Five Doxy Wings Part 1
Title: Five Doxy Wings
Team: Order of the Phoenix
Word count: 6 x 100
Rating: PG
Challenge: 12 Days of Christmas
Summary: Seasonal AU silliness, British (and phonetic) spelling, un-beta'ed. Sing out if you want to read Part 2.
The walk between the Three Broomsticks and the doors of Hogwarts had never seemed quite so long before. Nor had the path seemed quite so… twisty. Rather than complain about it, Severus decided to while away the epic journey with a marching song.
“On the firsht day of Christmash, my true love shent to meeeee… A perfect cup of tea!”
There was no denying it; he had scads of talent.
“On the shecond day of Christmash, my true love shent to meeeee… Two purple gloveshhh, and a perfect cup of tea!”
Severus frowned. What the hell else rhymed with dove?
Severus tripped up the steps, tottered forwards, and found himself nose to knothole with a door. A very, very locked door. It occurred to him that only a rather special Headmaster would manage to lock himself out of his own school. At goodness knew when on Christmas Eve.
Make that Christmas morning.
Waving his wand at the door in a vaguely hopeful and definitely foolish manner did no good at all. Folding his arms and swaying threateningly while telling the door that it should bloody well know who he was didn’t work either. The castle was obviously bent on mischief.
In Severus’ mind’s eye, a shaft of sunlight swung down from the firmament and lit upon a familiar set of long, curly locks. The head turned, and a pale face folded into a delighted grin, drawing the breath from his lungs as swiftly as a Bludger to his bollocks.
A silver-white shape rocketed into the sky and coiled around and around the nearest tower, until it found a cracked window and squeezed through, its sparkling trail leaving the ghostly impression of a gigantic helter-skelter.
Severus waited below, wondering with fuzzy unease exactly what sort of message he’d managed to send.
Sitting up in her four-poster, gloomily drinking the requisite ‘pint of water before bed that will magically negate my hangover in the morning’, Hermione Granger wondered with fuzzy unease exactly what had happened to Headmaster Snape.
Nearly all the Hogwarts teaching staff had gathered in the packed pub on Christmas Eve, and as usual, the main entertainment had consisted of everybody buying the Headmaster a drink and watching him get utterly toasted.
Headmaster Snape was a charming drunk, tending to smile lazily at whoever happened to talk to him. It was extremely disconcerting, and the staff adored watching it happen.
They had all exited the pub at the same time. The Headmaster had even rested his hands on her shoulders as the crowd boisterously filed through the door and onto the High Street.
Somewhere along the way, he had peeled off from the group to answer the call of nature behind a tree. And that was the last she’d seen of him.
Just as Hermione decided to go to sleep, her bedroom began to glow. A pearlescent stream of light forced itself through the utterly redundant keyhole until a long-limbed, slim-necked heron took shape and reeled across the floor towards her.
“On the sheventh day of Christmash, my true love shent to meeeee… Sheven Grangersh grinning, shix Puffshkeins playing, five DOXY WINGSHHH! Four Thestral herdsh, three Muggle pensh, two purple glovesh, and a perfect cup of tea!”
The heron Patronus snapped its beak twice and then fell over.
Hermione rubbed her eyes.
“Profeshhhor Granger, I’m in need of ash-ash-ashistance.”
Oh dear.
Hastily dressed in socks, slippers, pyjamas, a towelling bathrobe and a woolly hat, Hermione went to the rescue.
The Headmaster’s smile was at its most lazy. He pointed a wavering finger at Hermione and murmured, “Sheven Grangersh grinning. How lovely.”
Team: Order of the Phoenix
Word count: 6 x 100
Rating: PG
Challenge: 12 Days of Christmas
Summary: Seasonal AU silliness, British (and phonetic) spelling, un-beta'ed. Sing out if you want to read Part 2.
The walk between the Three Broomsticks and the doors of Hogwarts had never seemed quite so long before. Nor had the path seemed quite so… twisty. Rather than complain about it, Severus decided to while away the epic journey with a marching song.
“On the firsht day of Christmash, my true love shent to meeeee… A perfect cup of tea!”
There was no denying it; he had scads of talent.
“On the shecond day of Christmash, my true love shent to meeeee… Two purple gloveshhh, and a perfect cup of tea!”
Severus frowned. What the hell else rhymed with dove?
Severus tripped up the steps, tottered forwards, and found himself nose to knothole with a door. A very, very locked door. It occurred to him that only a rather special Headmaster would manage to lock himself out of his own school. At goodness knew when on Christmas Eve.
Make that Christmas morning.
Waving his wand at the door in a vaguely hopeful and definitely foolish manner did no good at all. Folding his arms and swaying threateningly while telling the door that it should bloody well know who he was didn’t work either. The castle was obviously bent on mischief.
In Severus’ mind’s eye, a shaft of sunlight swung down from the firmament and lit upon a familiar set of long, curly locks. The head turned, and a pale face folded into a delighted grin, drawing the breath from his lungs as swiftly as a Bludger to his bollocks.
A silver-white shape rocketed into the sky and coiled around and around the nearest tower, until it found a cracked window and squeezed through, its sparkling trail leaving the ghostly impression of a gigantic helter-skelter.
Severus waited below, wondering with fuzzy unease exactly what sort of message he’d managed to send.
Sitting up in her four-poster, gloomily drinking the requisite ‘pint of water before bed that will magically negate my hangover in the morning’, Hermione Granger wondered with fuzzy unease exactly what had happened to Headmaster Snape.
Nearly all the Hogwarts teaching staff had gathered in the packed pub on Christmas Eve, and as usual, the main entertainment had consisted of everybody buying the Headmaster a drink and watching him get utterly toasted.
Headmaster Snape was a charming drunk, tending to smile lazily at whoever happened to talk to him. It was extremely disconcerting, and the staff adored watching it happen.
They had all exited the pub at the same time. The Headmaster had even rested his hands on her shoulders as the crowd boisterously filed through the door and onto the High Street.
Somewhere along the way, he had peeled off from the group to answer the call of nature behind a tree. And that was the last she’d seen of him.
Just as Hermione decided to go to sleep, her bedroom began to glow. A pearlescent stream of light forced itself through the utterly redundant keyhole until a long-limbed, slim-necked heron took shape and reeled across the floor towards her.
“On the sheventh day of Christmash, my true love shent to meeeee… Sheven Grangersh grinning, shix Puffshkeins playing, five DOXY WINGSHHH! Four Thestral herdsh, three Muggle pensh, two purple glovesh, and a perfect cup of tea!”
The heron Patronus snapped its beak twice and then fell over.
Hermione rubbed her eyes.
“Profeshhhor Granger, I’m in need of ash-ash-ashistance.”
Oh dear.
Hastily dressed in socks, slippers, pyjamas, a towelling bathrobe and a woolly hat, Hermione went to the rescue.
The Headmaster’s smile was at its most lazy. He pointed a wavering finger at Hermione and murmured, “Sheven Grangersh grinning. How lovely.”