…If
you can’t see where it keeps its brain.
by Natalie
“Oh,
they’re so cute, Minerva!! How
did you make them?” Hermione
squinted at the tiny couple on the top of the cake.
“Well,
strictly speaking, the House Elves made them,” Minerva said reluctantly, with
a sideways glance at the erstwhile agitator.
Luckily, no recriminations seemed to be forthcoming.
“I only animated them.”
“I
love how Severus is just peeking out behind me, like he’s trying to hide!
Do they talk?” The bride added. All
around them the bustle of the wedding preparations made it hard for the two
women to make themselves heard.
“Oh
no, nothing like that. Although
your rings have been enchanted to sing a song, I do believe. But that was Albus’ work.
They are edible, though. Made
of sugar, naturally.” Minerva
smiled. “The cornerstone of
Hogwarts’ Culinary Arts.”
Hermione
smiled back. “Well, I have to
thank you for all the hard work you’ve put into the celebration – Severus
and I are so appreciative, and I just know that it’s going to go
swimmingly.” She linked arms with
her old Head of House as the two of them hurried away, intent on their work.
-*~~*~~*-
“Are
they gone?”
“Yes,
our oppressors have moved on to some other bourgeois, decadent pursuits.”
“Good!
I was getting a cramp standing still for so long, and their selfish,
classist meanderings were making me sick to my stomach.
So. The plan?”
“Yes,
the plan. We have been put down for
too long by the powers that be. Made
to act like puppets to the titled elite, kow-towing to their demands, dancing to
their tunes, and arraying ourselves for their sordid, dissipated amusements.
They want to consume us like they have consumed all that comes into their
purview in this reactionary Plutocracy. But
our time has come.”
“Yes!
All Hail The New Order! But
– the plan. What is the plan?”
“We
must level the Hierarchy!”
“Yes!”
“Baffle
the Cultural Elite!”
“Hear!”
“Discombobulate
the Intelligentsia!”
“Hooray!”
“Bitch
up the cogs of their so-called ‘Military Machinery’!”
“Heigh-ho!”
“Bugger
every one of the Bourgeois puppets of the Titled Overlords!!”
“…Er…”
“Figuratively
speaking.”
“Hooray!”
“Hail
to the New Order!”
“…Er,
but …what is the plan?”
“The
plan?”
“Yes,
the plan. Our actual plan.
The way we’re going to do all that – stuff you said.
How are we going to actually do it?”
“…”
“…”
“…”
“Come!
We must destroy our progenitors so that we may smash the despotic regime
and free the enslaved proletariat!”
“…”
“…”
“…Kill
our parents and inhabit their bodies, use their powers and live forever!”
“Hooray!”
-*~~*~~*-
When
Winky returned to the cake with the fuchsia icing-pipe, her atrophied Elf-brain
was unfortunately incapable of comprehending the significance of the trail of
tiny footprints that led across and down the tiered monstrosity, leaving little
indents of coloured sugar along the tabletop; or capable of speculating or even
wondering where the miniature Snapes had gotten to. She simply left and returned with a tiny, animated replica of
Dumbledore in a sleigh with eight tiny reindeer, which she placed carefully on
top of the cake, to the rhythm of sleigh bells.
Meanwhile,
Hermione had found her husband-to-be.
“Oh,
Severus, you just have to see them – I mean us!
We’re so cute, and we move!
And we’re made of sugar!!!!”
The
Potions master looked away from his fiancée and out the window while he
schooled his rebellious smirk into a look of bland disapproval. “No,
thank you. Seeing it – them – “ Severus quickly corrected himself
as he saw Hermione bracing to lecture him on The Politics of Objectifying
Animated Non-Persons, “on our wedding day will be satisfactory, I daresay.
And what was a conscientious objector like you doing in the enclave of
the downtrodden, if I may ask?”
“Oh,
Minerva and I were just,” Hermione stumbled over her words at Snape’s
quizzical, ‘I-told-you-so’ look. “Just
inspecting the preparations for the wedding,” she concluded, sticking her chin
out defensively. “The House Elves
were very keen to show me how they’re going,” she muttered glumly to her
shoes.
Severus
sighed. “Very well, let’s go
see these little cavity-inducing avatars of yours.
And perhaps we can help agitate for the Revolution,” he added with a
wicked grin.
And
they made off towards the kitchens.
-*~~*~~*-
Snape,
Hermione and Minerva all stared dumbly at the cake, speckled with fuchsia serifs
and topped with a very…familiar-looking Santa Claus.
“I
just don’t know what to say,” Minerva said.
“
Nor I,” Hermione said.
“Maybe
they didn’t want to get married,” Snape said.
The two women turned to him and bared their teeth like the lionesses they
were. To hold off a bloody coup, he
held up his hands. “I’m not
saying that I don’t want to get married, but…”
“But.
What.” The two women
asked, advancing on him so that he backed into the corner of the patisserie.
“But,
we all know that Animated Non-Human Sugar People aren’t covered by British
Wizarding laws.” Minerva and
Hermione stared at him sceptically. “So
marriage would just be a piece of paper, wouldn’t it?
They wouldn’t be entitled to any of the financial benefits that
encourage magical people to marry…” Realising he was digging himself into a
deeper hole, Snape closed his eyes and sighed.
“Hermione, darling, do you still want to show me your gown?
I’d love to see it.” As
he passed, Snape gave Minerva a theatrical wink.
Over her shoulder, Hermione winked at Minerva too.
-*~~*~~*-
“Do
you see them?”
“No.
What am I looking for?”
“Two
decadent, bourgeois pigs dressed in the pilfered finery woven by threadbare
urchins from yarn bought with the life-blood of the noble agrarian.”
“…Er…”
“Look
for someone who looks like me, only bigger.”
“Well,
I don’t see them.”
“Never
mind. The bodies of any soft,
lily-livered Despots will do – we just have to keep looking.
Maybe here in this den of falsehoods where the Plutocratic Overlords
celebrate and immortalise their crimes against the people.
You first.”
Nearby…
Filch,
once again in possession of the Marauders’ Map, said to Mrs Norris, “Now
that’s odd. The map says that
Professors Snape and Granger are in the Kitchens – but it also says that
Severus and Hermione are outside the Trophy Room… Let us go and see, my
sweet.”
And
before long, Mrs Norris heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet…
FIN
1063
By
SilentG, gnat67@telus.net