One Phone Call

by Natalie

Author’s Note:  The picture itself doesn’t make it clear which side of the bars Snape and Granger are on – and (sorry Molly) since the picture is all the author is obligated to go by, this couple is *not* in the hoosegow.

“You talk to him.  He’s your son,” Hermione hissed through clenched teeth.

“You talk to him.  You are his mother.  And he is named after your best friend,” Severus replied, his face so stiff that his lips barely moved.

“He’ll respond better to a man right now, Severus,” she said.

Severus turned slowly to look at his wife.  “If he were in the habit of responding to me, he wouldn’t have gotten into this situation in the first place,” he said with finality.

Severus and Hermione Snape had felt almost as out-of-place at the stationhouse as they looked.  Awoken at four a.m. by the infrequent ringing of the telephone that Hermione insisted on keeping, hastily dressing in whatever clothes were closest, they apparated, still half-asleep, to the address in Muggle London that they were directed to by the impersonal voice over the phone.

It was only after they walked in that they realised how inappropriate their clothes were to the situation – the stationhouse was quiet at this time of night, and the bored-looking receptionist behind the partition stifled a yawn and squinted her eyes at them suspiciously.

Everyone is always suspicious in a police station, Hermione thought, it doesn’t mean that we’ve done something wrong.

Being here was vaguely reminiscent of … now what was it? …Oh yes, Potions lessons.  The same feeling of anxiety and guilt combined with a kind of defensiveness – a dangerous combination, for two magical folk in a place like this!

“Hello,” Hermione said as she approached the counter, smiling obsequiously.  The stout Muggle PC at the other side of the counter didn’t defrost one bit – in fact, as the pair approached, she leaned back in her chair as if she smelled something unpleasant.  “We’re here about our son, Harry Snape.  We got a call.”

The Muggle pursed her lips and grunted.  “Oh.  He’s with you, is he?  Gave us a spot of trouble, that one did.  You’re lucky he’s not being tagged for a lot more than mischief.  Must be his charming smile,” she concluded with a feral grin of her own, glancing back and forth at the two parents.  “He’s back there, in the drunk tank,” she nodded towards a closed door.  “One of the first ones out – you must live close by.”

The PC pushed a button and a burly uniformed man came through the door with a ‘click’.  “This the Snapes,” she said to him, “come to get their son Harry.  Take ‘em through, will you?”  The man nodded.

As they passed through the door they heard many voices raised in a jumble of high spirits – they could just make out that of their son, whose rich baritone and quick laughter made him easy to place.

“What is he being held for?” Severus asked as they walked down the long, dim hallway flanked by sweating cinderblocks.  “The gentleman on the – phone – declined to tell us.”

“Aawww, him and a bunch of his com-patriots from that school of his thought it would be funny to hoist a Mini from under Tower Bridge.”  The Snapes looked at each other in horror.

“Mini what?” Severus muttered to Hermione, luckily too quiet to be heard.

“We don’t pay too much attention to it, here at station.  Them Engineering students, always has some clever prank up their sleeves.  Not enough to do at College, I suppose.”

~~~~

The – wing? – block? – the fuming parents were led to held two cells.  One contained three oldish-looking sleeping Muggles, or perhaps two Muggles and a pile of tatty clothes – and the other, bars almost shaking with the force of the aggregate youthful masculinity, held seven Muggle Mechanical Engineering students, and one young wizard.  Hermione and Severus held their brief, hushed conversation while their escort made an unnecessary examination of the two barred compartments.

At least Harry had the good sense to look sheepish.  When the PC and the two elder Snapes approached the barred cell front, the raucous laughter and loud talking trailed off, and the animated, black-haired, strapping six-footer at the centre of the throng of boys turned to his parents with a hang-dog look.

“Hi mum,” he said with an attempt at a casual, cheerful grin.  “Hello, father,” he continued, his voice about an octave lower, intoning with Papal solemnity.  “That was quick.  Didn’t even take the time to change out of your night-clothes!”  Standing by the bars, with his back to his friends, Harry made a face that said ‘For Gods’ sake, please play along!’.  Hermione scowled at her oldest child and Severus rolled his eyes.

As a body, the sitting, slouching and crouching mob of Muggle lads arose and approached their friend’s parents, all seven showing identical, ingratiating smiles.  The tense air was squeezed tighter with murmurs of ‘Well, so these are your parents,’ and ‘So introduce us, then,’ and ‘I’m so glad to finally meet you,’… Hands were extended through the bars and lavish compliments were issued, about their son, their prompt arrival, their night-clothes, and their parenting skills.  It was So, So, So gratifying to be so so so  popular with their son’s friends.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself,” Hermione said, turning to Harry with a glare.

In the face of his friends’ apparent success with his parents, the boy seemed to regain much of his equilibrium, and replied with a casual smile, “Oh mum, it’s nothing.  Just a bit of fun.  The faculty does it every year.  You know Mu – Mechanical Engineers.”  Harry finished with an expansive hand gesture that generously took in his cell-mates with a look that said ‘Look at us!  We’re just a bunch of good lads trying to make it in this world.  Don’t be part of the problem, be part of the solution!’  His friends, taking his cue, donned uniform expressions of concerned, studious, wholesome manhood.

“Harry,” Severus said dryly, “your friends are such accomplished grovellers.  Why I wonder has it not rubbed off on you?”

The conversation might have taken quite a nasty turn, but for the lugubrious PC, who was obviously not the slightest bit interested in the current exchange was shifting on his feet and clearing his throat with ill-concealed impatience.  “Well,” the Muggle said, “if you’ll sign t’ papers stating you’ll be responsible for him, you can take him now if you like.”

All three Snapes nodded, although Harry’s enthusiastic agreement quailed under his father’s scowl.  As the PC unlocked the door with keys he’d been twisting noisily, Harry’s schoolmates took turns shaking his hand and patting him on the back as if he were a groom, or a departing serviceman.  As his parents turned and wordlessly departed down the passage, Harry waved and gestured at his seven classmates, whose fourteen gangly arms curled covetously towards him while they intoned pathetic ‘Don’t leave me’s and made kissing noises.  As he joined his parents in the cinderblock corridor, the teasing words modulated into the more familiar excited shouts and guffaws.

~~~~

Much later, Harry sat in the kitchen with Dorothea, his younger sister.  The lectures and recriminations had been lengthy but bearable, and as usual Harry had artfully avoided any serious repercussions.

Also as usual, Dot had arisen to the sound of her brother fighting with their parents, and after doing her part by defending him, had sat with Harry to help him lick his wounds.

“So you and a bunch of Muggles took a …car… up to Tower Bridge and strung it up underneath?  Why?  And why on Earth didn’t you use magic?”

“Oh, it’s a tradition for Engineering students.  To show how clever we are with applied sciences, yet how fun-loving and rascally.  It wouldn’t be sporting to use magic – the whole idea is to prove how well we understand what we’re learning.  And to apply it in an uniquely-Engineering-Student way, of course.”  Harry grinned tiredly as he sipped his hot chocolate.

“Huh.  Well, I’d say you got off pretty easy then.  I wonder how the other parents will react.”

Harry batted his eyelashes over his almost-black eyes and leaned towards his sister conspiratorially.  “I wonder how the authorities at Tower Bridge will react when the Invisibility spell on the VW Van wears off.”

FIN

1410

By SilentG, gnat67@telus.net