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a_t_rainWhew. Yes, I actually do finish stories every now and then. Previous installments are here. In particular, you might want to look over Chapter 3 if you've forgotten about the rules established for the use of magic carpets.
Act Five: Flight of the Prince
“What are you doing here?” Severus asked Horatio as soon as they were safely away from Lotta’s palace.
“I came to look for Laertes. Have you heard any news of him?”
“Oh, hadn’t you heard? He’s turned up.” Severus attempted to give an account of the events of the last few days, but it came out almost completely incoherent. Horatio said, gently but firmly, that he thought they had better go back to Severus’s inn and have something to eat. Severus had the impression that Horatio was accustomed to dealing tactfully with the unhinged. He decided that he didn’t mind being dealt with tactfully, at least not for the moment.
“Where are you lodging?”
“At an inn called the St. Francis. It’s up this road, I think. Er, thanks for making Lotta release me, by the way.”
“You need not mention it. But why were you in prison?”
“That,” said Severus, “is a very long story.”
Horatio did not press him for further explanation, and by then they had arrived at the St. Francis. Severus led the way up the stairs to his chamber, only to find that Helena was sitting on the bed.
For an idiotic half-second, Severus thought, But ghosts are transparent – and then he realized what he was up against. He reached for his wand and surrounded himself with a circle of fire, the first line of defense against an Inferius.
Horatio, he saw to his horror, was trapped outside the circle, with the Inferius slowly advancing upon him. Severus shouted a warning, which went unheeded as Horatio retreated toward the door. For some reason, the Muggle fool seemed to be under the impression that Severus and the fire were the only dangers here.
The Inferius – no, Helena – cried, “Aguamenti!” At the same moment, Horatio darted into the corridor and grabbed a bucket of dirty water from the maid who was scrubbing the floor, and threw the contents onto the fire. The scrubbing-brush bounced off of Severus’s head and landed in a corner.
“Have you quite done,” demanded Severus, spluttering, “or would you like to empty one or two of the chamberpots on my head for good measure?”
He regretted his words immediately, as Helena looked very much as if she would like to do just that.
Horatio handed Severus a towel, and the three of them contemplated the damage in silence. Although nearly everything in the room was soaked, the floor was still sending up a faint wreath of smoke. Severus stood in the exact center of a perfect circle of scorched wood.
“This,” said Helena, “is the sort of thing that makes Muggles suppose that all witches and wizards are in league with the devil. And in all honesty, I am not sure I blame them.”
Severus recalled that he had felt a mad rush of relief a moment earlier, when it became obvious that Helena was very much alive. He was no longer sure why.
“I thought you were an Inferius. Someone told me you were dead.” He glared at Helena, feeling, obscurely, that this had to be her fault.
“Well, someone lied. For my part, I feared that you might be dead. Where have you been?”
“In prison. Lotta practically accused me of killing you.”
“O,” cried Helena, “I pray your pardon! ‘Tis my doing that he heard the rumor that I had died, though I never dreamt that you should be accused of my murder.”
Horatio turned away from the window, where he had been attempting to hang the bedclothes out to dry. “You were in prison for murder?” he asked.
“Well, not exactly,” said Severus. “I told you that it was a long story.”
“We have time enough to hear it.”
* * *
“I am glad that no harm has been done,” said Horatio when Severus had ended his tale. “But, Severus – if I may speak my mind – I cannot but think that you might have avoided much trouble if you had not assumed at once that Lord Dumaine and his companions meant the worst.”
“And if they had meant the worst, I might have been dead,” Severus retorted.
“That is so like you!” snapped Helena. “You see assassins everywhere – and you will not wait to hear any explanation before you judge people!”
“Perhaps, madam,” said Horatio quietly, “he has seen things that would make any man quick to judge and to fear. I have heard the times are very bad in England.”
