Happy Valentine's Day.
So when I started this mini-fic, I totally had the intention of writing about Lupercalia and making reference to Severus's disdain for Valentine's Day and werewolves and Remus Lupin, but then it morphed into this...this...strange little scenario. I don't know how to explain it. I had intended to include a serenade thing for a 100quills entry, but it wasn't supposed to end up like this.
Anyhow, here's a little ficlet for you all. It's so weird. Enjoy.
Note: The lyrics in this fic are from Cream's White Room, written by Jack Bruce and Pete Brown, 1969
Jesus.
Severus stood, stock-still, in front of a line of rustic suits of armour. He wasn’t the only one. There was already quite a crowd gathered there, and the students were watching the spectacle with bemused expressions on their faces.
“WOO!” a chorus of tinny voices sang.
Another suit of armour was beating at its torso and producing a very convincing drum solo. It was so loud that it was drawing more interest by the minute.
“WOO!” the voices sang again. The harmonies weren’t perfect, but they were damned close.
Severus blinked at them, trying to make sense of it all. It was mad.
“What is this shit?” Lestrange asked, approaching Severus from behind. His thick eyebrows were furrowed as he tried to make sense of the impromptu concert. “Slughorn must be off his rocker this year; this is mad.”
Managing a nod, Severus made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat. It was drowned out by another resounding, “Woo.”
* * *
“Petunia thinks fags are vile,” Lily said, seizing the rolled tobacco from Severus with surprising ease. She took a drag, paused thoughtfully, and then exhaled out of the side of her mouth. “She’s right,” she said hoarsely, “but I’d never giver her the pleasure of hearing that.”
They were in the garden. Lily was sprawled out on the grass, propped up on one elbow. Severus was leaning against a tree, watching her with amusement. “If you think it’s vile, give it here.” He held out a hand and wiggled his fingers. “I have no qualms about appreciating vile substances.”
Lily snorted, blowing smoke out of her nose like a dragon. She held the cigarette out to him and he grabbed it quickly. “If Vermin smoked,” he continued, “I doubt she’d mind so much.” Vermin was their private nickname for Petunia’s fiancé, Vernon.
“Agreed,” said Lily, sitting up. “But I’ve seen him so angry that he's nearly smoked from his ears.”
“Really?”
“Mmhm. That time you compared Petunia to a Dementor,” Lily said. “The nerve you had, associating her with that,” she paused, making a Vermin-like face, “that magic nonsense!”
“If I had more nerve, I would have cursed him.”
“Mum would never have forgiven you for that.”
“She might’ve. I don’t think she likes Dursley so much.”
“But she loves Petunia.”
Severus shrugged and inhaled again. Lily simply shook her head at him and pointed towards a stack of albums close to where he was sitting. She’d insisted on dragging out her father’s collection and his old Dansette player.
“Choose an album, will you? I didn’t haul everything out so that we could stare at it.”
“All right,” Severus grunted, reaching for the albums. Holding the cigarette carefully between his lips, he began flipping through them carefully. He didn’t recognize all of the bands, but when he was about halfway through the stack a title caught his eye. He pulled it out and gave it to her. “Here,” he said. “This is a good one.”
She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. “Cream?” she said wryly.
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“No,” she replied. “It’s just a strange choice.”
“Fine,” he sighed, stamping out the cigarette on the grass. “If you’re going to be critical, play something else.” He shuffled through the records again, grabbing one and flinging it at her disdainfully. “Hall and Oates, maybe?”
“Ugh, no,” she laughed, putting the record with the others. “I like Cream, Severus. I was surprised, that’s all. What’s your favourite song?” she asked. “Strange Brew?”
He made a face. “No.”
“Badge?”
“No. I’ll tell you when it comes on.”
“All right.” Lily put on the album and the sound of a wailing guitar filled the garden. Severus settled himself against the tree once more, and was surprised when Lily scooted over and rested her head against his thigh. They didn’t talk, merely enjoying the music, which was occasionally interrupted by the sounds of birds, automobiles, and shrieks of childish laughter.
