A/N: At the
request of a friend, a new part to Keeping Up
Appearances is here! This one may run a
bit longer than the original, and I have much evil stuff planned. Also many thanks to Antares for evil
suggestions... I’ll just have to not ask the characters what they think... Enjoy! And Harry Potter still doesn’t belong to me,
though if JKR ever decides she doesn’t want Sirius, I promise to love him and
feed him and give him a good home. Or
even Snape, for that matter.
Dumbledore
was yet again facing two very stubborn—and very angry—individuals.
“No. Not again,” Severus Snape said flatly.
“I refuse,”
Lyria Strider put in.
“I
understand your reluctance, but you *must* work together. Especially on something as important as
this,” Dumbledore told them. “It’s only
a month.”
“ONLY a
month?? Headmaster, it’s very clear
you’ve never had to live with Lyria Strider.”
Snape shot the woman in question a glare.
“At least I
wash my hair,” she said, smiling sweetly.
Then she grew more solemn.
“Sirius will *kill* him, Professor.
And for some reason you seem to like having him around.”
“Indeed. I will speak with Sirius, I assure you. Now.
No more arguments. Off with you
two. Lyria, I’ve had your things sent to
the manor already.”
“Nice to
know I had a choice,” Lyria muttered darkly as the two apparated away.
“Oh,
nice and cozy. Really fits you,” Lyria snapped upon arrival.
“The Manor
has been in my family for centuries.
Keep your comments to yourself,” Snape ordered.
“I bet you
all didn’t think of redecorating, modernizing, or getting new furniture, did
you?” She asked as she walked through the massive carved wooden doors and into
the house. “It’s clean, that much I’ll
give it.”
“Of course
it’s clean; what else would the house elves be doing all day?” He snapped.
“Oh, excuse
me. My apologies. I come from a family where my mother and
siblings and I couldn’t sit on our asses and be waited on.” Lyria shot him a smirk. “But at least we’re not sharing a room this
time. I don’t care about keeping up
appearances, and I reckon that historically your ancestors didn’t share rooms
either.”
“We didn’t
last time either, if you recall. I was a
gentleman and stayed in the living room,” he reminded.
“Right,
sorry. It’s just so hard to peg you as a
gentleman, it must have slipped my mind.”
She smiled benignly.
“I hate that
look,” he hissed.
“Get used to
it, Greasy. Apparently I’m not going
anywhere for a while.”
Lyria had to
admit, the situation could have been worse.
Somehow.
Having to play Temporary Housewife to
The house
elves, much to her aggravation, had put everything neatly away, leaving her
nothing to do. Upon completing
exploration of her room, she decided that the most productive use of her time
would be to find Snape and try to piss him off.
The only
problem with that, of course, was that she had no idea where anything was in
this small castle of his.
Fortunately,
he was rushing up the stairs as she was on her way down them. “There you are. We have a problem.”
“Besides, of
course, that I’m expected to be in love with you? And that I’m supposed to be *marrying*
you? And that, God forbid, I’m supposed
to convince your friends I want to be the mother to a crapload of little Snape
demon children?”
“Remind me
to yell at you when we don’t have to plan for a houseful of death eaters for
company,” he said.
Lyria
gaped. “WHAT?!?”
“You have
one hour to get things ready... I forgot to tell you.”
“YOU FORGOT
TO TELL ME?!? I’m going to kick your
ass!!”
Severus
considered his options and decided his energy would be best spent by running
away.
“AAAAAAARGH! I don’t believe you!!” Lyria hollered, and then stomped upstairs to
change.
“Severus,
nice of you to have it here,” Evan Rosier smiled as he was greeted at the door.
“No trouble,
really... Lyria!” He called up the
stairs. If she didn’t show up, he’d go
up there and drag her down. She was *supposed*
to be pretending to be engaged to him.
“No need to
shout, darling, I’m right here.” Lyria
entered the foyer from the dining room.