He did not ask Severus exactly what he had seen; he was not even looking at him. Severus felt both grateful and humiliated, and even more so when Helena looked up at him with something like pity in her eyes. How in the hell had Horatio guessed?
A knock at the chamber door broke the silence. “Pardon me,” called a voice from the corridor, “but is there a lady here named Diana?”
“I answer to that name,” said Helena. “What is your will?”
“I have a letter for you from Verona, and also a message from the Count Roussillon.”
“Come in.”
To the consternation of everyone except Horatio, the man who entered the room was Lord Dumaine. Severus started to say, “Er, about last night –” but Lord Dumaine did not seem to notice anyone except Helena. “My dear lady! I had heard you were dead.”
“Do not believe all that you hear,” said Helena, as coolly as if she had not spread the rumors of her death herself.
“I – ah – I am glad you are among the living.”
“So am I. You said you had a message from Count Roussillon to Diana? I’ll take it to her.”
Dumaine blushed hectically. “Did I say that? I misspoke. I have no message.”
“Do not you lie, Lord Dumaine; you do it ill.”
“I do love the Count Roussillon, my lady; but were he mine own brother, I would think he shamed our name by treating you as he does. Pardon me. Forget everything I have spoken.”
Helena shook her head. “If I could forget that, I would still remember everything else too well. Tell him – as a message from the grave, if you will – that he is free to court what lady he chooses. I am glad that we were never properly man and wife.”
Dumaine looked relieved. “If I may say so, my lady, I think you are as wise as you are good.”
Severus was not sure that “wise” was the word he would apply to the woman who had been begging him for a recipe for Polyjuice only a day earlier. He must have snorted audibly, because Dumaine turned to him – a moment that Severus had been hoping to avoid.
“About last night,” he said again. “I’m very sorry. But, you know, you did attack me, and it was three against one...”
Dumaine looked blank. Confound it, Lotta must have Memory Charmed the man, which meant that Severus had just humbled himself for no good reason.
Dumaine’s face cleared suddenly. “Ah! I am the First Lord Dumaine. I think you must have taken me for my brother, the Second Lord. Very few people can tell us apart.”
“Right,” muttered Severus. “Never mind, then.”
“But you have some message for my brother? I will take it to him.”
“Did I say that? I misspoke. No message.”
Before Dumaine could ask Severus for any further explanation, they heard the voices of several women in the corridor, one of them distinguishable as the innkeeper’s. There was another knock at the door. Severus, Helena, and Horatio stared at the damaged floor and dripping bedclothes, appalled.
“One moment!” Severus called. “I’m, er, dressing!”
Snape cast a hasty drying charm, while Helena made an ineffectual attempt to hide the blackened circle on the floor by strewing rushes over it. Then Horatio spotted the magic carpet in Severus’s luggage, shook it out, and spread it over the floor. Helena and Severus uttered simultaneous cries of protest; but before they had a chance to explain why this was a bad idea, Diana and her mother had already entered the room, accompanied by Mariana.
“Master Snape,” declared the innkeeper, “I came prepared to hear you deny what Mariana has told me, and I might well have believed you, but I can conceive of no explanation for your present conduct, nor Mistress de Narbonne’s, neither. I was grossly deceived in you both. You presented yourselves to me as respectable pilgrims. And now I find the lady – if so you be – in the man’s bedchamber, and the man by his own confession only newly dressed, and further, two strangers whose presence in my house I cannot explain! This is an inn for honest travelers, not a house of sale!”
Severus blinked, and then snorted. “Are you accusing us of having some sort of orgy in here? Because I assure you, these are about the last people on earth I’d pick!” (This was not, strictly speaking, true. In point of fact, Severus could think of lots of people he would be even less likely to invite to an orgy – such as Hagrid, and King Henry VIII. But in any case, the innkeeper’s accusation was patently absurd.)
“Good madam,” said Helena, “calm yourself. It was I who came to his room to look for him, because I feared some mischance had happened to him when he was not at breakfast. He came in with this gentleman not half an hour since; we have not been alone together. I’ll warrant that his bed has not even been slept in.”
