[Fic] Stumbling in the Dark
May 31st, 2009 02:25 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shimotsukiFor ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
fandomfusion's Harry Potter genfic challenge, "Beware the Ides of March."
Title: Stumbling in the Dark
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
shimotsuki
Rating: PG
Warnings: mild profanity
Word count: 1450 words
Characters: Snape, McGonagall
Prompts: #42 (Ovid); #54 (Tom Waits)
Summary: Dumbledore set the wheels in motion, but he left no map. All they can do is hold on tight and hope that someone knows where they are headed. (Part of the DH-at-Hogwarts series Under the Long Shadow.)
Stumbling in the Dark
Snape thumbed gingerly through the thick ledger that lay open on Dumbledore’s—or rather, on his desk. “This is a bloody disaster.”
He turned to scowl at the large portrait behind him, but its occupant was nowhere to be seen.
Honestly, the old man’s narrow handwriting was enough to strain even eyes as sharp as Snape’s, and of course last year he’d been writing left-handed, which only made things worse. It certainly didn’t help that the school accounts were in considerable disarray to begin with. Snape was beginning to suspect that Dumbledore had never even tried to collect delinquent payments.
He muttered a few more invectives under his breath and began a new page in his own small, cramped script: September 1997—Accounts Receivable—Student Fees.
But almost as soon as he reached for the first receipt from a precarious stack, an insistent, thudding knock sounded at the door.
Snape sighed.
The teachers all knew the password to the stairs that led to the Headmaster’s office, as a matter of policy, but he had tried to make it clear at staff meetings how little he liked to be disturbed when he was up here. Merely, of course, because it was easier to do his jobs—both overt and clandestine—when he was alone. His preference for solitude had nothing to do with the looks of loathing and wounded betrayal in the eyes of teachers who had once been reasonable colleagues.
That was irrelevant.
Now he flicked his wand, letting the door to the office creak open. It became necessary to suppress another sigh.
“What is it, Carrow?”
The lumpy little man strode into the room and stopped in front of the desk, leering with that air of Death-Eater-to-Death-Eater collegiality that made Snape grind his teeth.
“I want to do something,” Carrow wheezed. “Don’t want to wait for Potter. Let’s make him come here. Start torturing the students. Maybe kill one. That’ll bring him running, yeah?”
Snape closed his eyes and opened them again, very slowly, glaring down his nose.
Even Carrow, a man not well versed in subtlety, took a step back.
“We will act,” Snape hissed, “according to the plan that the Dark Lord himself has endorsed.” He stood and leaned forward across the desk, and was gratified to see Carrow take another step away.
“Well, yeah,” the other man mumbled, “but I thought—speed things up some.”
“We will follow the plan,” Snape repeated. “If we start torturing students too thoroughly now, more parents will take their children out of school. Then, when Potter does come here, there won’t be enough children to use as hostages when we need them.” He shook his head, lip curling into a sneer. “We have discussed this before, have we not? Or is this simple plan too much for your feeble intellect?”
Carrow’s face darkened, and Snape wondered for a moment if he had pushed too far, but then the other man slumped in defeat, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes.
“So all we can do is wait ’til Potter comes, then?”
“Yes,” said Snape silkily, “we wait for Potter.” He twisted his mouth into a conspiratorial half-smile. “And we teach our lessons, of course.”
Carrow began to leer again. “There’s lots of lessons I can teach about the Dark Arts,” he agreed. “That’s right.”
Snape nodded, letting his sardonic smile signal approval. “Keep things on the right side of actual torture, so the parents don’t start to wonder too hard, and you can teach quite a lot, I expect.”
Sniggering to himself, the repulsive little man turned and left. Snape flicked his wand again and the door closed itself firmly.
Blue eyes twinkled at him from a portrait that had been empty just moments ago. “Nicely done, Severus.”
Snape sighed yet again. “I can only rein them in for so long, you know.” His lips thinned impatiently. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to tell me what it is that Potter thinks he’s trying to accomplish? Perhaps I could actually facilitate his task, if I knew what it was.”
“Not yet, I’m afraid,” said the portrait cheerfully. “All in good time, my boy.”
Snape nodded once, stiffly, and returned to his accounting.
. * . * .
Late that night, the castle corridors were dark and still. Minerva padded along on four silent feet, with ears and whiskers twitching—transforming back to human form only when she reached the staff room door.