“How lovely... I’ve *so* been looking forward to meeting everyone,” she
said, smiling brilliantly. Inwardly, she
had a desire to tape a marble pillar to her head and walk over a cheese grater
rather than continue to stand there wearing what felt like the draperies and
smiling like a moron.
Severus had
to admit that she *was* rather pretty, despite being an insufferable
bitch. The dark green velvet suited her
nicely, and she’d pulled that aggravating fluffy mess up rather delicately. It looked nice with the silver clip and the
necklace.
As the
guests left the foyer and entered the dining hall, he decided to at least *try*
to be a gentleman. They *did* have to
deal with each other for a month... “You
look nice.”
“You look
like a Death Eater. And bite me.”
Severus
smirked. “Anyone heard that last part,
and people are going to think you’re kinky.”
Lyria blinked. “And the second people leave, I am going to
slap you so hard your head will spin in circles. After I drink every drop of scotch in the
house.” She noticed suddenly that they
were standing terribly close, but decided it was good for appearances.
He
straightened up suddenly. “Come along,
lovely, we mustn’t keep everyone waiting,” he instructed, kissing her cheek.
Voldemort
had appeared in the door and was watching.
Lyria looked
down demurely. “Of course, Severus.”
Severus
offered his arm, and the pair turned around to find themselves facing the dark
lord. “My Lord! We.. ah... didn’t notice you were there...”
“Clearly
not,” Voldemort replied, not sounding angry.
“So this is the young woman we’ve heard so much about.”
Lyria
continued to look down, and a slight reddish tinge appeared in her cheeks. Severus wasn’t sure whether she was a very
good actress or trying to keep from slugging the dark lord.
“Indeed. Master, may I present Miss Lyria Strider,
soon to be Mrs. Severus Snape.”
Lyria curtsied,
rather gracefully in her opinion considering she felt like she was wrapped in a
blanket. “It is an honor to meet you
face-to-face, my lord,” she said quietly.
Severus was impressed – her acting was far better than he’d thought.
“Welcome to
the circle. You and Severus seem
well-suited to each other.” Voldemort
paused. “And Severus, *do* see if you
two can have a baby Snape about the Manor by Christmas.” He reentered the dining hall.
Lyria found
herself sitting between Snape and Macnair.
“Severus,
how *did* you get so lucky?” Macnair’s wine glass was already empty, and as Lyria took
her seat she got the idea that it was NOT going to be a pleasant evening. “Pretty little thing, you are,” he hissed to
Lyria, placing a hand on her leg.
Lyria fought
the desire to overturn the table and crack him over the head with it. ‘Sirius... damnit
all, I want Sirius.’ “I’m going to have
to ask you to move your hand.”
“Gladly.”
He slid it higher.
Lyria got to
her feet. “If you’ll excuse me just a
moment... I’ll just see to the kitchens...” She shot Severus a meaningful
look.
Severus shot
Macnair a dark look.
Whether he cared about Strider or not, if she reported to Black that he
was letting Death Eaters sexually harass her, he was a dead man. “Let her be,” he ordered with a glare.
Lyria
returned a moment later, followed shortly by a house elf with the first course
of the meal.
The moment
she sat, Macnair’s hand was back where he’d placed it
before she got up.
‘No. No way in HELL am I
dealing with this horny bastard,’ Lyria said mentally. ‘It would be my luck that draperies turn him
on.’ She surreptitiously placed a hand
under the table, holding her fork.
Macnair let out a sudden yelp as Lyria
stabbed his leg. He turned to her in
bewilderment.
Lyria smiled
sweetly. “I have another three forks and
two knives. Don’t test me. Please.”
Macnair suddenly focused his attention on
his soup.
After dinner,
it was time for tea and plans in the study, and Lyria went to ‘ensure things
were in order’, which was to say bang her head against a bookshelf and set up a
tea table and some chairs.
“Join us,
Miss Strider,” requested Voldemort.