For whatever reason, Lily decided to play side two of the album first. Severus was fairly certain she had fallen asleep three songs into it. Her breathing was slow and steady and her head felt heavy in his lap. He hardly minded, and when the album had played through, he flipped the record over, trying carefully not to wake her. Side one was much better, in his opinion. The first song was Strange Brew-the one Lily had teased him about, presumably because it was about a witch. The second song, though, was his favourite. When it came on, he looked down at her, admiring the ease on her face as she slept, and said, “This is my favourite song.”
* * *
By now, the entire hallway in front of the Slytherin Common room was packed with students. One of the centre suits of armour was singing in a full baritone, “I’ll wait in this place where the sun never shines; wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.”
Some of the students were nodding their heads appreciatively. Others were staring at the rusty a cappella group with revulsion. A handful of Hufflepuffs were singing along.
“You know,” Lestrange said in Severus’s ear, “I never thought I’d say this, but I think Slughorn did better by the fat, singing cupids he had last year.” He shook his head. “Little harps aren’t so…loud.”
“WOO!” the suits of armour belted out loudly, as if on cue.
Slughorn certainly was not the person behind this particular afternoon serenade. Severus assumed the Potions Professor had enlisted a few members of his Slug Club to help out, and Lily had clearly taken part in the Valentine’s Day festivities. Only Lily would task a small company of suited armor to bellow out his favourite Cream song. That was the shocking part. He wasn’t really embarrassed; no one else knew of their private conversations this past summer. The fact that she hadn’t been asleep like he’d thought was what stunned him. He was immensely relieved he hadn’t dared to say anything else. He shuddered to think of what might have happened.
Then again, it was disheartening to think of what might not have happened.
“I’ll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd,” the armour sang, “lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.”
The serenade ended unceremoniously, followed by a smattering of applause and a few whistles and catcalls. Somehow Evan Rosier managed to pick up about half of the lyrics and was singing his own lousy rendition to the lingering crowd. Snape grimaced, realizing that he would have to endure quite a lot of awful singing for the remainder of the day. Lily probably anticipated that, too, and he both admired and cursed her for her cleverness.
Although he wasn't sure whether her gesture was meant to be romantic--and he somehow doubted it was--he felt like he should find her and say something. He also harboured a tiny shred of hope that perhaps this meant she was still refusing Potter’s daily advances.
Perhaps Valentine's Day wasn't as terrible as he'd previously decided.
Anyhow, here's a little ficlet for you all. It's so weird. Enjoy.
Note: The lyrics in this fic are from Cream's White Room, written by Jack Bruce and Pete Brown, 1969
Jesus.
Severus stood, stock-still, in front of a line of rustic suits of armour. He wasn’t the only one. There was already quite a crowd gathered there, and the students were watching the spectacle with bemused expressions on their faces.
“WOO!” a chorus of tinny voices sang.
Another suit of armour was beating at its torso and producing a very convincing drum solo. It was so loud that it was drawing more interest by the minute.
“WOO!” the voices sang again. The harmonies weren’t perfect, but they were damned close.
Severus blinked at them, trying to make sense of it all. It was mad.
“What is this shit?” Lestrange asked, approaching Severus from behind. His thick eyebrows were furrowed as he tried to make sense of the impromptu concert. “Slughorn must be off his rocker this year; this is mad.”
Managing a nod, Severus made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat. It was drowned out by another resounding, “Woo.”
* * *
“Petunia thinks fags are vile,” Lily said, seizing the rolled tobacco from Severus with surprising ease. She took a drag, paused thoughtfully, and then exhaled out of the side of her mouth. “She’s right,” she said hoarsely, “but I’d never giver her the pleasure of hearing that.”
They were in the garden. Lily was sprawled out on the grass, propped up on one elbow. Severus was leaning against a tree, watching her with amusement. “If you think it’s vile, give it here.” He held out a hand and wiggled his fingers. “I have no qualms about appreciating vile substances.”
Lily snorted, blowing smoke out of her nose like a dragon. She held the cigarette out to him and he grabbed it quickly. “If Vermin smoked,” he continued, “I doubt she’d mind so much.” Vermin was their private nickname for Petunia’s fiancé, Vernon.
“Agreed,” said Lily, sitting up. “But I’ve seen him so angry that he's nearly smoked from his ears.”
“Really?”