Quelling the startled gargoyles with a single stern look, she pushed the door open and slipped inside. Now she felt well enough hidden to light her wand before crossing the room. On the opposite wall hung a large painting of a group of Hogwarts teachers from about four centuries ago, who sat sprawled around a large, amply spread table, munching, gossiping, and toasting each other endlessly.
“I say!” a rather florid man called out. “Professor McGonagall! Lovely to see you!”
“Good evening, Professor Dumfries, ladies, gentlemen.” She inclined her head politely. “Would one of you possibly be so kind as to go up to Headmaster Snape’s office and ask Professor Dumbledore to visit the landscape in my chambers? I need to speak with him in confidence.”
“Certainly, my dear.” Professor Dumfries puffed a bit as he hoisted himself out of his chair, but he bowed to her and hurried off at once.
Minerva bade good night to the other teachers in the painting, locked the staff room behind her, and went loping catwise back to her own rooms. She darted through the cat flap—Charmed to repel any creature other than herself—and transformed, smoothing her tartan dressing gown.
He had arrived first, of course. He sat, most incongruously but looking quite comfortable all the same, in the middle of a field of heather in the painting that hung above her fireplace.
“You wished to see me, Minerva?”
“Albus.” The benevolent, inscrutable smile behind the half-moon spectacles was exactly right — and it made her want to seethe at him, just at it always had. It’s not really him, she reminded herself. Magical paint on canvas—that’s all.
But still her best source for information.
She put her hands on her hips and faced the old man’s image squarely. “I never have a chance to talk with you without Snape listening to every word I say. How can I speak freely in front of a traitor?”
“How, indeed,” murmured the portrait, looking pained and regretful.
Minerva nodded in vehement agreement. “I’d like you to come down here from time to time—at least once a week—and tell me all your news.”
“News?” The white head tilted to one side, and the spectacles actually flashed in the light from the torch on the wall. The artist had clearly been very good. “I don’t get out much, you know.”
“You could tell me what sort of plots Snape and those Carrows are hatching, at the very least.”
“I could, at that,” said the portrait, thoughtfully.
“And—Albus.” The note of desperation crept into her voice against her will, and the blue eyes looked up sharply. “What is Potter doing? He said you had given him a task, and that it was something he couldn’t even tell me about.”
“Did he, now?” His expression was placid, even bland. “I’m sure Harry is doing his very best.”
Minerva huffed. Did the portrait really not know what Potter’s mission was? It had been painted last winter, after all, and she wasn’t sure how frequently Albus had been adding new memories.
On the other hand, she wouldn’t put it past the old man to be keeping secrets, even in this form.
“It’s just—We’re all waiting for him, Albus, and we don’t know what we’re waiting for.” She spread her hands beseechingly. “I would help him, if only I knew how.”
“I think,” said the portrait carefully, “that when it is time for you to do something, you will know.” He stood, brushed a few thistles from his robes, and gave her that infuriating smile again. “It is late, and I must leave you to your rest. But you are quite correct that I should visit you regularly here, where we can speak freely. I’ll see you again within the week.”
With a nod, he strolled serenely out of the painting, leaving the heather swaying in his wake.
Minerva sighed and rubbed at a knot in her temple.
“Some things never change, Albus,” she muttered. “You always did enjoy leaving me in the dark.”
With a wry salute in the direction of the empty landscape, she cast a wordless Nox and went to bed.
. * fin * .
“Under the Long Shadow” series index
.
fandomfusion's Harry Potter genfic challenge, "Beware the Ides of March."Title: Stumbling in the Dark
Author:
shimotsukiRating: PG
Warnings: mild profanity
Word count: 1450 words
Characters: Snape, McGonagall
Prompts: #42 (Ovid); #54 (Tom Waits)
Summary: Dumbledore set the wheels in motion, but he left no map. All they can do is hold on tight and hope that someone knows where they are headed. (Part of the DH-at-Hogwarts series Under the Long Shadow.)
Prompts:
42. Either you pursue or push, O Sisyphus, the stone destined to keep rolling. (Ovid)
54. Did you bury your fire? / Yes sir
Did you cover your tracks? / Yes sir
Did your bring your knife? / Yes sir
Did they see your face? / No sir (Tom Waits)
42. Either you pursue or push, O Sisyphus, the stone destined to keep rolling. (Ovid)
54. Did you bury your fire? / Yes sir
Did you cover your tracks? / Yes sir
Did your bring your knife? / Yes sir
Did they see your face? / No sir (Tom Waits)
Snape thumbed gingerly through the thick ledger that lay open on Dumbledore’s—or rather, on his desk. “This is a bloody disaster.”