“I- It’d be an
honor, my lord,” Lyria managed, looking surprised. She definitely didn’t have to fake her
surprise.
“Indeed. It is.”
And with that, he entered the tea room.
‘Oh,
conceited and evil. Such fun at parties...’ Lyria tossed aside the thoughts and decided
to go make sure she didn’t get stuck next to Macnair
again. He was right drunk now, and she
didn’t think she could take it.
Voldemort
left relatively early – must not be the party type – and Lyria was now seated
on the floor in the study at
After the
dark lord had left, they’d gone from a composed, rather reserved group to a
bunch of men who were just looking to get pissed. For a while she’d just busied herself with
making sure they had liquor and trying to keep out of the room, but then Rosier
offered her a scotch and it had all gone downhill from there. She had just decided that spoon was a very
funny word.
“Surprised
you two aren’t all over each other in a corner by now,” Lucius Malfoy slurred
at Severus.
He
winced. There was a difference between his own light buzz and his company’s state at the
moment. “Don’t want to embarrass the
poor thing,” he managed, looking down toward Lyria.
Drunk or
not, she was pretty well aware of the conversation, and she looked up. To the rest of the room, she was simply
gazing into his eyes, but her look clearly told him, ‘When they leave I am
going to take that end table and put your head through it.’ She smiled sweetly.
Severus
decided that if she was going to hate him anyway, he might as well take
advantage of her forced docility and really piss her off. “Though as you mentioned it, Lucius...” He rose and pulled Lyria to her feet, kissing
her long and hard and hoping she didn’t slap him and demand to see Sirius when
he let her go.
Lyria gaped
at him for a moment. “I—I thought we
agreed not to do that in public...” she managed lamely, mind desperately
searching for *something* to say. She
didn’t think he could kiss anyone like that with that nose hanging off his
face; certainly it should have gotten in the way. Damn, Lyria, he’s trying to piss you
off. You show him, don’t let that greasy
asshole beat you at your own game.
“I changed
my mind,” he leered, wrapping an arm around her.
‘Oh, now
that’s just gross,’ her mind protested.
‘Snape... and... ugh....’ “Well, darling, if you’re sure...” she
purred.
Something
like alarm crossed his face.
Lyria
slipped a hand into his hair (‘Note to self: disinfect hand’) and kissed
him. “We’d best not continue in front of
your friends... if you’ll all excuse me a moment...” she flounced from the room
in her best impression of her twin sister.
“You held up
well,” Severus told her.
Everyone had
*finally* left, and in celebration they were sitting in the study finishing the
open liquor bottles.
“Right... I
stabbed Macnair, but was really doing well until
Rosier opened your scotch. Good stuff,
though, I’ll give you that,” Lyria slurred at him, the empty bottle by her
side.
“Never
pegged you for a drinker.”
“I live with
Sirius. Of *course* I drink every once
in a while.”
Severus had
to laugh at that. “You really *do* look
nice.”
“I’m wearing
a fucking curtain.”
“Ooh, angry
drunk, are we?”
“I really
don’t think it’s any of your business.
And bite me.”
“Well
argued.” Severus sighed. “Perhaps you should go to bed?”
“Yes,
Mother.” Lyria wobbled to her feet.
Severus got
up as well. “I think I should help
you. Or at least stagger alongside you.”
“Whatever.”
Lyria woke
up and immediately wished she hadn’t.
She was one hundred percent certain that her head was going to
implode... best get out of bed and brew something to fix it. She groaned and rolled over.
Someone else
was in bed with her.
Not Sirius,
she remembered being forced to go to Snape’s.
Macnair *had* gone home, hadn’t he? And she was still wearing the green velvet
curtain she’d worn last night. Oh, she’d
never get her hair out... She rolled
over, curiosity in her blue-gray eyes...
And found an
equally curious set of black ones staring back.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”
She wasn’t
sure which of them had screamed. Perhaps
it had been them both.
“You nearly
gave me a heart attack,” he hissed.