“Aye, I’ll warrant ye it has not!” cried Mariana. “You can say what you will, but I know what I know!”
“Just what is it you think you know, you stupid woman?” demanded Severus, now thoroughly out of patience.
“You had better tell the tale again, Mariana,” said Diana. “I did not half understand it the first time.”
“I heard it from a very noble gentleman named Parolles, who is an officer in the French army. He says that he was approaching the Florentine camp, at the very witching hour of night, on secret business. He did not say what, but I gathered he was gathering intelligence at great risk to his own life. He said that he saw – this part I would scarcely credit, but Monsieur Parolles swears it is true, and I am sure he is the soul of honor – he saw five or six men ambush a man who looked very like your guest, Master Snape. And Master Snape raised his hand, with something like a rod of wood in it, and these men fell to the ground screaming in pain, without him laying a hand on him. And then there was a flash like a meteor, and a great eagle swooped from the sky and snatched up Master Snape in its talons, and another one came for one of the wounded men. Monsieur Parolles himself scarcely ‘scaped with his life. I fear you are harboring a black magician in your house, Mistress Capilet. I pray the good Lord deliver us.” Mariana crossed herself.
“This is absurd,” said Helena. “I knew Parolles when I was in France. He was accounted by all to be the greatest liar and braggart in Christendom, and withal, a notorious drunkard. God help the French generals if they entertain him for an intelligencer!”
“That is quite true,” said Dumaine. “I serve in the army with him, and if anything, the lady speaks too kindly. Why, I’ve heard him swear that he killed fifteen or twenty men at the battle of Turney and Turwin, when more truthful witnesses saw him at a wenching-house eighty miles away.”
“There!” said Helena. “I told you that there was not a word of truth in him. The things he says Master Snape has done are clearly impossible; and if any wrong has been done in this house, I take it upon myself.”
Severus stared at her. He was not quite sure how the Confederation’s flying carpet had been transformed into a giant eagle, but apart from that, he knew that Parolles’ story was more or less the truth. Helena had to suspect there was a grain of truth in it too.
He did not understand why Helena, who had shown every sign of wanting to be rid of him as a traveling companion, had defended him. But he was beginning to suspect there was a lot he did not understand about people.
Mariana sniffed and started toward the door. “Well, if he is not a black magician, I am sure he is a very ill-tempered young man, and not at all a fit companion for your daughter. Diana, come away.”
“Diana?” said Lord Dumaine turning to the young woman in surprise. “Are you called Diana? I had almost forgot; I have a letter for you.”
“I do not think –” said Diana’s mother, Helena, and Mariana at once, all reaching for the letter.
Dumaine tossed it to Diana with a flick of his wrist. “It is not from the Count Roussillon,” he said hastily. “I had it from a messenger who came from Verona.”
“Verona?” said the innkeeper with interest. “My husband had kinsmen there; they are as rich as we are poor, but Diana went to visit them some two years since, and they always remember her kindly.”
“Oh, ‘tis a letter from my uncle Capulet; I know his hand.” Diana broke the seal of the letter and opened it eagerly. “Why, he writes that my cousin Juliet is to be married tomorrow! She is so young!”
Diana’s mother hovered over her shoulder, trying to read the letter. “Who is the bridegroom?”
“The County Paris.”
Severus found this baffling, as he had never heard of anyone marrying an entire county before, but the women seemed to take it as a matter of course.
“He!” cried Mariana. “Why, he’s kinsman to the Prince of Verona – and very rich – and, they say, the very properest young gentleman that ever was.”
“I wonder that it be done in such haste,” said Diana. “He bids me come to the wedding, but ‘twill be over and done before I can come to Verona. I would that I could! I should so like to see Juliet once more before she is the county’s wife.”