“Mmhm. That time you compared Petunia to a Dementor,” Lily said. “The nerve you had, associating her with that,” she paused, making a Vermin-like face, “that magic nonsense!”
“If I had more nerve, I would have cursed him.”
“Mum would never have forgiven you for that.”
“She might’ve. I don’t think she likes Dursley so much.”
“But she loves Petunia.”
Severus shrugged and inhaled again. Lily simply shook her head at him and pointed towards a stack of albums close to where he was sitting. She’d insisted on dragging out her father’s collection and his old Dansette player.
“Choose an album, will you? I didn’t haul everything out so that we could stare at it.”
“All right,” Severus grunted, reaching for the albums. Holding the cigarette carefully between his lips, he began flipping through them carefully. He didn’t recognize all of the bands, but when he was about halfway through the stack a title caught his eye. He pulled it out and gave it to her. “Here,” he said. “This is a good one.”
She raised an eyebrow and smiled at him. “Cream?” she said wryly.
“Is there something wrong with that?”
“No,” she replied. “It’s just a strange choice.”
“Fine,” he sighed, stamping out the cigarette on the grass. “If you’re going to be critical, play something else.” He shuffled through the records again, grabbing one and flinging it at her disdainfully. “Hall and Oates, maybe?”
“Ugh, no,” she laughed, putting the record with the others. “I like Cream, Severus. I was surprised, that’s all. What’s your favourite song?” she asked. “Strange Brew?”
He made a face. “No.”
“Badge?”
“No. I’ll tell you when it comes on.”
“All right.” Lily put on the album and the sound of a wailing guitar filled the garden. Severus settled himself against the tree once more, and was surprised when Lily scooted over and rested her head against his thigh. They didn’t talk, merely enjoying the music, which was occasionally interrupted by the sounds of birds, automobiles, and shrieks of childish laughter.
For whatever reason, Lily decided to play side two of the album first. Severus was fairly certain she had fallen asleep three songs into it. Her breathing was slow and steady and her head felt heavy in his lap. He hardly minded, and when the album had played through, he flipped the record over, trying carefully not to wake her. Side one was much better, in his opinion. The first song was Strange Brew-the one Lily had teased him about, presumably because it was about a witch. The second song, though, was his favourite. When it came on, he looked down at her, admiring the ease on her face as she slept, and said, “This is my favourite song.”
* * *
By now, the entire hallway in front of the Slytherin Common room was packed with students. One of the centre suits of armour was singing in a full baritone, “I’ll wait in this place where the sun never shines; wait in this place where the shadows run from themselves.”
Some of the students were nodding their heads appreciatively. Others were staring at the rusty a cappella group with revulsion. A handful of Hufflepuffs were singing along.
“You know,” Lestrange said in Severus’s ear, “I never thought I’d say this, but I think Slughorn did better by the fat, singing cupids he had last year.” He shook his head. “Little harps aren’t so…loud.”
“WOO!” the suits of armour belted out loudly, as if on cue.
Slughorn certainly was not the person behind this particular afternoon serenade. Severus assumed the Potions Professor had enlisted a few members of his Slug Club to help out, and Lily had clearly taken part in the Valentine’s Day festivities. Only Lily would task a small company of suited armor to bellow out his favourite Cream song. That was the shocking part. He wasn’t really embarrassed; no one else knew of their private conversations this past summer. The fact that she hadn’t been asleep like he’d thought was what stunned him. He was immensely relieved he hadn’t dared to say anything else. He shuddered to think of what might have happened.
Then again, it was disheartening to think of what might not have happened.
“I’ll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd,” the armour sang, “lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves.”
The serenade ended unceremoniously, followed by a smattering of applause and a few whistles and catcalls. Somehow Evan Rosier managed to pick up about half of the lyrics and was singing his own lousy rendition to the lingering crowd. Snape grimaced, realizing that he would have to endure quite a lot of awful singing for the remainder of the day. Lily probably anticipated that, too, and he both admired and cursed her for her cleverness.
Although he wasn't sure whether her gesture was meant to be romantic--and he somehow doubted it was--he felt like he should find her and say something. He also harboured a tiny shred of hope that perhaps this meant she was still refusing Potter’s daily advances.
Perhaps Valentine's Day wasn't as terrible as he'd previously decided.