“And who the
hell would have missed you? WHAT are you
doing in here?!? This is supposed to be
my room!” She demanded.
“We’re in
*my* room,” he told her coolly.
She looked
around. “So we are.”
“You passed
out. I think. Or I did.
I don’t know, I was drunk.”
“Apparently.
So was I, if that helps.” Lyria
groaned again.
“Not
really.” There was hesitation. “You don’t think—you don’t think we—“
“God,
no. I could never have gotten back into this damn
tent in the state I was in last night.”
Severus
breathed a sigh of relief. “Right. And I don’t
think I could have gotten you out of it, either.”
“For which I
am eternally grateful, because that presents a large number of mental images I
would prefer not to consider.”
“Agreed.”
He paused. “I slept with my cape
on?”
“Either that
or Macnair came up here, got confused, and put it
back on you when he was finished,” Lyria smirked widely.
Snape
shuddered. “You realize, of course, that
that’s possibly the most sickening thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Well, I
don’t do things in halves.”
An owl tapped
at the window.
Severus took
the letter. “It’s from the dark lord.”
“And?”
“Well, first
he wishes me to tell you he enjoyed himself last night...”
“Wonderful. I’m so pleased I was a good hostess to Pure
Evil. And the fact that I don’t
*remember* part of last night does *not* give me a warm fuzzy feeling inside.”
“You just
topped your comment about Macnair,” Severus said
absently, continuing to read. “No. Oh, no.”
“WHAT?!?
What *does* he want now?” Lyria
demanded.
Severus put
down the letter. “Well, he couldn’t help
but notice how delightfully happy we are and doesn’t
think we should wait any longer...”
“If you’re
telling me what I think you’re telling me...” Lyria began.
“That’s
*exactly* what I’m telling you, Strider.
He’s coming back tonight, and we’re getting married.”
Lyria spent
the rest of the morning sitting on the bed in her room, staring blankly at a
dark blue wall.
Severus
entered the room – without knocking – at about
“Marvelous. I’m so thrilled. I *do* so hope I have decent shoes,” she
snapped.
“In case you
managed to miss it, Strider, I don’t like you either. I’ve owled
Dumbledore, and he says you should just owl Sirius and tell him...”
“Tell him
*what?* Now
*there’d* be a nice owl. My beloved
Sirius, The dark lord demands that I marry Snape, now, so I’m busily getting my
dress ready. We talked to Dumbledore, he thinks it’s a splendid idea. I hope to see you at the reception. Feel free to bring a date, and make sure you
tell my parents. Love,
Lyri. P.S. Invite Remus and
Lyndell for me.”
“I don’t see
the problem with that.”
“You
wouldn’t,” Lyria barked.
“Well, you
have to do *something.*”
“Oh, I don’t
know, I was thinking I could NOT MARRY YOU!
Waking up to you this morning was scary enough!”
Snape
paled. “I just realized something...”
“*Now*
what?”
“We have to
share a bedroom.”
Lyria paled
as well. “Umm.... no?”
“The dark
lord has complete access to this house.
He can visit any time he wants, and arrive in any room he wants.”
“Well...
umm... say we’ve gone traditional, I’m a bit of a romantic, and there’s a
secret passage joining our rooms?” Lyria
suggested.
“Won’t
work.”
“Then say
I’ve got syphilis.”
“I *knew*
Black fancied his bar girls. And
besides, I don’t think he’d care. He’d
just kidnap some doctor from St. Mungo’s to treat you.”
“Oh, now
*that’s* reassuring. At least if I get
hurt for the next month I’ll be properly tended to.” Suddenly Lyria gasped. “Wait... if he just *shows up* tonight...
he’s going to expect us to be...”
“Yes, yes he
is.”
“ARGH!
That’s not right!” Lyria yelped.
“We’re
supposed to be in love, you know,” Severus reminded her, sounding slightly
amused.
“I don’t care
if we’re the last two humans on the face of the planet,
you are NOT getting in my pants!”