Abruptly, the carpet under Severus’s feet gave a lurch and began to rise. The innkeeper shrieked and jumped to the floor; Lord Dumaine, who had been standing on the bare floor, grasped Mariana’s hand and pulled her down to safety; Horatio, who had one foot on the carpet and one foot off, found himself clinging to the fringe for dear life. Severus and Helena grabbed him by the arms and pulled him in. By the time he was safe, the carpet had already flown out of the window and soared toward the sky. The streets and roofs of Florence grew smaller and smaller beneath them.
Diana sat wide-eyed and utterly dazed. “What has happened?” she asked.
Helena stifled a giggle. “You have your wish. We are going to Verona.”
“But how –”
“Some carpets have a will of their own.”
“Helena,” said Severus, “this is mad. Turn around at once!”
Helena shook her head. “It is too late. I tell you, the carpet has a will of its own, and it has decided to bear us to Verona.”
“There must be some way to convince it that it wants to go back to Florence!”
“And what should we do in Florence, Severus? I have no love there now; you had no business there to begin with; the High Inquisitor has said that he never wants to hear from you again; and it would make Diana very happy to attend her cousin’s wedding. All in all, I think it best that we go to Verona.”
“You think! I suppose you also think your judgment has been impeccable so far – oh, apart from the bit where you nearly poisoned yourself, tried to trick a man who hates you into getting you pregnant, and then changed your mind at the last minute!”
“At least I know when I have made a mistake! You will scarcely own you are capable of being wrong, even when you have attacked an innocent man and spent the night in prison!”
Horatio had shut his eyes and was looking positively ill. “Please,” he said faintly. “Do. Not. Push. Each. Other. Off.”
Helena broke off at once and flushed, guiltily. “‘Tis well,” she said quietly, taking Horatio by the arm. “Be not amazed; there is no danger, however strange this may seem.”
Diana, meanwhile, was leaning over the edge of the carpet at an angle that made Severus shudder, rapt at the sight of the world below. “Oh, look! The houses are smaller than doll houses, and the forests like a carpet of moss.”
Severus pulled her back with a jerk. “What Helena means,” he said, “is that there isn’t very much danger, provided you don’t do anything idiotic. Which you were.”
He glanced, rather guiltily, back to the center of the carpet, where Helena had finally succeeded in coaxing Horatio to open his eyes. Luckily Horatio didn’t seem to have caught this bit of byplay. Helena had; she caught Severus’s eye as if they were sharing a joke. He found, to his own surprise, that he rather liked this.
By now the morning was well advanced; the mists had risen, and the sun was warm on Severus’s back. It was – if you left out the fact that they were responsible for two Muggles, and that he had no idea what they would do once they got to Verona – a pleasant day for a flight. He tried to relax.
After all, it was only a wedding. What could possibly go wrong?
Diana's family name is given at the end of All's Well as "Capilet"; Juliet's family is consistently spelled "Capulet" -- but given the vagaries of Renaissance spelling, I thought it entirely possible that a Capilet in Florence might be a Capulet in Verona. At any rate, the thought of allowing Severus to wreak havoc on the plot of Romeo and Juliet was too delicious to resist.
I hope I may be forgiven for letting Helena come to her senses about Bertram rather easily. She is, after all, a sensible girl in canon -- just with one big blind spot.
If you are wondering who the heck Margery Jourdain is, see here. (And no, I don't plan to let Snape loose on the history plays, since among other things it would involve further time travel -- but Potterverse 2 Henry VI would be full of awesome, all the same.)
Act Five: Flight of the Prince
“What are you doing here?” Severus asked Horatio as soon as they were safely away from Lotta’s palace.
“I came to look for Laertes. Have you heard any news of him?”
“Oh, hadn’t you heard? He’s turned up.” Severus attempted to give an account of the events of the last few days, but it came out almost completely incoherent. Horatio said, gently but firmly, that he thought they had better go back to Severus’s inn and have something to eat. Severus had the impression that Horatio was accustomed to dealing tactfully with the unhinged. He decided that he didn’t mind being dealt with tactfully, at least not for the moment.
