?-he deserved a little bit of comfort in his overall miserable life.
Neville had himself asked the fateful question. “All right, Snape,” he had said, sighing. “What would make you most comfortable on this perilous quest to destroy The One Ring?”
“Tights,” Snape had answered simply and with a smirk.
“Indeed,” spoke another voice. A flash of lightning had struck a weather vane nearby as it lit up the sky with electric purple, thunder crashing and the lights in the hospital flickering again as everyone had turned their attention to the lone figure at the end of the hallway, tall and ominous as he loomed in the shadows.
Regulus was the only one of them who dared to speak up. “Um, who the hell are you?”
“I am Lucius!” He had drawn himself forward into the light, a cloak-no, a cape-pulled up with one arm to cover his face as “Toccata and Fugue in D minor” inexplicably began to play over the hospital’s loudspeaker.
“Where the devil did you come from?” Neville had asked.
“Not important,” Lucius had said with a wave of his cape. “What is important is my comfort. If you don’t want to hear me whining all the way to Mount Erebus, you had best make the official costume of the fellowship tights and tunics.”
“Tights and tunics…” Neville had said, faintly, as his vision had begun to swim in front of him. He had felt his face begin to pale as he began to imagine Snape and Lucius in tights, and he had thought for a moment that he might be sick.
“As I said before, indeed, young Tightbottom.” He had winked in Neville’s direction. “They will also make my junk look quite…delectable, if I do say so myself.”
“Delectable…” Neville had echoed.
“I must win Narcissa back from that wretched Potter one way or another,” Lucius had muttered.
Now, he could really feel the vomit coming. First Hermione’s somewhat…exploding lady bits and now a face-to-face with Lucius’s bits?
He had begun to think that being captain was kind of a crap job.
All the eyes of his fellowship were on him, and Neville had felt a sigh escape him as he considered his decision.
“Fine,” he had said eventually, after a torturously long moment. The last thing that he needed were two of the most, well, formerly, evil Death Eaters cranky and complaining on a trip that was bound to be a nightmare anyways.
His decision had been met with howls and cries as Snape and Lucius wasted no time in transforming their previously modest trousers into quite tight, quite revealing tights.
“Ah…” Lucius had sighed as he began to shimmy around, enjoying the freedom of movement.
Snape, to the astonishment of everyone, performed leap after perfect leap up and down the corridor. “What?” he had said when he made it back to them. “I was classically trained.”
Pansy was, literally, sobbing in the corner, screaming, “My eyes, my eyes!”
Crabbe and Goyle, Srs, who had just stepped off of the elevator holding hands, had grinned at each other as they took in the sight and said, “Delicious.”
All Neville could do was shake his head. Now, who on Earth were they going to get to watch the Malfoy-Grangers’ baby?
xxx
The wind was cold and fierce and stung Draco’s cheeks as they attempted to scale the valley that their Portkey to Antarctica had dropped them in.
Hermione’s hair was far bushier than normal. Which was to say, they were hardly able to see her face amid the poof and tangle of her curls.
Snape and Lucius, the two biggest proponents of the tights-and-tunics movement, were now deeply regretting that decision as, in the fierce cold of the Antarctic winter, what had once seemed so large…now seemed quite small indeed.
Everyone was cold and hungry, and Neville was yelling at him and Hermione about child safety or some other such nonsense.
“How could you let that-that monster-go anywhere near your child? Near little Hercules?”
Draco sighed for the umpteenth time. Hermione seemed to feel the same, for the hair around her mouth area moved out slightly, as if with her breath.
“As we have already explained to you, Neville, Greyback came with the highest of qualifications!”
“WHAT QUALIFICATIONS COULD A RABID WEREWOLF POSSIBLY HAVE THAT WOULD LET YOU GIVE HIM YOUR CHILD?” Neville screamed at them.
“He’s quite shrill, isn’t he?” Hermione remarked to Draco. She had to yell, since the wall of hair was so thick.