He turned to scowl at the large portrait behind him, but its occupant was nowhere to be seen.
Honestly, the old man’s narrow handwriting was enough to strain even eyes as sharp as Snape’s, and of course last year he’d been writing left-handed, which only made things worse. It certainly didn’t help that the school accounts were in considerable disarray to begin with. Snape was beginning to suspect that Dumbledore had never even tried to collect delinquent payments.
He muttered a few more invectives under his breath and began a new page in his own small, cramped script: September 1997—Accounts Receivable—Student Fees.
But almost as soon as he reached for the first receipt from a precarious stack, an insistent, thudding knock sounded at the door.
Snape sighed.
The teachers all knew the password to the stairs that led to the Headmaster’s office, as a matter of policy, but he had tried to make it clear at staff meetings how little he liked to be disturbed when he was up here. Merely, of course, because it was easier to do his jobs—both overt and clandestine—when he was alone. His preference for solitude had nothing to do with the looks of loathing and wounded betrayal in the eyes of teachers who had once been reasonable colleagues.
That was irrelevant.
Now he flicked his wand, letting the door to the office creak open. It became necessary to suppress another sigh.
“What is it, Carrow?”
The lumpy little man strode into the room and stopped in front of the desk, leering with that air of Death-Eater-to-Death-Eater collegiality that made Snape grind his teeth.
“I want to do something,” Carrow wheezed. “Don’t want to wait for Potter. Let’s make him come here. Start torturing the students. Maybe kill one. That’ll bring him running, yeah?”
Snape closed his eyes and opened them again, very slowly, glaring down his nose.
Even Carrow, a man not well versed in subtlety, took a step back.
“We will act,” Snape hissed, “according to the plan that the Dark Lord himself has endorsed.” He stood and leaned forward across the desk, and was gratified to see Carrow take another step away.
“Well, yeah,” the other man mumbled, “but I thought—speed things up some.”
“We will follow the plan,” Snape repeated. “If we start torturing students too thoroughly now, more parents will take their children out of school. Then, when Potter does come here, there won’t be enough children to use as hostages when we need them.” He shook his head, lip curling into a sneer. “We have discussed this before, have we not? Or is this simple plan too much for your feeble intellect?”
Carrow’s face darkened, and Snape wondered for a moment if he had pushed too far, but then the other man slumped in defeat, shoving his hands into the pockets of his robes.
“So all we can do is wait ’til Potter comes, then?”
“Yes,” said Snape silkily, “we wait for Potter.” He twisted his mouth into a conspiratorial half-smile. “And we teach our lessons, of course.”
Carrow began to leer again. “There’s lots of lessons I can teach about the Dark Arts,” he agreed. “That’s right.”
Snape nodded, letting his sardonic smile signal approval. “Keep things on the right side of actual torture, so the parents don’t start to wonder too hard, and you can teach quite a lot, I expect.”
Sniggering to himself, the repulsive little man turned and left. Snape flicked his wand again and the door closed itself firmly.
Blue eyes twinkled at him from a portrait that had been empty just moments ago. “Nicely done, Severus.”
Snape sighed yet again. “I can only rein them in for so long, you know.” His lips thinned impatiently. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to tell me what it is that Potter thinks he’s trying to accomplish? Perhaps I could actually facilitate his task, if I knew what it was.”
“Not yet, I’m afraid,” said the portrait cheerfully. “All in good time, my boy.”
Snape nodded once, stiffly, and returned to his accounting.
Late that night, the castle corridors were dark and still. Minerva padded along on four silent feet, with ears and whiskers twitching—transforming back to human form only when she reached the staff room door.
Quelling the startled gargoyles with a single stern look, she pushed the door open and slipped inside. Now she felt well enough hidden to light her wand before crossing the room. On the opposite wall hung a large painting of a group of Hogwarts teachers from about four centuries ago, who sat sprawled around a large, amply spread table, munching, gossiping, and toasting each other endlessly.
“I say!” a rather florid man called out. “Professor McGonagall! Lovely to see you!”