“Where are you lodging?”
“At an inn called the St. Francis. It’s up this road, I think. Er, thanks for making Lotta release me, by the way.”
“You need not mention it. But why were you in prison?”
“That,” said Severus, “is a very long story.”
Horatio did not press him for further explanation, and by then they had arrived at the St. Francis. Severus led the way up the stairs to his chamber, only to find that Helena was sitting on the bed.
For an idiotic half-second, Severus thought, But ghosts are transparent – and then he realized what he was up against. He reached for his wand and surrounded himself with a circle of fire, the first line of defense against an Inferius.
Horatio, he saw to his horror, was trapped outside the circle, with the Inferius slowly advancing upon him. Severus shouted a warning, which went unheeded as Horatio retreated toward the door. For some reason, the Muggle fool seemed to be under the impression that Severus and the fire were the only dangers here.
The Inferius – no, Helena – cried, “Aguamenti!” At the same moment, Horatio darted into the corridor and grabbed a bucket of dirty water from the maid who was scrubbing the floor, and threw the contents onto the fire. The scrubbing-brush bounced off of Severus’s head and landed in a corner.
“Have you quite done,” demanded Severus, spluttering, “or would you like to empty one or two of the chamberpots on my head for good measure?”
He regretted his words immediately, as Helena looked very much as if she would like to do just that.
Horatio handed Severus a towel, and the three of them contemplated the damage in silence. Although nearly everything in the room was soaked, the floor was still sending up a faint wreath of smoke. Severus stood in the exact center of a perfect circle of scorched wood.
“This,” said Helena, “is the sort of thing that makes Muggles suppose that all witches and wizards are in league with the devil. And in all honesty, I am not sure I blame them.”
Severus recalled that he had felt a mad rush of relief a moment earlier, when it became obvious that Helena was very much alive. He was no longer sure why.
“I thought you were an Inferius. Someone told me you were dead.” He glared at Helena, feeling, obscurely, that this had to be her fault.
“Well, someone lied. For my part, I feared that you might be dead. Where have you been?”
“In prison. Lotta practically accused me of killing you.”
“O,” cried Helena, “I pray your pardon! ‘Tis my doing that he heard the rumor that I had died, though I never dreamt that you should be accused of my murder.”
Horatio turned away from the window, where he had been attempting to hang the bedclothes out to dry. “You were in prison for murder?” he asked.
“Well, not exactly,” said Severus. “I told you that it was a long story.”
“We have time enough to hear it.”
* * *
“I am glad that no harm has been done,” said Horatio when Severus had ended his tale. “But, Severus – if I may speak my mind – I cannot but think that you might have avoided much trouble if you had not assumed at once that Lord Dumaine and his companions meant the worst.”
“And if they had meant the worst, I might have been dead,” Severus retorted.
“That is so like you!” snapped Helena. “You see assassins everywhere – and you will not wait to hear any explanation before you judge people!”
“Perhaps, madam,” said Horatio quietly, “he has seen things that would make any man quick to judge and to fear. I have heard the times are very bad in England.”
He did not ask Severus exactly what he had seen; he was not even looking at him. Severus felt both grateful and humiliated, and even more so when Helena looked up at him with something like pity in her eyes. How in the hell had Horatio guessed?
A knock at the chamber door broke the silence. “Pardon me,” called a voice from the corridor, “but is there a lady here named Diana?”
“I answer to that name,” said Helena. “What is your will?”
“I have a letter for you from Verona, and also a message from the Count Roussillon.”
“Come in.”
To the consternation of everyone except Horatio, the man who entered the room was Lord Dumaine. Severus started to say, “Er, about last night –” but Lord Dumaine did not seem to notice anyone except Helena. “My dear lady! I had heard you were dead.”