“He had, like, CPR training and stuff,” Draco said. “And he’s watched loads of kids before.”
“Eaten!” Neville corrected, still shrill. “You mean he’s eaten loads of kids before.”
“Oh Neville, don’t be silly!” Hermione laughed. “He doesn’t eat them; he just bites them and transforms their lives into ones of misery, pain, and prejudice. Really, you should get your facts straight before you go accusing people of eating children.”
“Anyways,” Draco said pointedly, “can we get back to the matter at hand, please? We have a Ring to destroy and a volcano to find and no clue how to get there!”
“Well,” Regulus said as they neared the top of the valley, “we could follow this trail of blood that seems to lead to the rising pillar of black smoke in the sky?”
“Eeep,” said Draco.
“Why is it always a trail of blood leading to black smoke?” Neville whined.
“It almost never is, Tightbottom, and you would know that if you were truly the Chosen One,” Lucius shot back.
Hermione sighed. “I wish Harry were here,” she said, missing the jealous glance from Draco.
Wait, no, Draco wasn’t jealous. He simply couldn’t be jealous. Not of Potter. Not of anyone over Hermione. Because otherwise, that would mean…
Crabbe and Goyle, Srs, were whining something about second breakfast and first lunch as Draco noticed something that appeared to be looming over the horizon, halfway between the fellowship and the rising pillar of foreboding black smoke.
“Quiet!” he said as he raised a hand, straining his magnificent silver eyes to the shimmer before him.
“Oh, crap,” Draco declared as he finally realized what he was looking at. “Dementors.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Continue or ToC
Beta: dormiensa
A/N: none
Captain Tightbottom was marching up and down the corridors of the hospital, back straight, knees locked, arse firm, as he and his team contemplated their next move.
Pansy watched from the sidelines, in awe of his raw power. If a little bit of drool was forming a spit-bubble from her partially-opened mouth, well, she would never know.
Well, Neville guessed team was the wrong word now. He and Pansy had lost the fight (one which was nearly-and Snape now had the real hobble to prove it-to the death) over what their band of merry men (and two women) were to be called.
A fellowship, they were now.
They had lost another fight as well. Snape had begun complaining about how he’d been wearing the peg legs for this whole adventure, and about how uncomfortable they were, and that-was it really too much to ask?-he deserved a little bit of comfort in his overall miserable life.
Neville had himself asked the fateful question. “All right, Snape,” he had said, sighing. “What would make you most comfortable on this perilous quest to destroy The One Ring?”
“Tights,” Snape had answered simply and with a smirk.
“Indeed,” spoke another voice. A flash of lightning had struck a weather vane nearby as it lit up the sky with electric purple, thunder crashing and the lights in the hospital flickering again as everyone had turned their attention to the lone figure at the end of the hallway, tall and ominous as he loomed in the shadows.
Regulus was the only one of them who dared to speak up. “Um, who the hell are you?”
“I am Lucius!” He had drawn himself forward into the light, a cloak-no, a cape-pulled up with one arm to cover his face as “Toccata and Fugue in D minor” inexplicably began to play over the hospital’s loudspeaker.
“Where the devil did you come from?” Neville had asked.
“Not important,” Lucius had said with a wave of his cape. “What is important is my comfort. If you don’t want to hear me whining all the way to Mount Erebus, you had best make the official costume of the fellowship tights and tunics.”
“Tights and tunics…” Neville had said, faintly, as his vision had begun to swim in front of him. He had felt his face begin to pale as he began to imagine Snape and Lucius in tights, and he had thought for a moment that he might be sick.
“As I said before, indeed, young Tightbottom.” He had winked in Neville’s direction. “They will also make my junk look quite…delectable, if I do say so myself.”
“Delectable…” Neville had echoed.
“I must win Narcissa back from that wretched Potter one way or another,” Lucius had muttered.
