[fic] A Sure Cure for the Blues
A Sure Cure for the Blues
Fandom: Harry Potter / The Smurfs
Rating: PG
Ship: none
Summary: Snape is drawn back in time by an ancestor who needs his help with a little problem. Make that a number of little. blue. problems.
A/N: Yes, I wrote Snapefic. Try not to faint. Many, many thanks for midnitemaraud_r for her input and assurances that I'm not going to hell for this. Approx. 1,000 words. Cross-posted to deathly_lollows and thistlefics.
Severus Snape set his cup of steaming Orange Pekoe on the table, sank into his chair, and opened his book. He'd just bottled fame, brewed glory, and stoppered death, and was looking forward to some tea and a little light reading before turning in for the night. As his quarters were in the dungeon, he didn't have a window and therefore couldn't see what was happening outside the castle, but he could hear the wind battering the ancient stones, and he imagined flocks of autumn leaves and maybe an owl or two tossed about under the moonless sky.
Despite himself, he was enjoying the book that Dumbledore had inflicted upon him the other day, Marlena Maloney's One Thousand and One Reasons to Buck Up: Hex that Frown Upside Down! (Reason Fifty-Seven was, "Seven years is nothing to a wizard, and after that, you'll most likely never see the brats again.")
Snape laid his index finger on the page to mark his place and looked up. How true, he thought. Seven years was nothing to a wizard, and Harry Potter had just begun his fifth at Hogwarts. In just under three years, he and Snape would part ways and then - Merlin willing - they would never meet again. Providing Potter survived his remaining school years. Snape spent a few moments reflecting on that happy unlikelihood.
It was quite late when he finally pushed his book and empty teacup aside, rose from his chair, and padded over to his bed. He sank against the hard mattress, pulled his blanket up over his shoulder, and closed his eyes. He could still hear the wind whistling high above. He thought it was the wind, anyway. Strange, the way it seemed to be growing louder. Strange too, how the duvet began to flutter.
Had Snape been fully awake, he would probably have reacted. But he was drowsy and so, by the time he opened his eyes to see what was going on inside his quarters, it was too late.
*
Snape crashed to his knees against something cold and unyielding, something not unlike the floor of his quarters. He'd been scooped up and flung from his bed by something large and invisible.
"Potter," he muttered, and lifted his head.
Nausea swept over him. He dropped his head again, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Ten…thousand…points…from…Gryffindor!" he spat through clenched teeth.
Somewhere to his right, a cat hissed.
"No, Azrael!" The gravelly voice was unfamiliar. "I have brought him here by magic."
The cat meowed inquiringly.
"Yes," said the stranger with the gravelly voice, as if he'd understood. "He is going to help us with our little problem."
By then, Snape's brain had stopped tumbling about in his skull. He lifted his head again slowly, cautiously, and opened his eyes.
He was slumped on the floor of dungeon not unlike his own. The curved walls appeared to have been hewn from granite, and were lined with shelves bearing thick tomes and flasks of murky liquid. Torches were stuck in sconces, and their steady flames lit the features of the man standing over Snape.
He was not very tall, and the fact that his shoulders were stooped made him appear shorter still. He was bald except for a thin fringe of black hair that grew like a fake beard hooked on backward. His nose was small and knobbed, his eyes black. His long robes were black as well, and patched in several places. His shoes and stockings were bright red.
The rust-colored cat, which had hissed at Snape moments earlier, was butting its head lovingly against those hideous stockings.
"Who," demanded Snape, "are you?" He silently cursed himself for allowing this to happen: caught in his pajamas, without his wand. He'd left it on the table beside his bed, barely two feet from where his hand had rested against his pillow.
His captor was studying him. "I don't suppose the name Gargamel appears in your history books. Still, I'm surprised you don't recognize my face."
Snape was unimpressed. "And just when am I supposed to have seen your face before?"
Gargamel cackled. "Each time you've looked into a mirror!"
Snape would have informed him that he had more pressing concerns than his vanity, but Gargamel went on, glee mixing with the gravel in his voice: "Yes, my great-great-great-great-great-great grandson! I summoned you with my magic, so you could help me with a little problem."
The cat meowed again, rather chidingly this time.
"Make that several little problems," Gargamel amended. "Little blue problems. Alone, it seems I am inadequate. But together…! They won't stand a chance, eh, Azrael?" He cackled again. So did the cat.
Snape regarded them coldly. "You're mad if you expect me to lift a finger to help you, ancestor or not."
"You're mad," his ancestor informed him, "if you expect to be returned to your own time if you don't help me. Come, Azrael!"
*
"Well, that was sad," Hermione said as she, Harry, and Ron left Professor Binns's classroom and started down the corridor.
"I'll say," said Ron. "Sad that Binns is still teaching."
Hermione rounded on him and Harry, though Harry had smartly kept his mouth shut. "Weren't either of you even listening?" she demanded. "An entire magical race, completely wiped out! Turned into gold by that rotten Gargamel and his mysterious assistant. And they sounded so cute, with their singing and their little mushroom houses."
"So, it wouldn't have been so bad if they'd been ugly?" countered Ron.
"Oh, you!" Hermione thwacked him with her rucksack - which was heavy enough to send him sprawling. "Poor little things," she sniffled.
"Come on," said Harry, "or we'll be late for Potions. Not that I'm anxious to see Snape," he added as he hauled Ron back to his feet. "Did you see the way he was grinning at breakfast? Either he had a really nice weekend, or he's got something nasty in store for us."
"Two Knuts says it's the second one," said Ron.
"Hmph." Hermione stuck her nose in the air and flounced away.