“I never
said I *wanted* to... but you really lack a sense of duty, you know that?”
“Better the
end of the race than to doom humankind with your nose,” she snapped.
Severus was
about to shoot something equally insulting back, but then caught sight of the
clock. “Narcissa will be here soon.”
Lyria
groaned.
She was
seriously considering drowning herself in the bathtub.
If the green
velvet curtain dress hadn’t been bad enough, this was worse. Most definitely worse.
The bodice
of the dress was basically a corset, itchy and confining. It was low cut in the front, and the back was
open except for the laces. The skirt, if
possible, was worse, sticking out hoopskirt style. It retained its shape on its own, the damn
thing was so stiff, and Lyri didn’t even want to THINK about trying to sit down
in the thing. The elbow-length gloves did
*not* help matters, and though the shoes *did* make her taller, she was expecting
to trip over her heel, fall on her face, and give the entire place quite a show
with that damn skirt on. To top it all
off, Narcissa had finished the look by tightly pulling Lyria’s hair up and
sticking at least a hundred pointed pins into it, and if the well-meaning but
impossibly aggravating blonde even TRIED to get near her with that makeup
again, she’d have a spindly heeled white shoe to pull out of her ass.
“Ohh, you look lovely.
Severus will be so pleased.”
Narcissa smiled.
Privately
thinking that Severus could die and burn in hell for all she cared, and that at
least the skirt would keep that horny bastard Macnair
a good few feet away simply by the diameter of it, Lyria simply nodded.
“Honestly,
you really *do* look lovely,” Narcissa assured her, hanging a necklace that had
to weigh a good pound and a half around her neck. “And it’ll be nice to have someone else
around, you know... Severus is a good man.”
“Well,
that’s... why I’m marrying him,” Lyria managed.
“Now may I *please* see a mirror?”
She wasn’t sure she wanted to, but she couldn’t look as horrid as she
felt.
Narcissa
smiled and slipped a silver clip into Lyria’s hair. “*Now* you may,” she told her.
Walking
carefully (she had begun to think the shoes were a clever ploy to keep her from
running away), Lyria fearfully approached the mirror on the other side of the
room.
She had to
admit, were she someone else getting married in 1702, she really would have
looked remarkable. “Thank you, you’ve
put a lot of work into this...” she told Narcissa.
“Oh, it was
really no trouble,” Narcissa assured her, attaching a veil to the clip. “There.
Come on, we’d best get you down to the gardens, every one will be here
by now.”
“Nervous?” Lucius asked.
“No,” he
replied flatly. And it was true. Furious, a bit worried that Lyria would do
something to blow the charade, extraordinarily aggravated, and wanting
desperately to be down brewing potions and not in black dress robes in his
garden; those all fit Severus right now.
But ‘nervous’ was *not* anywhere near what he was feeling.
“Neither was
I. Just a wedding,
after all. Nothing really
important... mine was a big waste of time,” Lucius said in his usual
dispassionate manner.
‘Yes, you
would think that,’ Severus’s mental voice said. Then it continued. ‘And who the hell are *you* kidding, you’re
just doing this so you don’t have your head removed.’
Fortunately,
Narcissa appeared before his mental voices could get away from him, and
everyone turned to get a look at Lyria.
She really
*was* very pretty, in an unpolished Gryffindor sort of fashion. Granted, he knew it was simply the work of
Narcissa, and he knew it must have taken her *hours*, but she did look nice.
They simply
went through the ceremony dryly, neither much paying attention. Severus’s mind was
on his latest project, while Lyria mentally planned her divorce. She was fairly sure no one would question her
if she said it was from an inability to have children...
Finally, the
ceremony was over and they could go through the torture of the reception before
being left the hell alone; she sighed.
Snape kissed her, a simple formality, and they turned to walk out...
A large
black dog was standing at the end of the aisle, and Lyria knew the look on his
face was one of betrayal and of anger.
How to respond... she did the only thing rich snot women were good at
and passed out.