“Do not believe all that you hear,” said Helena, as coolly as if she had not spread the rumors of her death herself.
“I – ah – I am glad you are among the living.”
“So am I. You said you had a message from Count Roussillon to Diana? I’ll take it to her.”
Dumaine blushed hectically. “Did I say that? I misspoke. I have no message.”
“Do not you lie, Lord Dumaine; you do it ill.”
“I do love the Count Roussillon, my lady; but were he mine own brother, I would think he shamed our name by treating you as he does. Pardon me. Forget everything I have spoken.”
Helena shook her head. “If I could forget that, I would still remember everything else too well. Tell him – as a message from the grave, if you will – that he is free to court what lady he chooses. I am glad that we were never properly man and wife.”
Dumaine looked relieved. “If I may say so, my lady, I think you are as wise as you are good.”
Severus was not sure that “wise” was the word he would apply to the woman who had been begging him for a recipe for Polyjuice only a day earlier. He must have snorted audibly, because Dumaine turned to him – a moment that Severus had been hoping to avoid.
“About last night,” he said again. “I’m very sorry. But, you know, you did attack me, and it was three against one...”
Dumaine looked blank. Confound it, Lotta must have Memory Charmed the man, which meant that Severus had just humbled himself for no good reason.
Dumaine’s face cleared suddenly. “Ah! I am the First Lord Dumaine. I think you must have taken me for my brother, the Second Lord. Very few people can tell us apart.”
“Right,” muttered Severus. “Never mind, then.”
“But you have some message for my brother? I will take it to him.”
“Did I say that? I misspoke. No message.”
Before Dumaine could ask Severus for any further explanation, they heard the voices of several women in the corridor, one of them distinguishable as the innkeeper’s. There was another knock at the door. Severus, Helena, and Horatio stared at the damaged floor and dripping bedclothes, appalled.
“One moment!” Severus called. “I’m, er, dressing!”
Snape cast a hasty drying charm, while Helena made an ineffectual attempt to hide the blackened circle on the floor by strewing rushes over it. Then Horatio spotted the magic carpet in Severus’s luggage, shook it out, and spread it over the floor. Helena and Severus uttered simultaneous cries of protest; but before they had a chance to explain why this was a bad idea, Diana and her mother had already entered the room, accompanied by Mariana.
“Master Snape,” declared the innkeeper, “I came prepared to hear you deny what Mariana has told me, and I might well have believed you, but I can conceive of no explanation for your present conduct, nor Mistress de Narbonne’s, neither. I was grossly deceived in you both. You presented yourselves to me as respectable pilgrims. And now I find the lady – if so you be – in the man’s bedchamber, and the man by his own confession only newly dressed, and further, two strangers whose presence in my house I cannot explain! This is an inn for honest travelers, not a house of sale!”
Severus blinked, and then snorted. “Are you accusing us of having some sort of orgy in here? Because I assure you, these are about the last people on earth I’d pick!” (This was not, strictly speaking, true. In point of fact, Severus could think of lots of people he would be even less likely to invite to an orgy – such as Hagrid, and King Henry VIII. But in any case, the innkeeper’s accusation was patently absurd.)
“Good madam,” said Helena, “calm yourself. It was I who came to his room to look for him, because I feared some mischance had happened to him when he was not at breakfast. He came in with this gentleman not half an hour since; we have not been alone together. I’ll warrant that his bed has not even been slept in.”
“Aye, I’ll warrant ye it has not!” cried Mariana. “You can say what you will, but I know what I know!”
“Just what is it you think you know, you stupid woman?” demanded Severus, now thoroughly out of patience.
“You had better tell the tale again, Mariana,” said Diana. “I did not half understand it the first time.”