Now, he could really feel the vomit coming. First Hermione’s somewhat…exploding lady bits and now a face-to-face with Lucius’s bits?
He had begun to think that being captain was kind of a crap job.
All the eyes of his fellowship were on him, and Neville had felt a sigh escape him as he considered his decision.
“Fine,” he had said eventually, after a torturously long moment. The last thing that he needed were two of the most, well, formerly, evil Death Eaters cranky and complaining on a trip that was bound to be a nightmare anyways.
His decision had been met with howls and cries as Snape and Lucius wasted no time in transforming their previously modest trousers into quite tight, quite revealing tights.
“Ah…” Lucius had sighed as he began to shimmy around, enjoying the freedom of movement.
Snape, to the astonishment of everyone, performed leap after perfect leap up and down the corridor. “What?” he had said when he made it back to them. “I was classically trained.”
Pansy was, literally, sobbing in the corner, screaming, “My eyes, my eyes!”
Crabbe and Goyle, Srs, who had just stepped off of the elevator holding hands, had grinned at each other as they took in the sight and said, “Delicious.”
All Neville could do was shake his head. Now, who on Earth were they going to get to watch the Malfoy-Grangers’ baby?
xxx
The wind was cold and fierce and stung Draco’s cheeks as they attempted to scale the valley that their Portkey to Antarctica had dropped them in.
Hermione’s hair was far bushier than normal. Which was to say, they were hardly able to see her face amid the poof and tangle of her curls.
Snape and Lucius, the two biggest proponents of the tights-and-tunics movement, were now deeply regretting that decision as, in the fierce cold of the Antarctic winter, what had once seemed so large…now seemed quite small indeed.
Everyone was cold and hungry, and Neville was yelling at him and Hermione about child safety or some other such nonsense.
“How could you let that-that monster-go anywhere near your child? Near little Hercules?”
Draco sighed for the umpteenth time. Hermione seemed to feel the same, for the hair around her mouth area moved out slightly, as if with her breath.
“As we have already explained to you, Neville, Greyback came with the highest of qualifications!”
“WHAT QUALIFICATIONS COULD A RABID WEREWOLF POSSIBLY HAVE THAT WOULD LET YOU GIVE HIM YOUR CHILD?” Neville screamed at them.
“He’s quite shrill, isn’t he?” Hermione remarked to Draco. She had to yell, since the wall of hair was so thick.
“He had, like, CPR training and stuff,” Draco said. “And he’s watched loads of kids before.”
“Eaten!” Neville corrected, still shrill. “You mean he’s eaten loads of kids before.”
“Oh Neville, don’t be silly!” Hermione laughed. “He doesn’t eat them; he just bites them and transforms their lives into ones of misery, pain, and prejudice. Really, you should get your facts straight before you go accusing people of eating children.”
“Anyways,” Draco said pointedly, “can we get back to the matter at hand, please? We have a Ring to destroy and a volcano to find and no clue how to get there!”
“Well,” Regulus said as they neared the top of the valley, “we could follow this trail of blood that seems to lead to the rising pillar of black smoke in the sky?”
“Eeep,” said Draco.
“Why is it always a trail of blood leading to black smoke?” Neville whined.
“It almost never is, Tightbottom, and you would know that if you were truly the Chosen One,” Lucius shot back.
Hermione sighed. “I wish Harry were here,” she said, missing the jealous glance from Draco.
Wait, no, Draco wasn’t jealous. He simply couldn’t be jealous. Not of Potter. Not of anyone over Hermione. Because otherwise, that would mean…
Crabbe and Goyle, Srs, were whining something about second breakfast and first lunch as Draco noticed something that appeared to be looming over the horizon, halfway between the fellowship and the rising pillar of foreboding black smoke.
“Quiet!” he said as he raised a hand, straining his magnificent silver eyes to the shimmer before him.
“Oh, crap,” Draco declared as he finally realized what he was looking at. “Dementors.”
TO BE CONTINUED...
Continue or ToC