4.7.07
Fandom: Harry Potter / The Smurfs
Rating: PG
Ship: none
Summary: Snape is drawn back in time by an ancestor who needs his help with a little problem. Make that a number of little. blue. problems.
A/N: Yes, I wrote Snapefic. Try not to faint. Many, many thanks for midnitemaraud_r for her input and assurances that I'm not going to hell for this. Approx. 1,000 words. Cross-posted to deathly_lollows and thistlefics.
Severus Snape set his cup of steaming Orange Pekoe on the table, sank into his chair, and opened his book. He'd just bottled fame, brewed glory, and stoppered death, and was looking forward to some tea and a little light reading before turning in for the night. As his quarters were in the dungeon, he didn't have a window and therefore couldn't see what was happening outside the castle, but he could hear the wind battering the ancient stones, and he imagined flocks of autumn leaves and maybe an owl or two tossed about under the moonless sky.
Despite himself, he was enjoying the book that Dumbledore had inflicted upon him the other day, Marlena Maloney's One Thousand and One Reasons to Buck Up: Hex that Frown Upside Down! (Reason Fifty-Seven was, "Seven years is nothing to a wizard, and after that, you'll most likely never see the brats again.")
Snape laid his index finger on the page to mark his place and looked up. How true, he thought. Seven years was nothing to a wizard, and Harry Potter had just begun his fifth at Hogwarts. In just under three years, he and Snape would part ways and then - Merlin willing - they would never meet again. Providing Potter survived his remaining school years. Snape spent a few moments reflecting on that happy unlikelihood.
It was quite late when he finally pushed his book and empty teacup aside, rose from his chair, and padded over to his bed. He sank against the hard mattress, pulled his blanket up over his shoulder, and closed his eyes. He could still hear the wind whistling high above. He thought it was the wind, anyway. Strange, the way it seemed to be growing louder. Strange too, how the duvet began to flutter.
Had Snape been fully awake, he would probably have reacted. But he was drowsy and so, by the time he opened his eyes to see what was going on inside his quarters, it was too late.
*
Snape crashed to his knees against something cold and unyielding, something not unlike the floor of his quarters. He'd been scooped up and flung from his bed by something large and invisible.
"Potter," he muttered, and lifted his head.
Nausea swept over him. He dropped his head again, squeezing his eyes shut.
"Ten…thousand…points…from…Gryffindor!" he spat through clenched teeth.
Somewhere to his right, a cat hissed.
"No, Azrael!" The gravelly voice was unfamiliar. "I have brought him here by magic."
The cat meowed inquiringly.
"Yes," said the stranger with the gravelly voice, as if he'd understood. "He is going to help us with our little problem."
By then, Snape's brain had stopped tumbling about in his skull. He lifted his head again slowly, cautiously, and opened his eyes.
He was slumped on the floor of dungeon not unlike his own. The curved walls appeared to have been hewn from granite, and were lined with shelves bearing thick tomes and flasks of murky liquid. Torches were stuck in sconces, and their steady flames lit the features of the man standing over Snape.
He was not very tall, and the fact that his shoulders were stooped made him appear shorter still. He was bald except for a thin fringe of black hair that grew like a fake beard hooked on backward. His nose was small and knobbed, his eyes black. His long robes were black as well, and patched in several places. His shoes and stockings were bright red.
The rust-colored cat, which had hissed at Snape moments earlier, was butting its head lovingly against those hideous stockings.
"Who," demanded Snape, "are you?" He silently cursed himself for allowing this to happen: caught in his pajamas, without his wand. He'd left it on the table beside his bed, barely two feet from where his hand had rested against his pillow.
His captor was studying him. "I don't suppose the name Gargamel appears in your history books. Still, I'm surprised you don't recognize my face."
Snape was unimpressed. "And just when am I supposed to have seen your face before?"
Gargamel cackled. "Each time you've looked into a mirror!"
Snape would have informed him that he had more pressing concerns than his vanity, but Gargamel went on, glee mixing with the gravel in his voice: "Yes, my great-great-great-great-great-great grandson! I summoned you with my magic, so you could help me with a little problem."
The cat meowed again, rather chidingly this time.
"Make that several little problems," Gargamel amended. "Little blue problems. Alone, it seems I am inadequate. But together…! They won't stand a chance, eh, Azrael?" He cackled again. So did the cat.
Snape regarded them coldly. "You're mad if you expect me to lift a finger to help you, ancestor or not."
"You're mad," his ancestor informed him, "if you expect to be returned to your own time if you don't help me. Come, Azrael!"
*
"Well, that was sad," Hermione said as she, Harry, and Ron left Professor Binns's classroom and started down the corridor.
"I'll say," said Ron. "Sad that Binns is still teaching."
Hermione rounded on him and Harry, though Harry had smartly kept his mouth shut. "Weren't either of you even listening?" she demanded. "An entire magical race, completely wiped out! Turned into gold by that rotten Gargamel and his mysterious assistant. And they sounded so cute, with their singing and their little mushroom houses."
"So, it wouldn't have been so bad if they'd been ugly?" countered Ron.
"Oh, you!" Hermione thwacked him with her rucksack - which was heavy enough to send him sprawling. "Poor little things," she sniffled.
"Come on," said Harry, "or we'll be late for Potions. Not that I'm anxious to see Snape," he added as he hauled Ron back to his feet. "Did you see the way he was grinning at breakfast? Either he had a really nice weekend, or he's got something nasty in store for us."
"Two Knuts says it's the second one," said Ron.
"Hmph." Hermione stuck her nose in the air and flounced away.
4.7.07