“I heard it from a very noble gentleman named Parolles, who is an officer in the French army. He says that he was approaching the Florentine camp, at the very witching hour of night, on secret business. He did not say what, but I gathered he was gathering intelligence at great risk to his own life. He said that he saw – this part I would scarcely credit, but Monsieur Parolles swears it is true, and I am sure he is the soul of honor – he saw five or six men ambush a man who looked very like your guest, Master Snape. And Master Snape raised his hand, with something like a rod of wood in it, and these men fell to the ground screaming in pain, without him laying a hand on him. And then there was a flash like a meteor, and a great eagle swooped from the sky and snatched up Master Snape in its talons, and another one came for one of the wounded men. Monsieur Parolles himself scarcely ‘scaped with his life. I fear you are harboring a black magician in your house, Mistress Capilet. I pray the good Lord deliver us.” Mariana crossed herself.
“This is absurd,” said Helena. “I knew Parolles when I was in France. He was accounted by all to be the greatest liar and braggart in Christendom, and withal, a notorious drunkard. God help the French generals if they entertain him for an intelligencer!”
“That is quite true,” said Dumaine. “I serve in the army with him, and if anything, the lady speaks too kindly. Why, I’ve heard him swear that he killed fifteen or twenty men at the battle of Turney and Turwin, when more truthful witnesses saw him at a wenching-house eighty miles away.”
“There!” said Helena. “I told you that there was not a word of truth in him. The things he says Master Snape has done are clearly impossible; and if any wrong has been done in this house, I take it upon myself.”
Severus stared at her. He was not quite sure how the Confederation’s flying carpet had been transformed into a giant eagle, but apart from that, he knew that Parolles’ story was more or less the truth. Helena had to suspect there was a grain of truth in it too.
He did not understand why Helena, who had shown every sign of wanting to be rid of him as a traveling companion, had defended him. But he was beginning to suspect there was a lot he did not understand about people.
Mariana sniffed and started toward the door. “Well, if he is not a black magician, I am sure he is a very ill-tempered young man, and not at all a fit companion for your daughter. Diana, come away.”
“Diana?” said Lord Dumaine turning to the young woman in surprise. “Are you called Diana? I had almost forgot; I have a letter for you.”
“I do not think –” said Diana’s mother, Helena, and Mariana at once, all reaching for the letter.
Dumaine tossed it to Diana with a flick of his wrist. “It is not from the Count Roussillon,” he said hastily. “I had it from a messenger who came from Verona.”
“Verona?” said the innkeeper with interest. “My husband had kinsmen there; they are as rich as we are poor, but Diana went to visit them some two years since, and they always remember her kindly.”
“Oh, ‘tis a letter from my uncle Capulet; I know his hand.” Diana broke the seal of the letter and opened it eagerly. “Why, he writes that my cousin Juliet is to be married tomorrow! She is so young!”
Diana’s mother hovered over her shoulder, trying to read the letter. “Who is the bridegroom?”
“The County Paris.”
Severus found this baffling, as he had never heard of anyone marrying an entire county before, but the women seemed to take it as a matter of course.
“He!” cried Mariana. “Why, he’s kinsman to the Prince of Verona – and very rich – and, they say, the very properest young gentleman that ever was.”
“I wonder that it be done in such haste,” said Diana. “He bids me come to the wedding, but ‘twill be over and done before I can come to Verona. I would that I could! I should so like to see Juliet once more before she is the county’s wife.”
Abruptly, the carpet under Severus’s feet gave a lurch and began to rise. The innkeeper shrieked and jumped to the floor; Lord Dumaine, who had been standing on the bare floor, grasped Mariana’s hand and pulled her down to safety; Horatio, who had one foot on the carpet and one foot off, found himself clinging to the fringe for dear life. Severus and Helena grabbed him by the arms and pulled him in. By the time he was safe, the carpet had already flown out of the window and soared toward the sky. The streets and roofs of Florence grew smaller and smaller beneath them.
Diana sat wide-eyed and utterly dazed. “What has happened?” she asked.
Helena stifled a giggle. “You have your wish. We are going to Verona.”
“But how –”
“Some carpets have a will of their own.”
