Dark Revel Parody - The Birthday Present

By Shiv

Professor Snape had been summoned before his master yet again. Another Dark  Revel in some cold, damp forest clearing, with all its attendant horrors. He had been greeted by Lucius, who had made his blood run cold when he said, “There you  are, Severus. You didn’t think we would let your birthday pass without a little gift did you?”

Albus had given him a pair of socks for his birthday. What on earth would this collection of psychopaths and rapists give him? His own set of skinning knives as designed by Phillippe Starck?

It turned out to be his very own Mudblood to play with. And not just any Mudblood either. Hermione Granger, side-kick to Potter, and ever-present thorn  in his side. All he really wanted for his birthday was a quiet drink and the chance to read Moste Potente Potions in peace, not gift-wrapped victims. He was surprised that Lucius hadn’t gone the whole hog and tied a pink ribbon round the  poor girl.

Now he had to try and think of some way to rescue Miss Granger without blowing his cover as a spy. It was bad enough turning 45 without this kind of crap in your life. Still if he did manage to pull off a spectacular and heroic victory, and provided say fifteen minutes of sympathy and a couple of glasses of brandy –  for the shock Miss Granger – he might get a birthday shag after all. And in surroundings slightly more salubrious than this pisshole.

He sneered.

He was getting to old for shagging outdoors, and had never been fond of  providing the evening’s entertainment, even when he was younger. He thought  there was nothing more unarousing than the sight of a skinny, white backside  covered in goosepimples pumping away like a fiddler’s arm; and he didn’t think  his backside was any more prepossessing than anyone else’s in these circumstances.

Oh, and of course, he was a reformed character.

Not that there was a great deal to reform actually; a little light torture, no raping and no killing. He used potions for interrogations, which he considered to be more effective; his fellow Deatheaters thought he was a bit of a killjoy.

He didn’t even suppose that he would get a kiss on the cheek from Miss Granger even if he did manage to rescue her; instead she would rush off to seek consolation from either Weasley or Potter, with possibly a quick thanks to keep him warm.

It hadn’t been much fun being a Deatheater; and it wasn’t much fun being a spy for the side of the Light. When this was all over he was going to retire to a  tropical island with a couple of scantily clad young ladies and do bugger all  for the rest of his life.

Miss Granger looked relatively composed for someone supposed to be in imminent fear of a fate worse than death. He was quite impressed: no snivelling, no  tears, but a quiet assessment of her situation. She hadn’t given up hope, although it wouldn’t have escaped her that her captors were unmasked. They clearly weren’t worried about her reporting back to Dumbledore, which was  ominous; he didn’t think that they were planning to Obliviate her.

Perhaps he could persuade the others that he should be allowed to unwrap his present in private, but he doubted it.

Miss Granger wasn’t surprised to see him. He hoped that this meant she was aware of his role as a spy, which would at least give him a better chance of getting  her out of here in one piece. Two at the most.

Voldemort, as always, was the last to apparate to the clearing. “Severus,” he  hissed, “What do you think of your birthday present?” He put a scaly finger under her chin and lifted her face. “I do think that a present this nice should  be shared.”

Judging by the enthusiastic cheers of the other Deatheaters, this was a very popular suggestion.

Miss Granger didn’t even flinch. Her voice cut across the babble. “Don’t you think that socks would have been more suitable or a winter vest. Hanging around in cold forests can hardly be healthy. Not to mention the fact that I think it’s  a little short-sighted of you not to have made some attempt to exploit my  capture in more useful ways than as mere entertainment for half and hour or so.”

“Half an hour, Miss Granger? I’m sure my followers can manage better than that””

“I doubt it,” she said contemptuously. “Fifteen second men, if I’m any judge.”

Severus closed his eyes in disbelief. When he opened them, he was surprised to see that Hermione was still alive. He wondered whether she had hoped to hasten her end by annoying the Deatheaters into killing her quickly. Perhaps the  comment about her being more useful alive than brutally tortured was a hint, and  a hint that he ought to pick up on. He hoped she had something more inventive in  mind than bringing Harry Potter to Voldemort. In the first place, he didn’t think Voldemort would believe her, and in the second place, he wasn’t entirely sure that Voldemort was eager to meet Potter in the near future.

“How then do you suggest we exploit you, Miss Granger,” he sneered.