“They’re
gone. You can wake up now. I assured everyone you must have not eaten
and gotten a bit lightheaded.” Snape’s
voice intruded on her, and the confining corset convinced her it had not been a
warped dark-magic induced nightmare.
“Shh. I’m going to wake up in a minute, and Sirius
is going to be laughing at me for having a crazy dream. Go away,” she ordered.
“Sorry, your
little fiancé is a sobbing mess in Dumbledore’s office, last I heard.”
“I hate
you.”
“You don’t
mean that. You married me, didn’t
you?” Came the
sardonic reply.
“I don’t
know; I was trying to ignore everything around me. You know, the priest, the self-satisfied dark
lord, the most uncomfortable dress on the face of the earth, you.”
“Flattered.
You can change, if you like. Do
you need a hand?”
“Not yours,”
she snarled, sitting up.
“Right, well
I somehow think people would be suspicious if Sirius Black showed up at the
house to help you out of your wedding dress.”
“Right, well
you’re the brilliant one who gave Pure Evil a key to your front door.”
“Indeed. And I don’t doubt he’ll be back to check on
you... he rather likes you.”
“Great, not
only have I got Macnair to deal with, now the dark
lord wants into my pants too,” Lyria muttered.
“What
pants?” Severus asked innocently.
“I repeat; I
hate you.” There was a pause. “Think we could stage a whole romantic
evening thing so when he shows up we’re fast asleep and there’s
wine glasses on the floor or something?”
“What’s the
matter, lovely, got your period or something?”
He smirked.
“Okay, you
talking about my period is freaking me out, so please
shut up before I shove a tampon up your ass.
I’m changing. *You* get to work
on making it look like we’ve fucked.”
“Somehow I
knew you’d be a controlling wife,” he sneered as Lyria headed off to the
bedroom.
She threw a
heeled shoe at him.
When she
emerged from the bathroom, she was rather surprised. “Never pictured you as a
romantic.”
“Shut up and
get in the fucking bed,” he snapped.
Lyria raised
an eyebrow. “Maybe this wasn’t such a
good idea.”
He *had*
staged it quite well. There were several
partially burned down candles about the room, along with a half-empty bottle of
wine and two empty glasses on the bedside table. He’d tossed his cape on the floor next to the
bed and had curled up on one side, facing away from her.
“You’d
better be dressed,” she said threateningly.
“So
had you. I don’t particularly fancy your fiancé trying
to kill me.”
“What fiancé? I’m a married woman now,” she muttered.
“If he comes
in and you’re standing in the middle of the room, that’s not going to match up
with all the hard work in here.”
“How *did*
you pull it off?” She asked, slipping
into the bed as well.
“Do you
really want to know?”
“No. No, I don’t.”
There was an
awkward pause. “If we get any farther
away from each other, one of us will be on the floor,” Lyria noted.
“And the
problem with that is?”
“That’s not
going to match up with all the hard work in here,” she said, smirking in
imitation.
“Well then
get the hell over here; I’m not moving.”
“Right.
Curl up with the most disgusting person you know. Sounds fun.”
“I don’t see
Black around here,” he said.
Lyria sighed
in exasperation and moved closer to him.
“Hold me.”
“Why,
Strider, I didn’t know you cared.”
“Do *not*
make this more aggravating to me than it already is,” she warned.
With a long
suffering expression, Severus slipped an arm around her. “Think he’ll believe it?”
“Come on, we
did everything but spatter blood on the sheet to convince him you took my
virginity,” Lyria pointed out.
“Should we
have?”
“Do you want
me to put your head through a wall?”
“I’ll take
that as a no.”
“There might
be hope for you yet, then.”
When
Voldemort silently entered the room a few hours later, both were
asleep and the candles had burned down to nothing.
It was about
a week later before the next time they were summoned.
Lyria woke
up to Snape clutching at his arm. “Now
what’s your problem?”