“Good evening, Professor Dumfries, ladies, gentlemen.” She inclined her head politely. “Would one of you possibly be so kind as to go up to Headmaster Snape’s office and ask Professor Dumbledore to visit the landscape in my chambers? I need to speak with him in confidence.”
“Certainly, my dear.” Professor Dumfries puffed a bit as he hoisted himself out of his chair, but he bowed to her and hurried off at once.
Minerva bade good night to the other teachers in the painting, locked the staff room behind her, and went loping catwise back to her own rooms. She darted through the cat flap—Charmed to repel any creature other than herself—and transformed, smoothing her tartan dressing gown.
He had arrived first, of course. He sat, most incongruously but looking quite comfortable all the same, in the middle of a field of heather in the painting that hung above her fireplace.
“You wished to see me, Minerva?”
“Albus.” The benevolent, inscrutable smile behind the half-moon spectacles was exactly right — and it made her want to seethe at him, just at it always had. It’s not really him, she reminded herself. Magical paint on canvas—that’s all.
But still her best source for information.
She put her hands on her hips and faced the old man’s image squarely. “I never have a chance to talk with you without Snape listening to every word I say. How can I speak freely in front of a traitor?”
“How, indeed,” murmured the portrait, looking pained and regretful.
Minerva nodded in vehement agreement. “I’d like you to come down here from time to time—at least once a week—and tell me all your news.”
“News?” The white head tilted to one side, and the spectacles actually flashed in the light from the torch on the wall. The artist had clearly been very good. “I don’t get out much, you know.”
“You could tell me what sort of plots Snape and those Carrows are hatching, at the very least.”
“I could, at that,” said the portrait, thoughtfully.
“And—Albus.” The note of desperation crept into her voice against her will, and the blue eyes looked up sharply. “What is Potter doing? He said you had given him a task, and that it was something he couldn’t even tell me about.”
“Did he, now?” His expression was placid, even bland. “I’m sure Harry is doing his very best.”
Minerva huffed. Did the portrait really not know what Potter’s mission was? It had been painted last winter, after all, and she wasn’t sure how frequently Albus had been adding new memories.
On the other hand, she wouldn’t put it past the old man to be keeping secrets, even in this form.
“It’s just—We’re all waiting for him, Albus, and we don’t know what we’re waiting for.” She spread her hands beseechingly. “I would help him, if only I knew how.”
“I think,” said the portrait carefully, “that when it is time for you to do something, you will know.” He stood, brushed a few thistles from his robes, and gave her that infuriating smile again. “It is late, and I must leave you to your rest. But you are quite correct that I should visit you regularly here, where we can speak freely. I’ll see you again within the week.”
With a nod, he strolled serenely out of the painting, leaving the heather swaying in his wake.
Minerva sighed and rubbed at a knot in her temple.
“Some things never change, Albus,” she muttered. “You always did enjoy leaving me in the dark.”
With a wry salute in the direction of the empty landscape, she cast a wordless Nox and went to bed.
“Under the Long Shadow” series index
.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 10:54 pm (UTC)Also love McGonagall - always in the dark and still trying to do the right thing. Dumbledore created a hole in everyones lives.
Wonderful!
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 10:55 pm (UTC)It seems like I'm not the only one who thinks that Dumbledore and McGonagall may have had something going on between them 'romantically.'
It's nice that Dumbledore is there to speak with Snape and guide him through his "double agent" role. And to give Minerva some comfort and company.
Again, nice job! Thanks! :)
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 11:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 11:40 pm (UTC)Thanks for the kind words. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 11:45 pm (UTC)I wasn't actually imagining a past relationship between McGonagall and Dumbledore here (although it's certainly open to interpretation!). In my mind, McGonagall loved him as a mentor, but was frustrated most of the time, knowing he was probably being manipulative, while not knowing to what end. I think he'd have made a very difficult boss! And it would have gone on all year in DH, too -- Dumbledore's portrait would have been much more honest with Snape than with McGonagall, not that she would have known that, of course. *sigh*
no subject
Date: 2009-06-02 12:43 pm (UTC)Yay fellow deadline-beater!
I really like your portrayal of these two soldiers in Dumbledore's machinations. Especially Snape balances nicely, doing the good deeds, but bringing all his sneering unpleasant personality to bear. :D I'm not sure why that endears him to me, but let's not delve too deep into that... Poor Snape though, trying to follow Dumbledore's direction and not even being able to read his accounting.