“Well, you agree to let me go, and I will tell you the name of the spy Dumbledore has placed in the inner ranks of your friends.”

Severus was hard pressed not to blanch. Miss Granger was going to throw him to the lions to save her own skin. He was in deep trouble.

Voldemort was giving him a very pointed look. “How is it that Severus doesn’t  know of this traitor?”

Good question, Snape thought. I only hope she has a good answer. One that  doesn’t include my name.

She did.

“Professor Snape doesn’t know about this spy. Dumbledore wanted it kept secret from everyone in the Order. I only found out by accident. Even Harry doesn’t  know.”

Voldemort relaxed fractionally. Then he smiled as a particularly unpleasant  thought crossed his mind. “I think that we can combine the two activities. After all, you can hardly expect to bargain for your life with information that we can no doubt prise out of you in other ways.”

From the glance that Hermione sent him, Severus could tell that he was supposed  to take the next step in the evening’s entertainment, but for the life of him he  couldn’t see what she wanted. She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Not even Veritaserum could drag that information out of me if I didn’t want to give it.”

Oh. Veritaserum. He had a phial in his robes of the fake Veritaserum – the effects lasted for only the first minute and after that the subject was free to  lie their heads off.

“If I may, Master,” he said. “A matter as important as this shouldn’t be left to chance. You know my opinion on information extracted under torture; it’s too  unreliable.”

Voldemort nodded. Severus withdrew the potion. A scaly hand came to rest on his  wrist. “I think we should test this on someone else first, just to make sure it’s effective.”

A nervous Pettigrew was summoned, the potion administered, and a couple of embarrassing questions later Voldemort was reassured.

Hermione struggled, but in vain. Two burly Deatheaters held her still whilst Snape administered the potion. Apparently she felt the need to spit in his face,  which he thought was taking realism too far.

“Who is the spy?” Voldemort asked.

Severus had a moment of heart-stopping terror whilst he waited to see whether  the potion had worn off already.

“Malfoy.”

There was a murmur amongst the crowd.

“Which one?” Voldemort queried.

“Lucius.”

Hermione gave a very convincing display of someone overcome with remorse at  their act of betrayal. She slumped between her two captors and snivelled.

Lucius was busily protesting his innocence, when the first hexes began to fly. Hex first, ask questions later was the Dark Lord’s motto and he was living up to  it with a vengeance.

Miss Granger seized her chance. In the confusion the men holding her slackened their grip. She twisted free, grabbed a wand and apparated out of the forest.  Snape followed after her; he could always argue that he was trying to prevent her escape, and it seemed a better option than waiting to see whether Malfoy or Voldemort would be victorious.

Miss Granger was waiting for him by the school gates. Surprisingly she seemed  pleased to see him. “Thank god you’re all right,” she said. “I imagine it’s a  bit of a blood bath back there right now. I’m glad to see you had the sense to get out.”

“Miss Granger, I am a Slytherin. I am therefore more than capable of extracting  myself from difficult situations. However, that was the most magnificent display of underhanded cunning that I have ever been privileged to witness.”

She blushed.

“It should work out quite well for you,” she said. “Malfoy will presumably be  meeting his end about now, leaving the way free for you to rise in the ranks.  You can tell Voldemort that you have convinced me and Dumbledore you were just  on the point of rescuing me, so making your position here more secure, and then we can start feeding him disinformation. All in all, a good night’s work.”

He sighed. “I suppose so.”

She looked at him very hard. “Or, we can tell Dumbledore that your cover was blown during the rescue and that you can’t go back.”

He was shocked. “You mean lie to Dumbledore?”

She nodded. “How much information do you actually get from these meetings?”

“Not a lot.”

“Then by all means, let’s lie to Dumbledore. It’s not like he’s straight with  us, is it?”

He thought about it. He could be free. He could tell Voldemort that Dumbledore was suspicious after this evening’s events and kept him under close watch. He couldn’t attend Deatheater meetings with Dumbledore spying on him. By the time  either of them worked out what was really going on, the war should be over.

“Miss Granger, how do you feel about tropical islands?”

“I can take them or leave them,” she said. “But right now I could do with a  couple of glasses of brandy and a bloody good shag. Interested?”

It looked like he was going to get a birthday present after all.