A/N: So, I’m pretty sure this is taking a long time for me to get this chappie written/submitted. This is the unfortunate price paid by those of us with too much of a life. Happiness did ensue on a particular Friday afternoon, when this chappie was written. I was just thinking, hey let’s write, I’ve got time to kill. I also assembled a new play list on the compy with many good songs in it, which is lovely. So that’s the music that sponsored this chappie. And now, since this author’s note is threatening to consume us all (does anyone even read these?), let’s get to chappie 8!
Snape paced the floor of his office. It was now 9:32; his duel with Arbitrare was now less than half an hour away. As he paced, a curious feeling grew in Snape’s stomach. Part of it was excitement: he could now permanently wipe that arrogant smirk from Arbitrare’s idiotic face, and hang him from the flagpole by his underwear (that is, if Hogwarts had a flagpole).
But another part of the feeling was anxiety. Arbitrare had started out as a completely incompetent sap with an affinity for Every-Flavor Beans, but recently he’d turned rather sinister. Snape worried that Arbitrare might have been lulling the school into a false sense of insecurity, what with a clueless DADA professor and people turning purple. Snape had a sneaking suspicion there was more of a connection there than he’d previously thought…
He looked at the clock again. 9:45. “I suppose I’d better get going,” he muttered, but not before rummaging through some cabinets looking for something to settle his stomach. He found a bottle of something that, after taking a swig, burned on the way down. Coughing slightly, Snape looked at the label. It was a bottle of Ogden’s Old Firewhiskey, bottled 1895. After thinking that fifteen years of teaching Potions would have taught him not to drink out of mysterious bottles without looking at the label (especially in his office), Snape shrugged and downed the rest of the bottle. He firmly convinced himself that he could still see, then went to the seventh floor corridor.
Snape arrived in the corridor to find that Arbitrare was already there. And he thought that Arbitrare might have had a malevolent grin, but it was awfully dark in this hall, and the guy’s face was all blurry.
“You’re late,” sneered Arbitrare.
“What?” Snape asked, a bit unnecessarily loud.
“I said, you’re late. It’s now five after ten; the duel started at ten.”
“No, no, no. You didn’t say, you sneered. I’m the only one allowed to sneer in this castle.”
Arbitrare snorted humorlessly. “I daresay that may change.”
Snape frowned. “Are you trying to steal my identity?”
“Oh no, I’d like to get invited to parties. I couldn’t do that if I were you.”
“Alright, that does it. Let’s just get this over with.” Snape attempted to pull his wand out. You’d think that fifteen years teaching Potions would also have taught him that drinking an entire bottle of Firewhiskey from before the turn of the century in a matter of seconds makes one a tad tipsy. So Snape couldn’t seem to find his wand.
“Yes, let’s get this over with,” Arbitrare said darkly. Snape was rummaging in his pockets as Arbitrare approached. Snape pulled his hand out of his pocket, but his wand wasn’t there. Instead, he had a handful of…cashews. Looking up, he saw Arbitrare on the other end of the hall, then suddenly he was less than a foot away, blurry face leering menacingly.
This sudden move startled Snape into using the only defense he had. He threw the cashews at Arbitrare. The nuts hit him square in the face, and he fell with a shriek.
“My eyes! My enchanting eyes! It burns!” He writhed helplessly on the floor.
Snape blinked. “Hey, I guess I won.”
Arbitrare staggered to his feet. “You’re not even close to winning,” he snarled.
“Wait, who’s the other five guys?” Snape slurred. He was getting mighty tipsy now.
Arbitrare stopped. He smirked. He pulled an umbrella out from behind his back and whomped Snape over the head with it. Snape fell to his knees and Arbitrare came a step closer. “Game, set, and match, rummy.” He then smacked Snape in the face, sending him sprawling back on the floor. “That’s for the cashews.”
Snape woke rather groggy. He had blacked out soon after Arbitrare had hit him, but from booze or getting clobbered by a man with a weapon from Mary Poppins, he didn’t know. One thing he did know, the light was far too bright, and his head was pounding. Or was that the approaching footsteps of the trio?
“Professor?” gasped Hermione.