“We’re being
called,” he hissed. “Go get dressed.”
“Aw, I was
looking forward to presenting myself to the dark lord in my nightdress.”
“He’s got a
rumor for being a horny bastard.”
“AAAAAH!”
Lyria yelped. “YOU AND YOUR FUCKING COMMENTS!”
“As
opposed to my non-fucking comments?”
“Bite me.” Lyria got to her feet and went to
change. “Am I presentable?”
He glanced
at her. “You look like you’re going to a
funeral.”
“Yeah,
mine.”
Severus let
out an exasperated sigh and grabbed a cloak from behind the door, which he
draped around her shoulders and fastened.
“Now you are.”
“My
word; that was almost an affectionate gesture.
How frightening.”
“Agreed.
Now let’s go.”
Voldemort
was waiting for them. “I hope I haven’t
interrupted anything,” he said, glancing at the bundled-up Lyria.
“Oh...
not at all.”
“Excellent. You know, I wondered at first if perhaps
you’d been duped by our pretty little friend, Severus. It was clear there was a leak somewhere, and
I had heard rumors of her being involved with Sirius Black, but clearly if she
married you, they were merely rumors.”
Voldemort glanced at Lyria.
“He was my
source of information,” Lyria explained, and something within her twisted painfully
at having to talk about Sirius in such a way.
“I was in his house at Hogwarts, we dated for a
short time... he was easy prey.”
“And were
you with him?”
“It was
necessary. To ensure he would trust me
completely.” Lyria wanted to go be
sick. It was betraying him, to lie so
about their relationship...
“Indeed. You ought to have been a Slytherin,
child. I merely wished to speak with
you—you may go. I’ll send Severus home
to you shortly.”
Lyria merely
nodded, not trusting her voice, and apparated away.
About
a half an hour later, Snape apparated home to find Lyria sitting on the floor
in the bedroom. “What’s the matter with you?”
“How?”
“How
*what*?”
“How do you
*lie* like that? Is it your lack of
morals, or is your determination to keep your head attached to your shoulders
*that* overpowering?” Lyria
snapped. It was clear she had been
crying.
“I’m no good
at getting information to Dumbledore if I’m dead. Pull yourself the hell together. I have a mission.”
“Good. Take your time.”
“It’s a
little more personal than that.”
Lyria stood
there only a moment. “No. No fucking way!”
“He likes
you.”
“Then why
does he want me pregnant with slimy little rodents?!?”
“He thinks
it’s an honor,”
“Then *he*
can have your kids!”
“That would
present a few anatomical challenges.”
“How do we
break this off before it gets worse?”
Lyria demanded.
“Either you
need to become incapable of having children or I need to get bored with you.”
“Then hurry
up and get bored with me.”
~*~*~*~
He returned
home to find the Manor nearly silent. “Strider!” He
bellowed.
No response.
“If she
bloody left…” He stalked about the house, trying to find her, and eventually
walked into the study. He caught sight
of a foot just peeking out from under a woman’s robe. “Strider? Are you breathing?”
“Wha?” She opened her eyes and then closed
them. “Oh God…”
“You’re
drunk out of your mind.”
“Shhh.”
“Hung
over?” He asked.
“Shut up!”
She hissed.
“Can you
walk?” He asked quietly.
Lyria staggered
to her feet.
He sighed
and picked her up, dropping her on the bed in the room next to his.
She promptly
fell asleep again.
~*~*~*~
She woke up
the next morning, feeling at least twice as bad as she had last night.
“Can you
sit?”
“Maybe?”
Lyria replied. She managed to get
herself in an upright position. ”Why?”
“Because
I’ve thought up how we’re going to get out of this.”
~*~*~*~
A week
later, Lyria was sitting gleefully in the study, back in her own *normal*
robes, happily signing divorce papers.
Leaving them on the desk, she apparated away without another word to
Snape.
When he
entered the study a few minutes later, he immediately noticed said papers.
It was
over. Done. He almost could sing.