It
all had to do with a mirror. It was fairly insignificant, really,
small and dull edged, wound around with runes. It came in a bundle
with other dark objects to be sorted per Dumbledore’s request.
These sacks of objects were coming in more frequently as more and
more Death Eater holdouts were cleared out after the final battle.
Hogwarts agreed to sort and categorize them for future studies,
keeping them safe from the public. In retrospect, he should have
known better. The public never seemed to take into account nosy
students with a knack for disaster.
Sending
Longbottom in to clean up the shelves for his detention punishment
wasn’t all that unusual, but he should have known that the
incompetent fool would have poked his nose where it wasn’t
wanted. When Longbottom cried out in that thin, reedy voice he always
adopted in the Potions classroom, wanting to know what to do with
the mirror, Snape gritted his teeth and tried not to hex the boy
on principle. He had better things to do than play babysitter and
didn’t even remember there was a mirror in the box. So he
said, put it on a lower shelf. It didn’t seem that difficult,
the proper placement of a mirror on a shelf, but when the storeroom
was lit with an unpleasant sickly glow, and Longbottom gave a more
than his usual yelps of distress, he’d gone running to see
what the matter was.
The
matter, unfortunately, was a lack of Longbottom. Instead, a sandy-reddish
brown haired fellow was crumpled on the floor, gripping the mirror
tightly.
Snape
was not impressed.
So
not impressed, in fact that he forgot to scowl, swoop his cloak,
or anything else menacing as the boy sat up, blinked and started
yammering. There was no other way to describe the sound: yammering.
“Giles
is going to be so pissed. Willow knows better than to go messing
around in the archives, but no, she had to go see what the mirror
did. ‘Here Andrew, read this? What does it say?’ Well,
duh, it obviously says ‘go transplant reader into scary dungeon
place with- ew, are those real?- pickled frogs and loomy comic book
types.’ This would give the Batcave a run for the money, though
less bats and more eye of newt. Oh! Maybe it’s Miracle Max’s
storeroom from the Princess Bride movie. I bet he has the coolest
stuff in there, like Holocaust cloaks and ash of dragon. I love
that movie. Buffy is so Princess Buttercup, but she’s better
with a sword. And more with the tragic romance than the getting
the guy in the end.”
Noticing
that Snape looked about to have an aneurism right then, face pale
and splotchy, fists gripped tight, the boy stopped talking for a
moment. With a mounting sense of dread, Snape watched him look around,
eyes bright and busy fingers fondling the edge of the mirror. “Say,
creepy dude, where am I?”
Snape
wasn’t sure what to say, so he said burst out. “Creepy
dude? How dare you! I am Professor Snape, Potions Master. You are
in the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Potions Classroom,
Storage Cupboard, third from the left.”
The
boy blinked. “Whoa. A school for witchy stuff? Willow would
be so impressed. Potions, ew, they always taste bad. Except the
one that makes your skin turn blue. That one’s yummy. Willow
shouldn’t leave it around, all the new slayers keep getting
into it, turning all teal, totally hopped up in blue juice. Sort
of like Smurfs with superpowers. Did you ever wonder what would
happen if the Smurfs got superpowers? They’d be all- wheeeewwww,
zoom, tiny little crime fighters. Oh! Oh! They’d use tiny
little swords and stab people in the feet, like the Lilliputians
did. But not so neurotic, cause everyone knows how cool the smurfs
are. Especially Smurfette.” The annoying boy grinned. “Smurfette
was hot.”
Snape’s
jaw dropped open, and he clutched his robes tighter.
The
boy just grinned. “Don’t worry, Dark Avenger, the ladies
will get this all straightened out in a jiffy. Just have to translate
the runes. With Dawn back for a holiday, it’ll be like no
time at all. Probably just a handwiggle or two then its poof and
I’m home. Unless maybe I could stay. I’d love to see
a real witchy school. Bet they have the-“
“Stop!
You must desist. You must go home.” Snape’s eyelid was
beginning to twitch. Whoever this boy was, he was ten times worse
than Longbottom. At least Longbottom shut up occasionally. He wasn’t
sure his nerves could take much longer. The boy just arched an eyebrow
and scrambled to his feet.
“Oh,
look!” He poked into the box that had held the mirror. “You
have a Delubian Whistle! You can summon armies of Traxies with this.
They’re not very bright, and have to eat thirty pounds of
cane sugar a day, but if you need a foot army fast, that’s
the way to go. Just make sure to set aside plenty of space for their
latrines.” He held his nose. “You don’t want to
smell them after a day. Whew. I remember this time Tucker got curious-“
Then
there was the blessed light again. Snape was so happy to see the
boy disappear in a flash of yellowish haze that when Longbottom
rematerialized, shaking and pale faced, Snape actually smiled. This,
of course, only made Longbottom shake more.
Snape
couldn’t care less. With great enthusiasm, he said, “Your
detention is finished for today. Go away. Never come back. Ever.
Serve your future detentions with any one but me. And never, ever,
pick up this mirror again. Who knows what horrors might pop out.”
Longbottom,
all too happy to agree, gathered his wits and left.
~Fin~
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