Snape looked up, and as his vision came into focus, he groaned and let out a long string of very naughty phrases.
“My virgin ears!” cried Ron.
“Oh, shut up Ron, you swear the worst of any of us,” said Harry.
“What happened, Professor?” Hermione asked, sounding concerned.
“Nothing, nothing,” said Snape, getting to his feet and wobbling a bit.
“Are you alright?” Hermione still seemed concerned.
“I’m fine,” Snape said shortly, leaning against a wall. “What time is it?”
“It’s nine in the morning,” said Harry. “We were headed back to the common room.”
Snape sighed angrily, pushed off from the wall, and stormed down the hall, stringing out more naughty phrases.
He made it back to his office, and ran the tap on a sink in there (what, don’t you have a sink in your office?). He splashed some water on his face, then caught sight of himself in the mirror. The Snape in the mirror looked worse than usual. He had a black eye from the umbrella, and his nose looked more bent out of shape than usual.
“I look like a hockey player,” Snape mused.
“What’s hockey?” his reflection asked.
“Muggle sport.”
“Entailing what?”
“Sticks and ice. Look, I’m not feeling well, go look it up if you’re so interested.” Snape turned from the mirror and went to his desk.
“Ah,” said the reflection. It pulled a face then disappeared.
Snape went through his desk drawers, looking for something to ease his headache and cut the taste of mothballs in his mouth. He at last located a potion to do just that, and as he sat down to find a glass, he found a note on the desktop. Apprehension grew inside him as he unfolded the piece of parchment.
Hey Snapey, it read.
Since I won the duel, I get to pick a prize. How about another round? I noticed you were, um, slightly impaired last night, so I’ll give you another chance. Aren’t you happy that I’m such a generous person? And so good looking. Me, not you. Your face is bad enough, though I think I made an improvement. Anyway, I’ll see you tonight, say at nine in the Charms corridor. And don’t be late again.
More hugs, Arbitrare
Another piece of paper fell out of the note. It was a picture of Arbitrare holding the umbrella like a pike, with Snape’s head on top, tongue hanging out and X’s for eyes.
Snape, feeling his headache coming back, took a deep breath and started on more naughty phrases.
Though it was past time for all students to be back in their common rooms, Harry, Ron, and Hermione waited in the Charms corridor. They somehow, for the sake of plot, found out about Snape and Arbitrare’s duel that evening and came to watch.
Snape, arriving five minutes early this time, was actually sort of relieved. Though the sight of the trio typically threatened to give him an ulcer, he had to admit it was nice to have someone on his side. The three had somehow, also for the sake of plot, deduced that Arbitrare was the one who beat Snape up and left him on the seventh floor.
Arbitrare soon sauntered into the hallway. He looked, if possible, more arrogant and deranged than he had the night before. “Oh joy, the peanut gallery,” he said, spying the trio. “Well, I suppose you need all the help you can get.”
“I didn’t think Professor Arbitrare so was so mean,” Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron.
“Yeah, he seemed batty, but not evil,” replied Ron.
“I wonder what’s changed,” Harry said.
Arbitrare, overhearing them, said with a nasty smile, “Snape just brings out the worst in me.”
“Can we just get this over with?” Snape asked, pulling his wand out.
“Couldn’t agree more,” said Arbitrare. He snapped his fingers loudly and stood, waiting.
In fact, everyone stood waiting. Nothing happened for a good couple of minutes.
“Are you going to do anything?” Snape finally asked.
“I already have.” Arbitrare pointed behind Snape. Everyone looked to see what was coming.
It was the Snorkack. It came up the hall, and knocked Snape to the floor. Before anyone knew what had happened, it slurped him down whole.
“How horrible,” Hermione said, sounding shell-shocked.
“Lovely,” said Arbitrare, contrasting Hermione. “Well kiddies, you’d better be off to bed now. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got tests to grade.” And he did a little jig out of the hall.
A/N: I know what you’re thinking. “I thought you liked Snape! Why’d you kill him?” Well, because I’m strange that way. Just remember that nothing is as it seems at Hogwarts. And we might need zombies in chappie 9.