And Minerva being all sneaky and getting a meeting with Dumbledore which amounts to absolutely nothing, except glinting in the half-moon spectacles. I also liked the speculations about how much a portrait can actually know, and how it gets its knowledge. Very interesting.
So well done! Thank you for sharing this. :D
no subject
Date: 2009-06-02 07:32 pm (UTC)I'm not sure why that endears him to me, but let's not delve too deep into that...
Heh, I feel exactly the same way. He's a great complex character for us to play with. I'm glad you like him here.
I'm happy you liked McGonagall and the speculations about portraits, too. I think JKR has said somewhere that portraits are like recordings or impressions of people -- but can they feel anything? Dumbledore's portrait did cry when it/he saw Harry at the end of DH...
no subject
Date: 2009-06-02 07:34 pm (UTC)I really love the way you've created a dark and hopeless feeling without heaping the angst on with a trowel. I particularly like Snape being as much in the dark as everyone else, as it's easy to assume that he was the one person who knew everything, but atually much more likely that (like Harry) he only knew 'his bit' as it were.
Oh, and your Snape dialogue was fantastic, reminds me of how much fun he is to write!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-03 02:32 pm (UTC)And for all he seems to have been Dumbledore's main confidant, I don't think Dumbledore really told him anything much about the Horcrux hunt -- he had to get Harry the sword, and he had the instructions about delivering that last awful message to Harry when Voldemort started acting protective of Nagini, but that seems to have been about it -- not that he might not have guessed some of it eventually, of course. But I was imagining that at the start of the fall term he might not have worked it all out yet!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-03 04:42 pm (UTC)The irony of How, indeed was simply wonderful, considering what we and the portrait know about Snape and poor Minerva doesn't. I really got the sense that both of them are alone as well as in the dark: they want to help Harry, but Minerva wants to see Dumbledore every week for 'news' and Snape wants to discuss accounts with him. It must be very bleak indeed at Hogwarts.
I loved Snape. I had a twinge of sympathy with his need to remember it's irrelevant that his colleagues can't stand the sight of him, and then he's advocating staying just on the right side of torturing children so as not to concern the parents. And Dumbledore, always putting what needs to be done first, however unpleasant, congratulating him. I liked the my boy from the portrait as well, which says a lot about the relationship between them. So does Snape's silent and obedient nod.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-03 05:02 pm (UTC)Lovely work, dear!
no subject
Date: 2009-06-04 03:15 am (UTC)I strongly suspect McGonagall got the short end of the stick in DH year. I'm sure she saw herself as Dumbledore's main representative at the school, his second in command -- certainly as someone who was in the loop. But I bet Dumbledore-the-portrait really spent all his time plotting with Snape. I wanted to show the portrait here realizing he had to at least throw McGonagall a few crumbs, poor thing.
And I'm glad if I managed to make Snape a little bit sympathetic. I'd always found him fascinating, but not particularly likeable -- until that wry humor he had in his interactions with Dumbledore in DH stole a little piece of my heart, heh.
Thanks so much for your comments. :)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-04 03:18 am (UTC)I had fun writing McGonagall-the-cat -- isn't it a perfect way to sneak around the castle in the dark? (I wonder how she gets along with Mrs. Norris...) And yeah, I never liked Snape much until DH, either -- but I really loved the way he and Dumbledore interacted in that Pensieve scene.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 02:06 am (UTC)If I had one thing to praise about this piece, it’d be your Snape. He really shines! I love how disdainful and unemotionally pragmatic he is when dealing with Carrow (“If we start torturing students…” LOL!) and how his little detail-oriented side gets all frustrated at Dumbledore’s accounting. And how he has No Need for Approval. You’ve made it clear that he doesn’t really fit in with either side and that no one else could have pulled off that delicate balancing act.
The undertone of snarky humor to his performance almost had me laughing out loud at times, and, by the end, I wanted to give him a curtain call. Please do write him again.
It’s plausible to see Minerva on the edge of her patience here given that the castle is under occupation and her hands are tied. I thought she felt very IC.
The little detail of Dumbledore brushing his robes free of thistles was excellent, btw. ; )
no subject
Date: 2009-06-05 05:01 pm (UTC)As for Dumbledore, I think the better Harry came to know him, the more frustrating he found him, and I'm sure it would just be magnified even more for the people who knew him even better, heh.