“Helena,” said Severus, “this is mad. Turn around at once!”
Helena shook her head. “It is too late. I tell you, the carpet has a will of its own, and it has decided to bear us to Verona.”
“There must be some way to convince it that it wants to go back to Florence!”
“And what should we do in Florence, Severus? I have no love there now; you had no business there to begin with; the High Inquisitor has said that he never wants to hear from you again; and it would make Diana very happy to attend her cousin’s wedding. All in all, I think it best that we go to Verona.”
“You think! I suppose you also think your judgment has been impeccable so far – oh, apart from the bit where you nearly poisoned yourself, tried to trick a man who hates you into getting you pregnant, and then changed your mind at the last minute!”
“At least I know when I have made a mistake! You will scarcely own you are capable of being wrong, even when you have attacked an innocent man and spent the night in prison!”
Horatio had shut his eyes and was looking positively ill. “Please,” he said faintly. “Do. Not. Push. Each. Other. Off.”
Helena broke off at once and flushed, guiltily. “‘Tis well,” she said quietly, taking Horatio by the arm. “Be not amazed; there is no danger, however strange this may seem.”
Diana, meanwhile, was leaning over the edge of the carpet at an angle that made Severus shudder, rapt at the sight of the world below. “Oh, look! The houses are smaller than doll houses, and the forests like a carpet of moss.”
Severus pulled her back with a jerk. “What Helena means,” he said, “is that there isn’t very much danger, provided you don’t do anything idiotic. Which you were.”
He glanced, rather guiltily, back to the center of the carpet, where Helena had finally succeeded in coaxing Horatio to open his eyes. Luckily Horatio didn’t seem to have caught this bit of byplay. Helena had; she caught Severus’s eye as if they were sharing a joke. He found, to his own surprise, that he rather liked this.
By now the morning was well advanced; the mists had risen, and the sun was warm on Severus’s back. It was – if you left out the fact that they were responsible for two Muggles, and that he had no idea what they would do once they got to Verona – a pleasant day for a flight. He tried to relax.
After all, it was only a wedding. What could possibly go wrong?
Diana's family name is given at the end of All's Well as "Capilet"; Juliet's family is consistently spelled "Capulet" -- but given the vagaries of Renaissance spelling, I thought it entirely possible that a Capilet in Florence might be a Capulet in Verona. At any rate, the thought of allowing Severus to wreak havoc on the plot of Romeo and Juliet was too delicious to resist.
I hope I may be forgiven for letting Helena come to her senses about Bertram rather easily. She is, after all, a sensible girl in canon -- just with one big blind spot.
If you are wondering who the heck Margery Jourdain is, see here. (And no, I don't plan to let Snape loose on the history plays, since among other things it would involve further time travel -- but Potterverse 2 Henry VI would be full of awesome, all the same.)
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Date: 2011-02-19 06:33 am (UTC)I can't imagine where he could have obtained such experience!
He decided that he didn’t mind being dealt with tactfully, at least not for the moment.
I find this strangely touching.
And I love your whole plot and series, and I look forward to the wreaking upon Romeo and Juliet.
I still am particularly fond of the moment where Severus considers Voldemort's opinion of court wizards and compares him to Hamlet. It occurs to me that in the wildly unlikely event that Voldemort ever made some attempt to reclaim Severus, Hamlet would defend him in the face of all attempts to accuse, charm (note lowercase), or threaten -- of course he couldn't do much about being enspelled, but on the other hand, Ophelia might have gotten hold of a wand by that point -- and anyway since I can't imagine how Voldemort would get there, it's really more about the sentiment backed up by effort than anything else.
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Date: 2011-02-19 09:37 pm (UTC)off topic
Date: 2011-04-08 12:41 pm (UTC)This week the theme is stuck in animal form. I expect you will recognize the answer to #2. Here is a banner for you: http://pics.livejournal.com/morethansirius/pic/000597x0/g48